Argh. It's late, and I shouldn't be doing this right now. But I couldn't help it, so here I am.
Pain. Incredible, searing pain that made it impossible to breath, impossible to move. Every breath he took was like an ice pick stabbing his chest, twisting in his heart, his lungs. He was in an alley, somewhere, but he had no idea where he was or how he got there. All he knew was that he was in pain, and Lois was in danger.
He tried to climb to his feet, but was overcome with nausea, vertigo. He managed to crawl to the side of the alley, to the nearest building, ignoring the glass on the ground that slashed at his hands and shredded the knees of his slacks. He finally got to his feet, leaning heavily against the rough brick of the wall. Slowly, keeping his bloody hand on the wall for support, he headed for the lights on the street beyond.
<clutches at own chest with a suddenly aching hand> My dear, this is exactly why I couldn't keep away from this chapter when I saw it posted. I think I've earned myself somewhat of a reputation for angst at this point, but you just catch it in a net and then freeze-dry it so it's completely unchanged and real when it gets to us. And what a powerful image, of Clark pushing forward like that, ignoring his own pain as he thought of Lois . . .
“Thank you,” Martha murmured as she hung up the phone. “Jonathan? What have they done to our baby?” Tears ran down her face as her husband of thirty-five years took her in his arms, not bothering to hide the tears on his own face.
Would she react like this, though? You'd think the automatic reaction would be more like, "Oh, well, then. Where is he?" But I guess if he hasn't shown up to the farm yet, it would be a cause for concern . . . and no mother likes to hear that her son's been shot.
“Multiple gun shot wounds, three anterior thorax, no exit wounds we can find. Looks like a forty-five,” the trauma nurse told him. “Pulse 125, BP 80 over 60.” The rest of the team was following the protocols as they wheeled into preop. The patient had been stripped down for examination and treatment, IVs started with large bore needles. He’d been intubated in the aid car on the way to the hospital, but now the anesthesiologist was replacing the ambu-bag with the fittings for the respirator. Electrodes had been placed on his chest and the green blip on the small ECG screen bounced along in an abnormal but merry way.
First of all I had to quote this passage so sit in awe at your medical knowledge. I forget--are you a nurse or something, or have you just done (a lot of) good research?
And then my own little morbid smirkiness had to wave and say that she loved how you described the blip going on its "merry way." Completely caught me off guard, but I loved it.
“Unless the slugs were radioactive.”
Once again, amazing job. I'll be waiting for the next one!
SmirkyRaven
