When Tranter woke it was cold and the stars were veiled by a thin cloud. His head rang like a gong, loud and pervasive and reverberating. He ached all over, and that aching changed to a spasm of pain when he tried to move.
He groaned, and wondered why he couldn’t hear it, and why his head feel as though it were in a vice? He tried to say something, but a flash of torment stung his cheek. He lifted his arm, wincing, what was in his mouth? More pain flooded his body, his mouth, God, his gums! His teeth. As awareness dawned on him more threads of agony stung and throbbed. Fresh bright spasms, deep slow throbs, latent rushes that burned if he moved, it seemed as though all facets of torment loitered inside him somewhere; he felt tears in his eyes and moaned - a moan that conveyed all his pain and roused more anew - and still he couldn’t hear it.
Toubec was above him, looking over him. Her hair tickling his flesh. She was saying something but he couldn’t hear. Nothing. Not even vibrations.
Her lips stopped moving and her features, pale and frightened, slipped into a piteous frown.
His heart raced as things fell into place. He remembered their attempt to run from the Rhinox, the ground breaking around them, the wind swatting him, something ripping at his face...
God, he tried to say, though if he said it or not he didn’t know. Fresh pain blossomed in his mouth and he hesitated until it died down. His arm trembled as he raised it and felt the bandage Toubec had wrapped around his head and jaw.
God, he thought again, without even attempting to say it. God! Jesus! I’m alive! She saved me... Thank Chri...’ Another wave of pain stung his ribs and he rose to rest on his elbows. Toubec’s hands were on his chest, gently trying to ease him back down, but he fought against them and the pain that it caused to shake his head in denial. She relented, and sat beside him, saying something to him regardless if he could hear or not.
They sat there for a while, growing colder as the stars revolved above them. Tranter breathed heavily, fighting off the waves of nausea that came and went with a reassuring regularity.
Toubec tried to comfort him, though weariness overcame her and she slept in the grass, dew wetting her clothes while Tranter slowly raised his knees and pushed himself up to sit upright, his arms wrapped around his legs as he shivered.
The pain in his mouth remained sharp and blinding, but the throbbing of his bones slowly subsided until it levelled out, its only effect being to keep a fresh supply of tears in his eyes.
He got to his feet several hours later and limped through the grass. New pains rushed through him, but there was little else he could do. His choices were either lay down and die without medical attention or fight to keep moving.
He stepped in a teetering line across the ploughed earth, stooping eventually as he found his discarded bag a few hundred feet from where he had come to rest. He opened it and found the contents complete. He switched the two-way radio on, and although he couldn't hear the static hiss he could see the green display light up, and knew it was working.
He turned and walked back towards Toubec. She had woken and was watching him with a look that combined caution and admiration. He threw two squat syringes and she caught them, opening the packaging and injecting herself with the isotonic and protein solutions.
He lifted his arm and pointed to the horizon, she followed his gesture before turning back with an angry frown.
Yes I can be serious, he thought, hobbling passed her and continuing in the direction they had been walking before the Rhinox descended on them.
She was at his side, shouting at him angrily. He watched her mouth and picked up the words rest and heal. He shook his head and continued doggedly, a new throb gaining in his thigh with each step.
Just to the channel, he thought. Just to the channel and we can find a boat. I can sit and rest then, and I’ll be happy to lay down and die when we get to Mortehoe.
Dawn came as a smudge of grey cloud on the horizon. Tranter had slowed dramatically, each step small and emphatic. Sweat beaded his pale brow, and he stared at his bloodied shoes as they inched forward. Toubec’s hand was on his back and she looked at him fretfully, as though she were guiding him over hot coals. He looked at her, his eyes staring as though he were blind as well, and then he looked forward and stopped, overcome and unable to move any further.
She watched him for a moment, wondering if he would fall to his knees and exhale his last breath. Nothing happened. He swayed slightly and a moan escaped him. He then set off again and she remained still, tears flowing freely as she watched him helplessly - Helplessly stepping down the hill toward the wide Bristol Channel. They had made it. Miraculously he had made it. She rushed towards him, passed him and continued to the water’s edge in search of an abandoned boat.