My eyes stay closed, afraid of what they will see if they were to open. I must open them, however, to prove it wasn’t real, it wasn’t Emily, and it was all in my head. My eyes flash open quickly and widen to see what is waiting in the darkness. My eyes slowly adjust and begin to work. A flicker of light emanates from the dying torch that was left on the sink top above. The fading light is just enough for my struggling vision to see that I am alone, that there are no monsters here, tormenting me.
I am bent over on the floor, with my arm underneath me. The arm sears with pain from the weight of my body pushing it into the floor and my elbow feels like it is crushed. I have to move, but know that will only bring more excruciating agony.
A familiar high-frequency noise sounds and for a moment, I think I have fallen back into my nightmare. Dark flashbacks race through my head that I struggle to fend off. Fear of the nightmare increases my awareness and I suddenly know what the noise is. My radio headset is buzzing with interference behind me. Behind me, the torch Josh left me lies next to the headset. Can I move, can I sit back up to reach it? I’ve got to do something, I can’t just lie here to die—or worse, turn into the creature.
I do it, without thinking again about it. My right arm comes down and I push against the floor. Pain rips through my creaking body as my joints move, rubbing against each other. I force my back to take the strain, even though it feels like it might break in two. My right legs shifts back to help lever me upright. My burning left arm tries to help but it is dead, numb from being stuck under me, so my back has to work harder.
I scream out as my body moves up. The intense pain is overpowering, and I nearly falter and fall back down to the floor. Only the thought of how much that would hurt keeps me rising. As I reach the top, I almost blackout and nearly swing past being upright and fall down the other way to my right. I manage to catch myself though, just.
Upright again, the pain continues to wave through my body as it settles into its new position. Before I rest and let my body settle fully, my right arm flops down to the floor, and my hand touches Josh’s torch and manages to take hold of it to press the switch.
Fresh bright light brings a small relief to my exhaustion and welcome confirmation that I am indeed alone in my dungeon. The pain subsides somewhat as I sit still. Only my eyes move as they look around the room. The dull ache caused by my eyeballs rolling around their sockets is insignificant in comparison to the rest of my body’s torment, so I let them wander.
As I look at the kit lying around me on the floor, I decide that I am more lucid than I was previously. The agony aside, my brain is working to some extent and even without knowing if this is a temporary reprieve, I take some solace in it.
Just as my body is starting to settle and the pain with it, my eyes fall on a pack of syringes next to my helmet. At first, I wonder what they are for and why they are there? Eventually, through the haze, I remember somebody injecting me with some of them. Is it a serum to fight the virus, or something for the pain—morphine? I can’t remember. Whichever it is, they have been left there for a reason. If they are for the pain, it isn’t worth the renewed agony to retrieve them. I can cope now that my body is readjusting, so I might as well leave them there.
Exhaustion is getting the better of me, and the effort to drag myself up was almost impossible. Rest would be good, but the only problem is, I’m scared to close my eyes again. I’m scared to fall back to sleep and into another nightmare. What if I fall back over? I don’t think I can handle either again.
Morphine would help. It would knock me out, put me too far under to remember any nightmare. It’s worked in the past, in the field, when I’ve self-medicated to help forget the horrors of the day and when sleep had to come, to meet the horrors of the next day.
I eye the pack, which is out of arms’ reach. To get it, I will have to lean over. I am confident that the risk of falling over is small, but I am sure the agony of moving will be fierce.
I calculate that the pain is worth the potential reward.
Pain rips up my back as soon as I slowly start to lean over towards the pack. I bite down hard, crushing my teeth together as my right arm rises and reaches over, increasing my agony still further. My fingertips touch the pack and I slide it closer until my hand can close around it. I flop back upright against the support behind me, my back creaking to a stop. The shooting pains up and down my spine calm gradually as sweat drips down my forehead.
Letting the pain subside before I attempt to open the pack of syringes, I don’t even look at them. I sit with my head back and run through some breathing exercises to control my lung movement. Even breathing hurts, Goddamn it.
With my breathing under control, my eyes look down at the pack in my lap. Of course, it is no good! I can’t read the label; my eyes are at too much of
