37. Wounds

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May 26, 2045 - 6:57 PM

The harsh, acidic sensations ravaging Margo's new wounds plagued her for nearly two hours before she could finally feel safe again. She and the rest of the city of Philadelphia, and she was very sure she'd be one of countless numbers of people missing out on the luxury of sleep that evening.

She lay on a bed in the middle of a high school gymnasium. Her only source of privacy was a wall of green draperies surrounding her, isolating her from the rest of the other victims. She could see lights blinking through her little green refuge like distant flashes of lightning, and the sounds were agonizing to listen to. The entire gym was just one large chamber of suffering. She could hear people of all ages making their pain known to the rest of the world, screaming, crying, and whimpering as they struggled through the pain to see the next day. The patient on the other side of the curtain to her right was a man slightly older than her; she could tell only by his voice. He cried like a child as his loved ones sat by his bedside, hoping his wounds wouldn't get the best of him. To her left, Margo could see the silhouette of a young boy sitting up in his bed with his legs hanging off the edge. His cries were just as haunting as the man's, and Margo quickly looked away once she realized a doctor was removing pieces of shrapnel from his legs. She covered her ears as his screams grew louder, nothing but pain and terror coming from all directions.

She didn't regret accepting the mask the medics offered her when she entered the building. She knew some of the patients wouldn't survive the attempts to save them, and a horrid stench would fill the air soon enough as a result. It was like her guilt in physical form, too painful to confront but too difficult to escape.

With her hands still clasped over her ears, Margo studied her little resting space, rolling her eyes at the sight of herself in a hospital gown. Only at home would she ever be comfortable not wearing pants, she thought. The ThoughtControl glasses she wore at the rally sat on a small end table beside her bed, the crack on the right lens taunting her. Bloody bandages were swathed around her left arm, both of her thighs, and her right shoulder. She didn't look forward to seeing the scars left behind as consequences of the dreaded shrapnel gun she miraculously survived as well as the shot from a modified firearm that only managed to graze her arm. The only thing that relieved her was the news that her wounds weren't infected, which meant she didn't suffer the feeling of antiseptics being poured onto her mangled flesh for nothing.

Once she was done reliving the past few hours in her head, she returned her sight to the holographic TV screen hovering above the bed. "Recovery attempts are still being made to investigate ay additional threats around Independence Hall," the reporter announced. "Authorities have reported that the number of casualties has now reached 393, and the incident has already been declared a terrorist attack. An estimated three thousand people have been injured during the attacks, and four local hospitals have declared themselves full, with hundreds of injured citizens sent to medical centers outside the city limits. Due to the usage of illegal firearms as well as bladed weaponry, many locals have been deeming the event another Red Riot..."

Margo could hear her mother approaching, frantically giving orders to other nurses. She burst through the curtains like a guest on a show and rushed over to her daughter, the two of them embracing. Even though her injuries stung thanks to the physical pressure of her body pressed up against her mother's, Margo fought against it. The only thing she believed could be more painful than the gashes across her limbs was the thought of her mother being caught in the attack. Her heart sunk even lower when she realized her mom wasn't the only one she could've risked losing that day.

There was also Carl, Holden, Nikki, and maybe Ellie, if she was still even in Philadelphia. She would've kept Mason, Andrade, Jack, and Royce on that list, but she preferred to focus on the ones who looked like they'd show genuine empathy. Maybe I should take Ellie off that list, Margo thought to herself.

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