71

Chapter 76

Someone has cleaned him up, though they didn't seem to think a fresh shirt and pants were necessary, as his well-muscled chest is still bare, revealing the wounds that slice through it.
"How long have I been asleep?" I whisper, seeing the still-open cuts, fresh and raw and red and bloody. I feel well rested, albeit sore, but nowhere near as tired as I had when I fell asleep.
"About a day... Yes, you got here yesterday afternoon." Glass mumbles, staring blankly at the stunned and incapacitated guards.
Another thought is pulled from the deep recesses of my mind at that statement, but I shove it back, because right now it's not important.
Slowly, tentatively, scared he might vanish if I make contact with him, I reach out and run the fingertips of my left hand down Coal's arm, feeling the corded muscle beneath, the skin firm and cold, until my fingers reach his scarred, callused hand. I pry apart his fingers, seeking warmth but finding none, while I helpless look him over again, registering his chest rising and falling with a slow, even beat, his closed eyes, slightly open mouth.
"What did you do to him?" I say, terrified. I lean forward, taking my hand from his lifeless one, and gingerly press my ear to the left of his chest, where there aren't any scars. Scared to breath, I listen, intently, trying to ignore the deafening pounding of my own heart. But, there it is, a very, very slow, but consistent throb, a pulse.
"I didn't do anything to him, but I'd be terrified of the unholy Beast which did hurt him." Glass shudders, eyeing the wounds. "Like I said, he's in a coma."
Coma... Only now does my brain fully register the word. I seem to recall my mother mentioning it once, but I really have no idea what it is.
I bring my head up, staring expectantly at Glass. He sighs, takes a step forward. "He's in a deep, deep sleep, Ash. Neither dead, nor alive, but somewhere in between, caught in a stage between this life and the next..." He whispers, eyes misty.
"When will he wake up?" I press obnoxiously.
"It's more a question of if," Glass grimaces, kneeling beside me. "Ash, he might never wake up."
"No!" I push away from him, grabbing Coal's hand and shaking it vigorously, desperate now. "Coal! I'm here, with you! We can do this! Wake up!"
I drop his hand, and bring both my hands down on his chest, hard.
"ASH!" Glass snatches my hands as I raise them up to do it again. "No! That can kill him!"
I rip my hands away from him, and collapse, sobbing, onto the ground beside Coal, curling up into a ball, clutching his arm, willing him to awaken. Pathetic, really.
"Coal... Not now, not when we're so close..." To what? The rebels were a dream, a scam, something lost which we can't hope ever to find... What are we close to, really? Death? Insanity? "Coal, please.. Please, come back... Don't leave me, don't leave me here..." I get a sense of deja-vu. It's like the scene atop the mountain all over again. "Please, come back to me..."
I close my eyes and weep, for what seems like hours, maybe days, never leaving Coal's side, like a faithful dog would beside the grave of his owner. At some point, I hear Glass get up and walk away, but I don't look up from the darkness.
I can hear my mother. "Always look on the bright side, Ash."
What bright side!? There is no bright side! The Rulers are still in power, ruling their little City with their Order and all that! People are dead. Dead, trying to reach the rebels that never existed, that were all a creation of Stone's. Stone, who turned out to be Coal, the Royal Prince of the City.
I lay here for the longest of eternities, time passing like something lost and forgotten, in a haze of despair. Why does everyone I love meet a painful, and gruesome end?
I don't know how long I stay here, head jammed between my knees, arms folded over my ears, eyes shut tight, trying to keep out the light, the sound. Avoiding the truth.
Eventually, I register it's begun to rain. I feel a cold stab on my bare arm, then another, on my foot. Before I can react, it's a down-pour, sheets of rain billowing in the sudden and vicious wind, huge drops of water spattering across my skin, soaking through my dirty, ragged dress.
But I don't even open my eyes. Holding my knees tighter to my head now, shivering slightly, I refuse to budge. What does it really matter, now, if I die? Why was I ever here?
Why are we brought into this cruelty that is life, why? Life is pain,, and, quite frankly, I could do without this much pain. Always struggling, reaching for something you can't quite grasp, so close, yet never there... Always reaching, never grasping... That is my life.
My head snaps up. My soaking, grimy, disgusting hair falls in my face, and I irritatedly shake it away, holding it away from my eyes as I squint intently up the path, ears pricked forward and straining.
Even with my catlike vision, I can only just make out the tall, angular figure striding towards us, maybe twenty feet away, a dark silhouette against the somber backdrop. I know it's Glass before he reaches us.
Sure enough, when lightning illuminates the dark, now morning sky, his sharp face is thrown into direct relief against his neat black hair.
Something hits the ground next to me, and I turn to see a worn rag blanket, which I pull gratefully over my freezing self, looking back up to the red nosed man.
He silently holds out a water skin to me, face expressionless, and I take it, thankfully gulping down what seems like gallons. It's too dangerous to drink the rainwater- Half the time it isn't even water, but some post-apocalyptic fluid that will incinerate your internal organs in a matter of minutes.
Handing back the water skin, I see Glass's eyes ringed slightly unfocused, red shadows beneath- then the water-skin in his other hand, the fluid inside which burns my nostrils even through the storm. He's been drinking.
I thank him for the water and blankets, and roll over to face Coal, who looks so exposed in only his ragged shorts, the rain moistening hardened blood in the wounds, making them begin to run again. Thin red liquid trickles down his ribcage, forming puddles on the ground beneath him.
Why do his wounds still look so fresh? You would have thought, if Glass was telling the truth about nursing him, they would have at least clotted. I sit up further, pressing my face as close as I dare to the torn flesh, examining the skin around it closely, looking for...
I draw in my breath sharply. Yes, there it is. Just like my bullet wound. The reddening of the flesh, almost beneath the skin, with a unhealthy pallor glowing above it. It's infected... But why didn't Glass sew it up when he supposedly cleaned it...?
I can understand why Glass wouldn't want to be best buds with Coal- He is a lying scoundrel, and a Royal, after all, but still, he's only fifteen, and not caring for the terrible wounds is basically a death sentence...
I raise my head to glimpse Glass's receding figure. I know if I directly address the situation, Glass will make some excuse, even if he's lying... There's nothing I can do about Glass, but I can do something about Coal.
Struck by sudden inspiration, I leap to my feet, stumbling through the rain after Glass.