Something tells me I'm not in heaven. I would've seen the gates...right? I would've heard God's voice. Or seen a bright light at the very least. Instead, I just see darkness and nothingness. The comforting warmth of flannel sheets swallows me whole. I feel the weight of at least six blankets on top of me. I can smell the long-forgotten, homey scent of freshly washed blankets. I slowly pull my heavy eyes open. My eyes set on the blurry wooden ceiling. I slowly reach up, pressing my fingers into my eyes to peel the crust out. Pins and needles explode from my funny bone. My eyes narrow as the rough material of bandages rubs against my eye. I grimace as I pull my hand back and see white bandages covering my left hand. Lifting my head a little, I can see a rocking chair with a white and grey quilt draped over it. My eyes flick to the window beside it. I can just barely make out the dark blue morning sky through the slits of the blinds. I swallow hard, feeling the saliva travel down my sandpaper-like throat. I look forward and stare at the closed door. I move my right arm only to feel something sticking in it. I glance down to see a plastic tube in my forearm.
My eyes travel the length of the tube to see it attached to a bag of clear liquid that's hanging from a metal hook. I blink a couple dozen times. It takes my brain a minute to absorb the rest of my surroundings, like the fact that I'm numb from the waist down. Then it hits me. My leg. I want to sit up and throw the covers off to see if it's still there, but I know that's not an option. Not a good one anyway. Not a smart one. I don't feel any pain yet, and I certainly don't wanna push it. That...and I'm kind of afraid that if I look, there won't be anything there. The thought of looking down and seeing nothing but a stub sends a wave of panic through me. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to swallow the rising fear, reminding myself to stay calm. I clench my jaw, opening my eyes as I swallow hard. I slid my arm down the side of my body. My heart starts to pound.
God, please let me still have a leg.
I strain as I move my upper half down. Finally, my fingers brush across what feels like bandages above my knee. I move my fingers up slightly to feel my bare thigh. I lift my head again and look at the end of the bed, hoping to see the covers curve around my feet, but there's so many blankets that I can't tell. I wiggle my toes back and forth, faintly feeling my muscles move and the covers brushing against my bare feet. I lean my head back onto the pillow and sigh in relief. Thank God they're still there. My eyes narrow as my brain slowly emerges from the mega-confusing fog. I'm not dead? How? Wait...my bare feet? Am I not wearing socks? I wiggle my toes again. Yeah, I'm definitely not wearing socks. I...I don't think I'm wearing pants either. I grab the wad of blankets and hurl them off. The freezing air slams into my bare legs. The only thing covering me was a thin hospital gown. A thick bandage is wrapped around my lower thigh. I glance around the small room again. This is no hospital. At least not an official one. My heart starts to pound again as my brain gets closer and closer to fully functioning. Where's my flight suit? My G-suit? My helmet? Where...am I?
I whip my head around, my eyes setting on a wooden chair to the right of me. My heart sinks as my gear lays neatly folded on that chair, my helmet sitting nicely on top of it. I turn my head to the left. Rocking chair. Window. I turn my head to the right. IV bag. Chair with my gear on it. This isn't a hospital. That's about the only obvious thing here. Is this...someone's house? Maybe it's some weird Russian prison? But I'm not restrained, am I? I glance down at my wrists. No cuffs. I squeeze my eyes shut as I move my heavy legs. I groan as a slight twinge of pain comes from my leg, but I can't feel any restraints around my ankles. If this isn't a hospital or a Russian prison, then where the—.
My eyes snap towards my gear. It doesn't matter where I am. My gun.
Get the gun, Binky, and then you have the upper hand.
I take in a deep breath as I slowly swing my immensely heavy legs over the side of the bed. I glance at my gear again. It's not far at all, but for someone who has a bullet in their leg, it might as well be miles away. I take another deep breath and place my feet against the cold wooden floor. As soon as I stand, I topple to the ground. Pain shoots up my spine. Before I can stop myself, a mangled groan escapes my lips. My eyes snap to the door as a light flicks on underneath it. My heart jumps to life, racing inside of my chest.
I push myself over to my gear and run my hands through it, reaching for my gun but finding nothing but an empty holster. The blood drains from my face as I see his shadow behind the door. With no weapon, there's nothing I can do. My only option is to play possum, pretend to be dead or asleep at least. What could he do if I was still unconscious? I'd wait until he got close enough, and then I'd attack. I hobble back to the bed and practically leap onto it, throwing the covers over my body and squeezing my eyes shut, trying to steady my breath, my pounding heartbeat. My lungs scream for air, making it almost impossible to breathe steadily. My hand and leg throb with pain. Bad idea. Really, really, bad idea. The door swings open. My already pounding heart picks up even more speed.
I wait for him to get close enough for me to strangle him. But the million-dollar question rings in my head. Do I even have the strength to kill him? I'm exhausted from merely standing for two seconds, yet I want to fight a much healthier man? I scoff to myself. Good luck. But what other choice do I have? I don't. I have no choice, and I haven't had a choice since I was shot down. I hear his boots clunking against the wooden floor as he gets closer. The old wood creaks with every step. I pull my eyes open just enough to where I can see the silhouette of the man standing next to the bed. I curl my fingers into a fist, my heart picking up even more speed.
Just do it. You have the upper hand. Reach out and kill him.
I scoff to myself again. Yeah, like it was that easy.
"I know you're awake," comes a female electronic voice. My eyes narrow. The curiosity gets the better of me as I open my eyes and look over. My brows wrinkle together as I stare into the dark eyes of an old Chinese man. My heart sinks. A hushed curse word escapes my lips. I'm screwed. I'm so friggin' screwed. He holds up his phone to me. He has Google Translate up and ready. My eyes flick back and forth between him and the screen. My eyes set on the man as I just glare at him. Aren't you gonna turn me in? Why haven't you already?
"Where am I?" I croak, my throat still feeling like it's lined with sandpaper. "How did I get here? Where's my gun? What did you—?"
He pushes his phone into my shoulder, urging me to use it. He keeps repeating something in Mandarin and motioning towards the phone. I snatch it about to type when I stop and glower at the crazy symbols and hieroglyphics that make up the Mandarin alphabet. I shake my head as I push the phone into his gut.
"I can't read this!" I yell, "Where am I?"
He flashes a small yet friendly smile.
"Safe," he says. My eyes narrow into slits. That's not enough. Not after falling down a mountain, getting shot, and watching Akio die. And now I'm supposed to trust the words of someone who's supposed to hate me? Someone who's supposed to have turned me into the Chinese and—or Russian military? I need more than just the word 'safe.'
I make the shape of a gun with my fingers.
"Where's my gun, huh? Where's my friggin' gun?!"
He raises his hands, moving them in a manner that's telling me to calm down.
"Safe! No Russian. No Chinese. Safe!" he says again. I shake my head and try to sit up. He lightly pushes me back down. I whack his hands away and try again. He doesn't stop me this time. My arms shake like jello as I try to lift myself. I squeeze my eyes shut and groan as I attempt to sit up. Finally, I do, but I can barely breathe. My chest heaves up and down as I try to catch my breath. He scoffs and shakes his head, saying something in Mandarin. I have no idea what he said, but I'm pretty sure it's along the lines of, 'Oh yeah, sure. Try and get up. See how far you get.'
I groan irritably as I lay back down. I'll admit, he's right. I'm not going anywhere. I can hear the sound of his fingers hitting the keyboard on his phone.
"My daughter speaks English. She will be here in few hours. Sleep. I will make food in few hours."
I close my eyes and shake my head. I'm done. I'm so done. This is it for me. He's gonna turn me in. For all I know, his daughter could be coming with soldiers to take me. Or maybe she is a soldier. I look up at the door as the man closes it behind him. I stare at that thing for a long, long time. Waiting for the Chinese military to bust it down and drag me away. I squeeze my eyes shut and take in a deep breath.
Breathe, Binky, breathe. If he wanted you dead, he wouldn't have brought you here. He wouldn't have taken the bullet out of your leg, and he wouldn't have stuck an IV in you.
I keep my eyes closed, the sticky grip of sleep wrapping its warm finger around me. Despite being asleep for God knows how long, I'm still so tired. What's the point in staying awake to wait for the soldiers? I can't move. I don't have a gun, and fistfighting definitely isn't an option. Minus well get some sleep and gain some strength so I can fight later.