"Gosh, I'm freezing!" John thought, annoyed, as he rubbed his cold hands together. "All of this for a dirty old mutt! Paul better be thankful he's got me as a mate. Otherwise..."
"Agh!" suddenly reached John's throbbing ears.
"Oh right. He may be in pain. His leg's broken after all. I shouldn't be frustrated."
"How are you doin', lad?" John asked his friend concernedly.
"I'm alright," Paul answered shortly and John could tell he was growing frustrated with himself and the situation.
The raging, blinding snowstorm didn't improve either of their moods, though. John was at the point of going home and forgetting about Martha until morning. Don't get him wrong, he did care about the poor dog, he just wasn't interested in spending enough time in the frigid air to contract Hypothermia. But, he had promised...
Paul was physically beginning to reach his breaking point. There was absolutely no way he was going to let John know that, though, for he was going to find his dog, no matter the consequence. He just wished that that tree branch hadn't broken his leg. He would have so much vigor now if it hadn't. Not to mention he wouldn't be needing John to help him walk. But, no matter! They were going to find Martha! Just a little more walking. That's all.
"Paul? What's your plan here?" John asked cautiously as he stopped walking, which, of course, meant Paul had to stop walking as well.
"The plan is we walk until we find her," the bassist answered, irritated.
In the dim light of the street lamps, John could see Paul's pale, angered face and his heart broke for him, yet he still held in a bit of frustration at the same time. He didn't like the idea of him using his leg, but Paul's stubbornness was prohibiting a proper visit to hospital. That fact alone, you could say, was causing John's main frustration. And, as soon as the rhythm guitarist had looked into Paul's glassy eyes that seemed to hold a certain frenetic expression, John was reassured that Paul wasn't doing well. Not to mention the sweat lining his entire face. He just had to get past his friend's stubbornness, but how?
"Macca, that's not a great plan, y'know. We're gonna catch Hypothermia or something," he shuddered as he clenched his eyes shut, for a blast of ice and snow then pounded the duo. The wind howled and it was getting harder and harder to know what was what.
"Shuttap, John! I know that! But I'm not leaving until I find her!" Paul exploded as he pushed John away in anger. It was a terrible decision, though, for Paul's broken leg couldn't hold up his weight and, as soon as John's support left him, he fell straight on the ground, huffing and puffing in anger and pain.
"Paul? Are you alright?" John asked, surprisingly in a calm voice.
"No, John, I'm not," the younger Beatle answered as he began to sob, for he couldn't hold the pain in any longer, both physically and emotionally.
"Well, what do you want to do, mate? Do you want to just let this be until tomorrow or keep looking?" John inquired. Sure, it might have sounded a bit cold, if you'll excuse the pun, but John was at the point of plain business.
"I want Martha to come running up to me right now. That's what I really want," Paul replied as he stared absent-mindedly at the heap of snow covering the frozen ground.
"That would be nice, but it's not exactly realistic," John chuckled.
"Yeah, you're right. Maybe we should just go home like you said," the bassist sighed as he closed his eyes, a tear now sliding out of his closed eyelid.
"Now he's sounding sensible!" John rejoiced internally--for about a millisecond. He then realized something, something that just didn't make sense to him.
"Are you serious, Paul? You'd really go home without Martha?"
"Well, we don't have much of a choice, do we?" Paul answered briefly.
"This is not the Paul I know. The Paul I know would never leave his dog, as I've seen already. He must really be hurting."
"Macca? How's your leg?" John redirected, for he knew Paul must have a good reason to finally come to his senses, or was he?
"It's just wonderful, Johnny," he replied sarcastically as John bent down to face him, for he was still on the freezing ground.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" the older Beatle questioned simply.
"Yes, John, it does. Now could you please help me up?" Paul asked, annoyed.
"Sure thing, mate," John agreed.
A few minutes later, with great difficulty involved, John had finally gotten Paul off of the ground. Now, the rhythm guitarist was holding onto him as he was earlier so that, of course, the bassist wouldn't tumble down again.
The weather had barely let up. The wind was no longer as brutal, yet it was still present, but, unfortunately, snow was still falling at a liberal pace. The bare tree branches swayed to and fro apprehensively in front of the glowing street lamps, which cast odd shadows onto the snow-covered ground below. John had noticed the various shapes of the shadows and, for some reason, was reminded of Lewis Carroll's poem Jabberwocky. But, he quickly redirected his mind to what was presently important.
"So, you want to try and get home then?" he asked his friend, who, at this point was putting all of his weight on the poor rhythm guitarist.
"Yeah, I guess," he replied solemnly.
"Okay, I'll do what I can to find our way back. Don't worry," John soothed as he took notice for the first time of how surprisingly warm Paul was.
"How could that possibly be? It's freaking freezing out here!"
"Hey, Macca?"
"Y-yeah?" Paul shivered, which basically answered John's following question.
"You cold?"
"No, I feel like I just came out of a sauna, actually," Paul quipped with a faint smirk.
"You're burning up, y'know," John sighed as he removed his hand from Paul's feverish forehead.
"R-really? I feel pretty cold!" Paul said as he tried his best to keep himself warm, but was failing terribly.
"Looks like you've got a fever too. What am I gonna do with you, McCartney?" John added with a regretful smile, for he truly did feel bad for his friend. A broken leg and a fever all while being stuck out in below-freezing weather just seemed barbaric, as John thought.
John waited for a response, but, oddly enough, he didn't receive one. Just complete and utter silence.
"Paul?" he pressed as he stared at the intense, serious expression on his friend's pale, yet flushed face.
"Look," the younger man whispered as he pointed to a stopped car with its headlights shining brightly. "We should go over to them. Then we'll be saved!" he added with a sudden smile.
John then looked up to see exactly what his songwriting partner was speaking of and grew just as excited. This certainly changed things, didn't it?
"Yeah! We should! Let's go then!" Lennon declared as he began to trudge forward, basically dragging Paul on accident.
"Aye!" Paul objected as his leg sent another shot of searing pain.
"Oh, gosh. I'm so sorry, Macca!" John apologized, for he realized what he had been doing.
"It's fine. Let's just keep going," Paul replied, his face scrunching up in determination.
"Okay, but I've got an idea."
"And what might that be?" Paul asked.
"This!" John exclaimed as he swept the bassist up in his arms. Sure, it was soft, but John wanted to get to the stopped car as soon as possible. After all, human life seemed tempting, at that moment.
"John, you git! Put me down!" Paul objected as he began to weakly thrash around in John's grip.
"Stop it, McCartney, or I'll throw you down and leave you there in the snow!" John lectured, which, to his surprise, caused Paul to relax substantially.
"Ta, Lenny," the younger Beatle said simply.
"No problem, Macca."
Minutes later, after an exhausting escapade through the almost knee-deep snow, John and Paul approached the car. John was still carrying Paul, at this point, and John was beginning to grow even more worried about Paul's temperature, for the poor bassist was absolutely burning up. In fact, he was actually warming John up from the intense cold.
"He's got to get the medical attention he needs!" John thought. "But, at least we're really close to help now."
"Excuse me!" the rhythm guitarist called out to the two men standing beside the motionless car.
The two men were obviously frightened out of their thoughts at the sound of John's voice and they were even more alarmed when they noticed him carrying another man.
"What are you doing out here, lad?" the tall, slender man asked, confused, as he stared between John and Paul, the latter of which now had his fever-glowing eyes blearily cracked open.
"We've lost a dog and my friend here needs help. He's broken a leg and he has a fever," John explained hastily.
"Oh," the chubbier man of the two sighed regretfully as he glanced down at an object John couldn't quite see. John did pick up on the fact, though, that the man suddenly seemed distraught.
"What happened with you two?" he inquired as he felt Paul begin to shift in his arms. Boy, was he getting heavy! "Paul, would you mind if I put you down for a minute?" he then whispered.
"Sure," the injured bassist replied and, so, John did what he spoke of.
As he was putting him back on his feet, the skinny man answered in a somewhat grim tone.
"Well, we were driving along when the storm hit and blurred everything. We couldn't see a thing! And that's when it happened," he stopped as he bit his lip and fidgeted with his toboggan.
"What happened?" Paul spoke up weakly, now seeming scared.
"We, uh. We hit the, um. We hit that p-poor dog over t-there," he basically whispered, his face contorting in regret and sadness as he pointed over to where the animal apparently laid.
As soon as John had heard the words, his stomach dropped as if he was riding a rollercoaster. He had a terrible feeling he knew which dog it was.
Paul, on the other hand, seemed not to have that thought cross his mind. Instead, he, for some odd reason, took it upon himself to hobble over to the dog, perhaps to check on it.
"Paul, no!" John cried as he leapt forward to stop the bassist from possibly seeing his dog, no, his best friend, for she wasn't just a dog to him.
But, it was too late. Paul had already seen her.
There, illuminated by the bright headlights, laid Martha. Seemingly motionless at first, but, with careful inspection, you could see her sides moving up and down, ever so slightly. Poor dog on that cold, cold pavement. She never saw it coming.
Paul was speechless. His fever was causing his brain to slow down considerably, so he wasn't exactly processing what he was seeing. He just stood there, completely still. But, then it hit him.
"Martha!" he cried out before all coherent thinking fled from his feverish mind.
John watched in horror as Paul's legs gave out from under him and his eyes slid closed.
"Macca!" the rhythm guitarist shrieked as he lunged forward to save his ailing friend.
Catching him right before he collapsed onto the hard pavement below, John held his breath as he tried to wake Paul up from his faint.
"Paul, lad! Wake up!" he repeated as he lightly slapped Paul's burning hot cheeks. "Macca!"
"Oh, dear," the chubby man sighed once more. "What shall we do?"
"I don't freaking know!" John yelled. "Paul needs a hospital and Martha needs the vet, so take your pick!"
The two men stood surprised for a minute before the taller one spoke, seeming strangely calm.
"Alright, you get in the car with your friend and Sam and I will get your dog. I know a good vet we can get to if we hurry and somebody can help your mate there as well. Sound good?"
John, not knowing of a better idea, instantly agreed.
"Okay..." he replied, but stopped for he didn't know the man's name.
"Name's Robert. Now get in the car. We don't have much time."
"Okay."
And with that, John carried the unconscious form of his songwriting partner into Robert and Sam's black car, not having a clue about what the future would hold.
Alright, I know that chapter was kinda boring, but the next one will be a whole lot more emotional, just you wait! Thanks again for all of the amazing comments and votes! I appreciate it more than you know!