Scrawl

My eyes opened.

The adrenaline coursing through my veins and the heat of the burning Bronco surge into my brain like a cannon shot to the gut rippling against a fat man's stomach. I was back on the ground, covered in... something? I could smell the metallic viscera of blood replaced by agonizing pressure as mucus and blood combine creating an airtight seal in my nose.

I gasped for air swallowing mouthfuls of acrid heavy metallic smoke. The wad of blood and mucus rolled down the back of my throat and I cough up disgusting. The ringing in my ears subsides and I was able to hear again.

I looked down at my leg, seeing ripped open. Fuck. Put pressure on it. Don't bleed out, god damnit. Focus returns, but I start to sob and heave as I make my way over to Peter who is totally fucking toast. His legs look like gymnastics ribbons mashed into hamburger meat. I gag. His belt. Get his belt.

I rolled over Peter and I made the mistake of looking at his face, unsure what to expect other than more hamburger. It's the back of a skull with eyes, teeth, tongue intact, but all mixed up like a game of boggle.

Gagging, I looked over at the neatly blown off top of the Ford Bronco that landed a surprising distance from the road.

Snapping back into focus, I managed to get a grip on his double loop belt buckle and yank it open. My stomach lurching into my throat as I rolled Peter fully around, ripping the belt off of his torso. My face burned, the smoke thickened, my eyes screamed.

The jeans that I'd been wearing since Mitchell's turned purple as I released my hand from denim to loop the belt around my leg, well above slash on my calf, up past my knee and pulled as hard as I could.

My eyes opened.

I sputter awake, and I'm back in the hospital bed. I glance at the clock, and it's 7:30 and my foot is still screaming while I groan. I hit the button once. I feel better, despite the chatter of CBC News on Jeff's TV.

"High of 45° with a humidex making it feel more like 55°. UV index of 12, better than it has been, Joanne, but still very, very high. Moving over to the long term forecast..."

Jeff spoke through a mouthful of something, "Good morning Sunshine, sweet dreams?"

"Not exactly," I look down at where I had been bleeding out in my dream. The vividness of it was too real. However, the long cut is well stitched up now, bandaged up and clean, along with the shallow cut that runs from my belly to my left nipple that wasn't in the dream this time.

Travis was also missing from the dream. He managed to yank the pin from the signal beacon which ultimately got us out of there.

"Hang on a sec," Jeff says. I hear his weight shift on the bed as he gets up and slides our partition curtain back so I can see the TV. Prime Minister Rooney on TV, a clip was repeating showing him being pelted by rocks; without my glasses I couldn't read the chyron clearly.

"What's this?"

"Saskatchewan. Associationists, or whatever in the fuck they're called."

"Amalgamists."

"Yeah, out there trying to maybe stop them from voting to join Alberta and the West. If it keeps going this way, maybe the rest of us will vote to join West Canada in few years, eh?"

"I'm more of a Cascadia guy myself, personally. Even with those nuts in Jefferson."

The TV was back to showing B-Roll of the fires up north. Jeff turns the volume up a bit, and lays back down on his bed, putting his CPAP mask back on.

"Scenes of devastation from Kasabonika Lake First Nation, where the fires continue to rage."

The footage cuts to a medium closeup of an Indigenous woman, who is clearly distraught.

"'Just, everything is gone. We were able to get out just in time, but this... there are no words.' "

"Residents are distraught at the sheer level of destruction, shown here in footage exclusive to CBC from our drone, which was taken shortly before smoke overtook the area."

"For CBC News, I'm Peeta Montgomery."

My leg demanded more attention and I abided it by giving it the old click-a-roo.

"Careful with that stuff, " Jeff says, "It's the good one."

"Yeah yeah yeah, pain, you know," I say, gesticulating at my leg.

Jeff swaps over to some opinion stuff.

The young guy with sharp features said, "People can't pay their doctor bill, the Chinese are on the moon... what happened to western society?"

A child with a beard and glasses nodded simply, and added "Right, right, all the science. Yes."

"Prior to the last administration the colony at the Sea of Tranquility, and the incident at the reactor core and everything, it seemed really promising, but then the bug-out, we were basically asking for it of you ask me."

Jeff switched back over to the weather channel. "Anything you wanna watch?"

"Nah, man, I'm good."

He turned of the TV just as a face I haven't seen before in a dress shirt entered the room, doing that sarcastic knock that's more of an announcement of "'I'm coming in, and there's nothing you cad do" rather than a request to be invited in. He looks at Jeff and says "Matthew Buttler?"

Jeff pointed at me, and the guy's eyes focused.

"Ah good. My name is Gil Thompson, I'm here on behalf of MerCo to talk about what happens next after you're discharged on Wednesday."

"What day is it today?"

"Saturday. We found a suitable location and the transfer papers have already been signed between the Force of Columbia and ZeroWorries so--"

"Sorry, what?"

Jeff looked over at me, "First time, huh?"

"Mr. Buttler, sorry, yes, I should explain. The group you were with were affiliated with us, MerCo, who oversee transactions between private military contractors throughout the theater."

I heard the -er.

"Because of the incident and the death of the majority of those who had you in custody, another company has outbid your original custodians for possession, and has taken over your custody– ZeroWorries, entitling them to any associated bounties and fees associated with your capture."

"Wh--what?"

"You were with some people. Now you're going with other people. It's not human trafficking if that's what you're thinking. It's technically covered under MerCo rules of engagement, and sanctioned as part of MerCo's neutrality agreement."

He went to trafficking pretty quick.

"Once you're discharged you'll be taken to a nearby PMC-controlled or PMC-friendly area for them to deal with you in terms of negotiating, for example, for your release to the Americans, or Canadians, or whoever they're aligned with. In this case, because you were with American aligned, we opened bidding to the American-aligned groups, and ZeroWorries was the higher bidder. It's not surprising though."

"Yeah, even I've heard of them. Not in positive ways, but I've seen their ads."

Gil made a sound of agreement. "They're one of the largest MerCo orgs, and pay in a lot of administrative costs from what I've seen, so they're pretty well funded."

"Just... American."

"I'm American. My family's from Ogdensburg, and I used to come to Canada all the time as a kid." Gil's posture changes. "Anyway, we've got signed up for muscle recovery injections and a graft for your leg on Monday, which gives you Tuesday tp recover. By then you should be pretty much good to go by Wednsday afternoon. Can you sign here saying that I outlined the schedule to you?"

I take the stylus and tablet from gil and scrawl out my name.

"Great! All right, Matthew, I'll see you on your way out, but if I don't, I hope you have a really fast recovery."

After Gil left the room, both Jeff and I looked at each other as a silence hung in the air.

Jeff spoke first.

"Christ, what an asshole."