Re: Post-Disaster
The pain was finally making itself known in his brain. His ribs hurt as did the lacerations from the flying glass torpedoes. Christ, what the fuck? He had to find Savannah. He could only imagine how her tiny little frame had been tossed around this fucking wreck.
Others were apparently coming to their senses enough to begin the screaming and crying - beginning stages of panic? No hysterics yet but no one had gotten a really good look around. He called out Savannah's name, louder this time, but still no answer except for a chair that tumbled at his feet. Then he caught sight of her. "Oh christ."
He made his way through the rubble, even stepping over another fallen passenger. How could he not, they were fucking everywhere? Bodies broken and bleeding and he didn't stop to wonder how many of them were no longer with this world. "Fuck me...mother fucker...," he muttered as he crunched over broken glass.
Without concern for the welfare of his knees, he knelt down next to Savannah and leaned over her. It seemed to take more strength than it should have to lift what looked like the housing unit of a speaker except for most of the speaker was now gone. At least that might have lightened the weight a little bit. He moved it aside, his eyes frantically searching for gaping wounds of some kind. His green eyes finally met hers, full of concern, and he whispered, "Oh christ, baby."
His hands gently brushed her hair back from her face and he saw the cut on her forehead. "Tell me what hurts." As if he could fix it. What the fuck was he going to do? What the fuck was anyone going to do? Where the mother fuck was help?