"I've certainly been better," Noah said with a grimace. He looked away when she dug the piece of glass out of her hip. The smell of blood, the silence, the violence of the moment before was threatening to draw him under. He struggled against it but it was too powerful, consuming him.
Suddenly he was in Iraq. He hardness of the floor was the hard packed sand. The glass was from the car bomb that had just gone off. The pain in his leg was the gunshot he had sustained. Noah felt someone on him and he instinctively hit whatever part was closest, trying to get them off. He hit the enemy's shoulder hard and they rolled off. Noah scrambled over the glass, his injured leg not cooperating. He could barely see from the blood pouring down his face. He crouched down on the side of the bed and hid. He was shaking violently, his teeth chattering with the force of his shivers.
Noah looked around, searching for his weapon. He must have left it behind. Stupid, stupid! He searched frantically but couldn't find anything that would suffice as a weapon. Dread seeped in, his blood going cold. He was going to die. This was how he was going to die...defenseless and yes, scared. Noah was ashamed to find that tears were mixing with the blood covering his face.