David’s return to consciousness happened in stages.
First came a woozy, swimming sense of self. Then a dull throbbing from the back of his head. After that came other sensations; aching agonized shoulders, throbbing pain from his wrists and an alarming numbness beyond them. Pressure against his chest.
Then he moved and pain stabbed through his skull. He hissed in pain, then tried to open his eyes. Nothing happened.
Terror surged through him, he was blind! Then with his heart pounding in his chest and his mouth already open in a soundless scream he stopped. It wasn’t that he was blind, his eyes were shut, his face felt -sticky?-
He tried again to open his eyes and this time one, his right opened just a bit, causing him to blink furiously as he realized that gummy sticky something was all over it. It took a moment for the coppery smell to percolate to his brain.
Blood, his face was caked in mostly dried blood. He felt another wave of nausea and groaned pitifully. Then groaning he tried to turn his head.
Nausea and pain nearly made him pass out. Where was Mark when you needed him?
That bleary thought shocked him more awake. He remembered, the fight, the desperate rush to try to use his power to open a path for people to escape.
Being hit.
He just lay still for a moment trying to work out what was going on. His hearing! Foggily he focused on the spiritual hearing that he was so used to and got the next shock.
IN, IN, IN.
He was literally surrounded by Nath. Dozens of them were right on top of him! Woozily he tried to thrash, but something stopped him then the savage pain in his head erased all thought.
Blearily, he realized that his wrists were secured out in front of him. His partially blocked eye had a view of a seat cushion?
A plastic cushion with little padding, secured to a metal frame. As his brain fumbled through, he realized that this was part of a row of seats, seats bolted to the floor. Still foggy, he moved his head very slowly this time and saw that he was draped over one of those rows of chairs you get in the airport. One of several, so at a gate maybe?
His hands were tied out in front of him, anchored probably to the chair itself. He wasn’t alone. There were other slumped forms, bloody and beaten like him, each draped over a chair in grim rows. Looking around he saw the zombies. They were just standing all facing in the same direction.
The eerie chant reached his ears.
IN, IN, IN
They were all chanting in unison, and he could feel more of them. Moving slowly as his head throbbed he slowly turned his head and looked in the direction that they were all focused on.
It was hard to focus and his depth perception was screwed up by having one eye gummed shut.
They were at a departure gate, but there was no plane. Instead on the tarmac below there were scattered zombies all facing inwards, all unmoving. They seemed to be arranged in a pattern, though that made little sense. At the focal point of the pattern were five figures.
Four were hunched over facing inwards at the corners of a cargo net, each stood on a corner of it to stop it from moving. Even in relative stillness he could recognize the stance of the strange new zombies in three of them. They were all men, their skin had the grey pallor he associated with the zombies, but they moved smoothly in that odd inhuman way. The fourth, standing over the final figure was a dark-skinned woman with grey-white hair. She didn’t have the pallor of the zombies and had her head cocked as though she was listening.
The final figure lay sprawled trapped under the cargo net and moving weakly.
It was Camila.
David felt sick. It wasn’t just his head; those things were doing something to Camila. He didn’t know what, but he was sure based on the cargo net that she was alive and expected to be uncooperative.
He tried to rack his brains; there had to be something he could do…
Everything was fuzzy and the nausea was coming in waves now. Then another thought occurred to him. He needed information. What had information? His system.
With a thought he brought it up.
He started to read through it. Well, that wasn’t good. Concussion explained his head at least. Health stuck at 1%, Stamina at 3%. Was he literally being held together by his stats? Should he be dead?
Damn, now he really wished he had the regenerate ability that Katie had. That brought on a stab of horror. He didn’t know if she was dead or alive.
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Focus, he had to focus. He thoughts went fuzzy for a minute, but he was finally able to focus at least a little. His shock as he read further down his status was enormous. He had what now? Halt at level 14. That was insane. The single highest number he had ever seen for stat, skill or resource.
All from killing Nath by ripping them apart with Halt and his bloodline…
He wasn’t feeling that bloated feeling of holding too many spirits so probably not a lot to work with there. He stopped in woozy bemusement. Thirty-one freaking spirits. He had had what ten? Something like that before.
Maybe he could do something if he could just figure this out.
Even as he watched his Stamina flickered dropping to 2% then stabilize.
As he lay there, slumped, he dismissed his status and tried to think.
David lay slumped over the uncomfortable plastic seats, just taking deep breaths. After half a dozen almost hyperventilating inhales his mind finally began to clear enough for him to think, to plan.
The zombies around him continued their rhythmic chant.
IN, IN, IN.
He could hear the connection now. They were focused entirely on whatever was happening on the tarmac below. Their attention, their will such as it was, pointed there, not here. He could almost hear threads linking them to the figures below. To their leader.
Or maybe that was the concussion talking. He was in bad shape. Health at 1%. Stamina at 3%. Severe damage. Concussion. The words painted the picture of him, clinging on by literal system magic.
They were clinical, detached. They didn't capture the swimming nausea or the way his skull felt like it might split open if he moved too quickly.
He needed a plan. Break it down into steps like any other problem. Step one: Get free.
His wrists were bound out in front of him, secured to the chair frame somehow. Rope maybe? He couldn't see clearly enough with one eye gummed shut and his head positioned wrong.
Testing the bonds sent fresh waves of pain through his shoulders.
Not rope. Something synthetic. Risking a stab of pain he lifted his head as he pulled with his arms and worked his knees up onto the seat under his belly.
Zip ties or flex cuffs? The pressure was wrong for rope, too even. No some sort of cargo strap.
That was actually useful information. He could cut it. If he had something to cut it with.
David's thoughts drifted to his pockets. His keys were there, he could feel them digging into his hip, which made him wonder why he still kept them there. Habit maybe. Cursing he pushed back the fog with more deep breaths.
Focus David.
Then he stopped. If he had his keys he had his key fob. Which was a goddamned pocketknife complete with that most useful of attachments a bottle opener.
More importantly it had not one but two blades. A small one that was dull and gummy with tape from opening goodness knows how many amazon boxes and the big blade he never used, at least not after he managed to damage one delivery by being enthusiastic and nicking the power cord as he tore through the tape.
So, solution in hip pocket. Which might as well be the moon when he was kneeling on the seat of one airport chair and stretched over where the backs touched to have his hands secured low on the other.
He took stock. God, they had done a terrible job of searching him. The gun was gone. So was the Machete clipped to his belt. That was it though.
Moving slowly to avoid drawing attention, David twisted his torso, working to raise his foot. The motion made his head throb and bile rise in his throat. He swallowed hard, tasting copper and old blood. Now he had one foot up on the seat and by twisting the other was he could get the other up. Real progress. From lying to kneeling to squatting.
He slowly looked around, no reaction.
IN, IN, IN.
Still chanting still distracted.
The knife was still there. He just had to get round. There were other people lined up next to him trussed like he was. Tensing he slowly, smoothly started to straighten his legs, just a bit, just to get his hips over the chair back.
His fingers were numb from the restraints cutting off circulation. He flexed them experimentally, trying to work feeling back into the tips. Pins and needles, then burning sensation. Good. He needed that pain. It meant the nerves still worked.
Around him the zombies stood motionless, their faces slack. There wasn’t enough slack for him to get his hands to his hips, not without flopping completely over the chair which he wasn’t sure he could do. He could feel the lump of keys and pocketknife pressed against the seat.
After a minute of wriggling he admitted defeat. The keys weren’t coming out of his pocket like this. Still, no reaction from the Nath in his hearing nor movement of any zombies he could see…
The angle was wrong, the restraints too tight. There was one way he could do this but his head throbbed even thinking about it. He had to go over the seat. If he pushed off with both feet he should naturally topple over the seat and he probably wouldn’t hit his head too badly on the way down…
Dammit, he paused breathing hard to clear his head a little. Everything was throbbing in time with his heartbeat now…
It was OK to just rest for a moment surely…
David realized everything was going a little hazy and bit down on his lip, hard. The flare of pain brought him back into focus and as he moved his head again he realized that he could just swing one leg over at a time, as long as he got it over the next person in line.
David rocked forward slightly, using his elbows for leverage, then pushed up with both legs before swinging his left leg up and over. Or rather he sort of side kicked the next prisoner in line in the face. He stopped.
Clever bastards he though hazily. They alternated so prisoners were tied on opposite sides – no freeing your neighbor…
Then he realized he needed to give himself a bit of room to swing his leg. So he slowly, painfully stood up. Which was a bad idea. Blood was rushing to his head and he felt sick and faint…
His Health hadn't moved from 1%, at least not until that moment when it blinked out. Crap. Was he dying?
Convert. He could use Convert. The skill let him transform resources. Magic he had Magic and he needed Health! Oh and Stamina. Lots of Stamina…
The conversion wasn't efficient – but he had practiced it so after a few deep breaths he got it working. First, Health…
He felt the energy bleeding across – Health ticked up 1%, 2%, 3%, 4% then back to 3%. His Magic was depleting fast so he stopped there.
Now Stamina. This was easier, not bottomed out it ticked up and even reached 5% before he felt the hollow sensation of depleted Magic. Better. Not good, but better.
Now to try that maneuver again. Butt up, feet back. Out we go…
It was clumsy and graceless, but this time David sort of half mounted the other prisoner and then got his knee over. Levering against their back and shimmying with his elbows and he was over. His foot was coming down!
It was in their seat, but it was the same side as his hands which were screaming as the straps dug into his wrists. Then he was dragging his other leg over and with a sort of graceless barely controlled flop David was over.
He had slack now. Not a lot but once his knees were on the ground it was possible to line his hands up with his pocket. Numb hands dipped in and slowly, painfully David worked the knife free from his pocket, nearly dropping it.
Now he just had to get it open. Numb fingers couldn’t feel to dig a nail into the groove in the blade. Desperate he felt tears form in his eyes. He was so close. Numb fingers struggled but couldn’t unclasp the knife. Finally, desperate he brought the knife to his mouth and used his teeth to grip the blade numb fingers to pry the handle away.
He barely got it to start opening when a wave of nausea hit and he slipped, teeth and numb fingers losing control as the knife slid down him hands and the spring caused the blade to swing back toward the handle. He pulled back forcing deep breaths to avoid vomiting.
Then he saw it and almost laughed out loud. The tip of the knife was still out. It had caught on the strap binding his hands and as the nausea subsided he was able to wedge the knife and work the blade out.
Shakily he started sawing at the edge of the strap watching the fibers part as he sawed away. The angle was horrible and finally he shifted and wedged the knife more firmly as he sawed.
Slow. Steady. Don't pass out…
The blade caught and slipped, caught and slipped.
Around him the zombies continued their drone.
IN, IN, IN.
The sound had become background noise, a metronome marking the passage of time. How long did he have? How long before whatever was happening on the tarmac finished? Before they noticed him moving?
David's Stamina dropped to 4% then 3%.
Was his head feeling a bit better? He couldn’t tell. His Health was ticking down again. Back to 2%.
Then David stared stupidly. The strap gave and fell to the floor with a sudden clatter. He froze, heart hammering. Had they heard?
The zombies didn't move. Their chant continued uninterrupted.
IN, IN, IN.
His hands were free. He wanted to shout with relief but settled for closing his eyes and breathing through the wave of pain-tinged euphoria.
