Cracking one eye open proved to be a mistake. He immediately closed it against a light seemed all too bright. Ian knew he'd been out, but he didn't know for how long. And there was a headache, like a potent hangover, throbbing at his temples. The world took on a crazy tilt as he sat up, threatening to pour him right back into the inviting blackness. The only thing keeping that darkness at bay was the searing pain radiating from his broken arm. Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut to fight off a wave of nausea. After it passed, he tentatively opened his eyes and took stock.
I'm in a... cave? ANDERS!
He made a panicked sweep around hoping to see his partner nearby. There wasn't a lot of space in this chamber, and he quickly came to the disappointing conclusion that he was alone. The walls were smooth, solid rock with a shimmer of moisture on them. Above him, the tips of several stalactites rained droplets of water onto his grime-covered face. One side of the cave wall shone with a trail of yellow-green light that was strangely comforting. The pulsing and glowing reminded him of a line of fireflies flickering across a field in the springtime.
He leaned up onto his good arm and allowed his eyes to wander across the wall until he noticed the lights disappearing down a lone tunnel. Keeping his injured arm tucked against his chest he pushed himself to his feet. It wasn't until he was standing that he saw his gun lying on the ground nearby. He bent over to retrieve his weapon and his head began to spin. He snatched his gun up off of the ground and slid it into its holster before falling back against the wall of the cave.
"Okay, Ian. Dank cave, strange lights, broken arm. Weapon is seemingly intact."
A flashback of the recent combat ran through Ian's mind, replaying the image of Anders' broken body flying through the air. And one dead partner, his brain helpfully chimed in. He could feel the temptation to break down and let all this madness consume him. How could he face Cadence? Explain to her what happened to her husband, his partner?
A wave of grief washed over him and threatened to push him into true anguish. He closed his eyes again and took some deep, calming breaths. Slowly, the panic and despair receded replaced by his resolve. He couldn't afford to wallow in grief and self-pity. Above all else, Ian had to know why. It was one of the traits that made him such an excellent detective. Why had this happened? Or for that matter what had happened? And most importantly, why did Anders have to die for it?
Shoving off from the wall with a grimace, he worked his way out of his jacket. He could feel the bone grinding as he pulled his left arm out of the sleeve, and he had to bite his lip to keep from screaming. His arm bent at an angle that it had no right to bend in, so he knew he'd have to set it. Needing something to bite down on, Ian opened his mouth and crammed the cuff of his jacket into it. The sound of his rapid breathing filled the air as he worked himself up to the task at hand.
"Just look at the lights..." He calmly told himself.
After one last exhale came the resounding snap of his bone going back into place. An unintelligible yell of jumbled expletives echoed through the cave. Pain shot along his arm as he continued taking deep breaths to keep from passing out. Once finished with that particular bit of fun, he jury-rigged a sling out of his jacket. It would at least stabilize his arm until he could get to a hospital.
With no better prospects, he made his way through the blessedly flat, smooth, and well-lit cave. Three for three, in terms of things-to-hope-for-when-waking-up-injured-in-a-strange-cave. He followed the lights, leaning heavily on his good arm and using the wall as a crutch. Minutes or hours ticked by and Ian's body sagged with exhaustion. With sweat on his brow and his legs aching for rest, he finally saw the greatest thing possible: daylight. As he lumbered out of the darkness, he stood stricken with his mouth agape.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
The ground dropped off into a steep grass-covered hill a few feet outside of the cave. This vantage point afforded him a picturesque view of a forest that stretched out as far as he could see. Above him was a vast canopy of emerald-green leaves. The dense foliage reminded Ian of oak trees. Though the towering trunks more closely resembled the ancient redwoods of California. Off to the right, he saw the snowy white caps of a mountain range peeking over the gargantuan trees.
Well, that seems to make about as much sense as the rest of this day, Ian thought.
His arm throbbed painfully, turning his attention back to more immediate concerns. Ian checked his gun first, deeming that the most important thing for his survival. There were some new scuff marks along the barrel and a chip in the trigger guard, but no structural damage. He tested the slide gingerly, gripping it with his injured left hand and pushing with the right. A satisfying shick-click expelled the chambered bullet, sending it sailing over the edge of the hill.
He pressed the catch to release the magazine and it landed in the crook of his sling. Ian let out an agonizing groan through gritted teeth, doubling over from the spiking pain in his arm. Should've seen that coming. Once the pain had subsided he shifted the magazine until he could see the numbered markings along the back edge. Four rounds left, plus two spare magazines, thirty-four total. He hoped that he wouldn't need any of them. He replaced the magazine and holstered his gun.
He took stock of the rest of his meager resources. In his back pocket, his wallet was still there and as thick as ever. He'd finally get to try out that credit card survival tool that he'd gotten three years ago and never touched since. The slim piece of steel had a knife, saw blade, and according to the website, "nine other essential tools!" His phone was still in his front right pocket, and his badge in the left. He pulled out the phone and checked it, amazed to find that the screen had no cracks. Though he found had no signal either. Before turning his phone off, to conserve the battery, he saw the time in the corner was showing 42:01.
Ian headed down the slope taking it slow, making sure that the loose rocks under his feet didn't send him tumbling down the hillside. He had worked up a decent sweat by the time he reached the forest floor. Once there, he cast a glance back at the cave entrance, a bit hesitant to leave its relative safety behind. But he knew that without service on his phone or any real supplies he would need to find help or civilization before sunset. First, though, he would need to fashion a splint and walking stick.
A storm must've rolled through the area because dozens of tree limbs and a veritable blanket of leaves covered the ground. Charred, blackened ends of fallen branches, ranging in size from tree trunk to arm thick lay splintered and cast along the forest floor. The damage was all confined to the immediate area though and centered around the cave. There was a ring of trees that might have been maples, except they had either died from disease or been struck by devastating lightning. They were a ghastly gray color from the base of the trunk through the very last leaf. Fifty feet beyond the hill there were no signs of the storm at all.
Ian didn't dwell on it, telling himself that localized storms and microbursts were common enough occurrences. He dug his survival card out from his wallet and sat down on a plump fallen tree. Using the saw blade on the card he fashioned himself a splint and a walking stick. After some trial and error, he had managed to get the break set properly in the splint. He tied his jacket into a sling, making his broken limb more manageable.
"I can't be that far from D.C," He muttered, casting his eyes around the forest. Glancing back at the mountain range, he could now make out only the tallest snowy peak over the treetops. "Which would make those... do the Appalachian Mountains even have peaks high enough for snow caps?"
Soon the dryness in his mouth and the ache in his head told him that it was time to get moving. "Step one, find water. Step two, try to find a phone signal or someone with a radio. Step three, call for help."
The last thing he'd had to drink was coffee, and he could already feel the creep of dehydration. The vicious white flecks were already forming at the corners of his mouth, and a parched scratch tickled in the back of his throat. He closed his eyes and focused, trying to pick up the sound of running water.
Nothing. He opened his eyes and let out a soft sigh. Leaning back towards his walking stick, he gripped the top and pushed up from the log with a grunt. His head swam as he got to his feet causing him to sway unsteadily. He sat back down heavily and allowed his mind to drift, memories of Anders came to him as he collected himself.