Not even a great day

Graham tore the sleeve from his shirt, tying it tightly around his upper thigh in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He slid himself across the floor to where John lay, wincing several times as the rebar struck the concrete, sending waves of pain radiating up his leg and to his head.

“John?” he shook him by the shoulders. “John! Can you hear me?” No reply. Graham’s finger pressed under John’s jawline did not reveal a pulse, but then again, Graham was in no shape to dispense medical opinions.

From where he now sat, he could see a crack of light from under a distant door, far down the hallway. He sat and let his eyes adjust, scanning the hallway for obstacles.

Forget 2010. It’s not even going to be a good day.

View this story's 1 comments.