Page 72 of Ride the Lightning
Peaceful darkness pulled at him, but Jonah fought to stay awake. He had to get his guys to safety.
The gunfire stopped, and the silence was far scarier.
They were coming.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Water splatted against Jonah’s face, a few droplets at first followed by a deluge. Where was he? Had enemy fighters captured him? Would they torture him?
When Jonah opened his eyes, clarity didn’t come to him right away. It came to him in stages—excruciating ones because his head felt like someone had sawed through his skull and removed half of his brain. First, Jonah realized he wasn’t in Afghanistan. He was lying facedown in a dark parking lot with his cheek pressed to the hard pavement. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, and he comprehended the water was rain and not a form of torture. Thunder rumbled loudly, matching the thudding of his heart.
Where was he? What happened to his head? He needed to get to his feet and find shelter from the storm. Knowing what he needed to do and accomplishing it weren’t the same thing.
Even in the rain, Jonah could smell the metallic tang of blood. Whose blood? He opened his mouth to call out for his brothers until he remembered they were already dead. Jonah’s eyes fell shut, and darkness beckoned. It was peaceful there. All he had to do was stop fighting its pull.
Another flash of lightning rent the sky, and it was so brilliant Jonah could see it behind closed eyelids. The violent clap that followed shook the ground.There are worse ways I could die.
A phone started ringing. Whose was it? “Help me,” Jonah whispered gruffly. No one rushed to aid him as Mother Nature’s temper tantrum intensified. The phone quieted, then immediately started back up again. The cool rain helped clear his brain enough to realize it was his phone ringing. Jonah supported his weight on one arm and reached into his pocket with the other.
The caller ID looked blurry, but he could still read the name.Avery.
Jonah stabbed his finger at the phone to accept the call, as the gulf between consciousness and oblivion grew wider.
“Help me,” Jonah said into the phone as he tumbled over the edge.
Jonah’s next lucid moment came when he was getting wheeled into the hospital on a gurney. The EMTs were giving a full report to a blonde-haired ER doctor, who kept glancing down at him as she ran alongside him.
The overhead lights were too bright, and they took on a strobe-like effect as Jonah moved beneath them. Jonah squeezed his lids shut, but it was too little too late. The lights and movement made his stomach revolt, and he made a gagging noise.
“Stop,” the doctor demanded. “Roll him to his side.”
They raised the head of the gurney up. Jonah turned his head and leaned as far as he could to empty his stomach on the tile floor. The smell and splattering sound made Jonah retch even more. His entire body tensed and seized up until fingers slid into his hair once more to soothe him.
“You’re going to be okay.”
Avery. But how?
Jonah’s teeth began to chatter, and his body shook, making him realize how cold and wet he was. The jarring motions exacerbated the pain in his skull to the point where he thought he might be sick again.
“We need to get him into a room and get those wet clothes off him,” the doctor said. “Let’s go.”
They started started moving, and the world started spinning again. Jonah closed his eyes, hoping to ward off another round of violent puking. He was so relieved once the gurney stopped inside an exam room. Everyone around him burst into a flurry of motion with the doctor calling out orders. They removed his clothes, cutting through anything that gave them fits before covering Jonah with heated blankets. The weight and warmth made him relax into the bed. Darkness was calling for him again, and he had no reason to resist.
“Stay with me,” the doctor said sharply.
Jonah snapped open his eyes and stared in the green assessing gaze of the blonde doctor.
“I’m Dr. Sheridan. Can you tell me your name?” she asked him when she noticed his eyes had opened.
“Jonah St. John,” he replied. It felt like he was shouting, but she bent closer to him as if she couldn’t hear him.
Dr. Sheridan shone a penlight in his eyes, then continued asking him more questions. She wanted to know things like what year it was, who the president was, where Jonah lived, and his date of birth. “What’s my name again?” she asked.
“Um, Dr. Sheridan,” he whispered. Just answering those few questions had exhausted him.
“You’ve got one hell of a concussion,” Dr. Sheridan said. “Let’s run some tests to see the extent of his brain trauma.” Brain trauma? That sounded bad. Really bad. She rattled off the tests to the team, using acronyms. He recognized one or two from his previous injuries ten years ago. “We need to get his head wound to stop bleeding so we can assess the damage there. Any idea what his attacker struck him with?” Dr. Sheridan asked.
“No idea,” Avery said.