Chapter Text
Death, it seemed, was an absolute thing. An immovable veil of darkness and cold, one that shrouded him, threatening to extinguish the tiny light he still clung to. Pain, however, was changeable, encircling him, stinging in and out of each muscle, and appearing anew every moment he lay there in the sand. It was silent on the beach, but the ringing in his ears was deafening, pulsing with his weak heart. It was hard to describe what he was feeling, simply because he felt so many uncomfortable sensations at the same time. A dull ache, like being whacked too hard with the blunt end of a rifle. A jabbing, prickling pain, like a bee sting or stab from a hot poker. The sheer exhaustion of battle and strain from the weight of his own body. He might have thrown up had he not been simply too exhausted, and he could’ve screamed had he not been uncertain he was alive enough to make a sound.
He was dead, and soon, he would learn his eternal fate; that had to be it, or at least that’s what he thought. He felt a pair of hands on his own, lifting him. An angel, perhaps, or some stray spirit coming to take him down to hell. A few grains of sand crunched between his teeth as he gritted them against the dull pain all throughout his body. The hands left his shoulders and he was weightless, flying through the air to land roughly on something solid but squishy, no doubt a body, and the wind was knocked out of him once again as another man was tossed on top of him, heavy like a sack of gravel. He groaned, straining to hear the conversation happening above him as the pounding in his ears intensified.
“You hear that?” a voice said, youthful and concerned.
“Boy, get back to work,” said another. This voice was older and raspy, like wind through dry grass.
“No, somebody’s out there, I swear!” The boy dropped whoever he was holding, standing bolt upright to listen. “Didn’t you hear it? Over here!”
He felt the weight lift from on top of him, his face turned by strong hands. “Colonel Shaw?”
He tried his best to croak out a response to give some indication that he was alive. He blinked, the sun searing his eyes. It was the best he could do. He felt someone get very close to him, listening for a breath.
“My god, he’s alive!” the older voice.
He felt himself being lifted for the second time, trying to cling to whatever life was left in his body, all too aware of the fresh blood seeping into his uniform. He resisted the urge to cry out with relief as he was placed onto a stretcher and taken away from the beach, out of death’s clutches, for now.