T/W: Mentions Blood, severe injuries, and monsters.

****

It was dusk by the time Rafferty finally regained consciousness. His whole being ached. His throat was as dry as the desert. He struggled to a sitting position. His truck, naturally, was gone. So, were the thugs. Rafferty struggled to stand, but almost immediately fell back to the ground, a wave of nausea and dizziness overtaking him. He lay on the cold, hard ground, eyes closed tight, trying to fight the urge to hurl.

Several minutes passed before Rafferty slowly opened his eyes, running a hand over his blood caked face. At least nothing on his face appeared to be broken. He couldn’t be so certain on any rest of the parts of his body. It was difficult to know if anything was broken. All he knew for sure at the moment was that his entire body was screaming out in pain. Rafferty slowly eased himself up into a sitting position once again. He gingerly pulled up his shirt, revealing multiple bruises and one large gash on his chest. He yanked his torn, blood soaked shirt down and begin examining his arms. There were more bruises and several scratches and cuts. Rafferty then checked his legs. His right leg wasn’t too horrible. However, his left leg appeared slightly mangled. Rafferty didn’t think it was completely broken, but it wasn’t in the best shape, either.

"This is just flippin’ fantastic,” Rafferty growled to himself. Once the militia of Cannan discovered what happened to him and their shipment, they’d come for him. Those thugs would have been doing him a huge favor by just killing him. Of course, he might not need to worry about it. He’d most likely perish out here in this wasteland. He’d probably succumb to some internal bleeding on account of the vicious beating he’d taken. Who knew how close anybody was to here?

Rafferty was literally out in the middle of nowhere. A perfect place to hijack someone. Not a living soul around for miles. And who knew what else could be lurking out here? Rafferty hadn’t ever seen any of them, but he’d heard rumors of vicious beasts out in this place. He sighed heavily, trying to figure out a plan. The only course of action Rafferty could muster at the moment was start walking. It wasn’t much of a plan. But it would have to do for now.

***
Rafferty had been walking for two hours straight. He’d seen no one and nothing.  He wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. He had found a long, strong stick to assist him with his ever aching leg. He’d also come across a small, crappy pond. He’d cleaned up his wounds, but wondered if he’d only done himself more harm than good by applying the filthy water to open wounds. Rafferty had also drank some of the water. He was practically dying of thirst. Besides, he figured he might not live through the night with the condition he was in. Rafferty leaned heavily on the stick. How much more of this could he endure? He was fading fast. He needed food. And a good rest. Neither of which was anywhere in sight. Rafferty blew his breath out and slowly continued on his way.

Rafferty finally spotted an area where he could at least rest.  There was a small grove of dying trees, and a large log, lying on the ground, where Rafferty could prop himself up against. He gingerly lowered himself to the ground, wincing in pain, getting settled as best as possible.  He wasn’t sure he’d sleep and he didn’t have any matches for a fire. But at least he could rest. He decided he continue could his trek to hopefully find some assistance tomorrow. If he could, that is.

****
After Rafferty made himself as comfortable as possible. He wondered briefly if he’d even be able to move in the morning, given how beaten and battered he was. How did it come to this? He wondered. He used to have a normal life. Or some resemblance of a normal life anyways. Rafferty tried to conjure up some of those old memories. They evaded him. It was such a long time ago. He could only remember bits and pieces. The memories were like a dream after awakening. Faded pictures that blurred together. He couldn’t remember much. Maybe it was better this way, Rafferty thought. It would only make him more miserable. And he felt miserable enough as it was.

****
Something horrible woke Rafferty out of a deep, dreamless sleep. His body jerked. He cursed loudly. His entire body was stiff with pain. What had he heard? Maybe he’d just dreamt it. No. There it was again. It was a loud roaring sound. But not quite. Rafferty had never heard a sound like that in his entire life. It was pitch black out here. He had no light. For all he knew, whatever that thing was, could be right behind him. He struggled to stand. It took him a few tries to do so. His body rebelling and screaming with pain. Especially the mangled leg.

"Shit!” Rafferty growled. Where would he even go? There wasn’t any place to hide out here. He grunted and groaned as he limped along. Then he saw it: a faint light about twenty yards away. He hoped it was a house. Or at least a secure building. He limped along, looking around for whatever was making that awful sound. He didn’t hear anything. Maybe whatever it was had moved on. Suddenly a large form stood in front of him. Rafferty stopped, frozen to the spot where he stood, his heart hammering away in his chest. He couldn’t tell WHAT it was since it was so blasted dark out here. The thing charged and Rafferty began to run. He ran as fast as his injured leg would allow.

He shouted, hoping if there was someone in the shelter, they’d come to his aid. He shouted again. He was almost there. A door flew open. He went to shout again, but the thing clawed at him, knocking him down. Rafferty saw his life flash before his eyes as the thing lunged at him. He could feel the thing latch on to his already mangled leg. He cried out in pain.

"Get away from him!” A voice shouted. There was a bright, orange flame coming closer and closer. Rafferty could feel his consciousness slipping away. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but it was no use. He slumped back to the ground, the blissful blackness overtaking him until he remembered no more.

***
Everly Sloane had been sitting on the couch in front of the warm, crackling fire, reading. She’d read this particular book a hundred times, but it was that comforting to her. She didn’t have much else to cling to these days. She’d been living here in this house for nearly two years, alone. She would have left a long time ago except she had nowhere else to go. She had dozed off and was awakened by the sound of a-Grund. She shuddered. Oh, how she hated those horrible creatures! They were so aggressive and terrifying. Everly suddenly heard another sound. At first, she thought maybe she was dreaming. It had been such a long time since she’d heard the sound of another person’s-voice. She heard it again.

Everly tossed the thin, worn blanket aside and jumped up, rushing to the back door, unlocking it and throwing it open. Everly gasped. A-man was lying on the ground, a-Grund, ready to pounce. Her first thought was...Jackson. But no. This man wasn’t Jackson. Everly rushed into the kitchen, grabbing up a torch. She ran back out, turning the knob, as bright, orange flames burst out. She ran at the Grund, shouting at it, even though she was shaking violently. The Grund growled and snarled, but it was slowly backing away. Everly shouted again, waving the torch menacingly. The Grund snarled again and Everly felt faint.

"Get away! Now!” She roared as loudly as she could. The Grund finally turned and slinked away. Everly released a ragged breath. She rushed over to the man lying on the ground. His left leg was barely attached and Everly felt her stomach roll. She had to collect herself before deciding what to do. She ran back inside the house, snatched up some bandages and a blanket.

The man was bleeding heavily and Everly feared he’d bleed to death before she could even get him inside the house. She knelt down, wrapping up his injured leg the best she could, trying to stop the heavy flow of blood. Her hands were wet and sticky and it made her want to gag. Finally, Everly felt confident enough to try and roll the man on to the blanket and drag him into the house. It took a few tries, but eventually Everly was successful. She slowly pulled the man into the house and shut the back door, locking it once again.

Everly went and begin boiling some water. The man was in a sorry state, physically. His face was all bruised and cut. She could see dried blood caked in patches all over his face. His clothes were filthy and blood covered and torn. What happened to this man? Everly wondered as she cleaned him up the best she could. She pulled up his coat and shirt, revealing multiple bruises and a large gash. She worked on him for several minutes before gathering enough courage to tackle sewing up the man’s leg. She gathered up everything she’d need and sat down.

Everly realized her hands were trembling and tried to steady them. She prayed she wouldn’t pass out or throw up. She carefully unwound the bandages and cleaned the leg the best she could. Then she began the slow and agonizing process of sewing up the man’s leg. She just kept praying she wouldn’t leave the poor man with a gimp leg for the rest of his life.

****
Two hours later, Everly was finished. She was drenched in sweat and her hands, t-shirt and jeans were covered with blood. She left the man lying on the floor and went to clean herself up. She drew a long breath, slowly releasing it as she stripped off the blood soaked clothes. She washed her hands and arms. Then she pulled clean clothes from her dresser drawer. She wadded up the bloody articles of clothing, deciding to just toss them. She could have just cleaned them, but Everly didn’t care to keep an reminders of this experience.

She went back to the man, who was still unconscious. Tears pricked at her eyes. She hoped desperately that he’d LIVE. Then she managed to get him into her bedroom and bed. She just stood there, watching him. Everly at last left the bedroom. She knew there’d be no sleep for her tonight.