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Summary
At first, Finney thought he was dead.
He woke in pieces, like something dredged up from the bottom of a lake. He was moving - though it wasn’t him; he was being cradled, the motion swaying him in a loping, uneven rhythm that dragged at his stomach. Then there was a sensation of pressure: a hard arm hooked beneath his ribs, another bracing his back.
He was being carried, his brain tried to tell him again, and the realization surfaced slowly, thick and sluggish, like pushing through mud.
His head lolled, neck refusing to hold it upright. Every shift sent a dull, splitting ache through his skull, as if something inside it had cracked and was grinding with each step. His throat burned raw, tight when he tried to swallow, like he’d been screaming for hours and forgot.
Thinking didn’t come easy, either. Thoughts slid past each other, half-formed, dissolving before they finished. Soup. Everything felt like soup.
But he knew that much, at least.
Series
- Part 1 of interference