The fucking rooster was crowing.

Why is there always a rooster crowing wherever I go?

Oh, fucking fuck, why did I hurt so much?

That’s what I felt and basically what I thought. I had way too many complaints and time to just shift to “Life fucking sucks and then someone shoots you in the back again.” That last little part was mine. I tried to stretch and realized that the left side of my back wasn’t interested. Shot in the back again, I remembered.

Brin was lying next to me, 'good dog.' I remembered he took a bad guy out. Yup, he could sleep next to me now if he wanted. There was a woman sleeping on the other side of me. More realistically, there was a body with a black shiny mane of hair sleeping next to me. It was hard to make out details with all that hair in the way. There was something at the back of my mind blowing emergency sirens; I needed to remember what it was.

My bladder was also throwing out emergency warnings. I needed to get up and find somewhere to pee. Getting up to go was a different matter because the left side of my body immediately told me to fuck off and my head was hitting the stomach eject button instantly, as pain rolled through my body. I focused on not screaming or puking. My vision swam blue and Doc grabbed me. I was shaking, sweating and grinding my teeth through the pain. The magic pills showed up again and Doc fed them to me one by one. I couldn’t focus well, but I needed to piss. Doc grabbed my penis in a silk soft hand and pushed on my bladder harshly.

Evacuating my bladder was pure relief. I didn’t care if Doc did have a hold of my dick, I just needed to void. I finished and started to collapse backwards but Doc held my head and gave me some more hootch to drink. It was fine and filling and I slept soon after.

Doc sure was looking awfully pretty these days.

**** ****

Hunger dreams. Vivid dreams of a tray of In-N-Out burgers being held just out of my reach. I followed it up to the surface of consciousness and burst through to being awake. I was hungry! I felt like I hadn’t eaten in days. I wanted some meat more than anything.

I managed to scoot myself to a semi-sitting position and looked for my packs.

Fuck, why were my packs with my food in them all the way over there now? I knew I had some food in there and I’d have to find a way to get myself over there. Where the hell was Doc when you needed help? Who the fuck was Doc anyway? Was that just another fever dream construct of mine? I wasn’t sure about the when, where, or what, of anything, right now. I was hungry and more than a bit woozy still; food and more sleep would put me right.

I was just starting to get competent with the whole one knee/one arm crawling, with a little help from Brin, when a Banshee launched her attack from across the room. Bereft of weapons and low on HP, I had no choice but to simply cower back before her fury. I was really fucking happy I didn’t speak her language.

Pete was there now and she turned her ire upon him. I remembered he had something to do with this and spying my shotgun across the room started crawling for that. Brin wasn’t helping me crawl any longer and my useless canine companion must have found a door somewhere to escape. I just wanted something to eat and a place to hide. I was concerned that the Banshee would track me down by following the blood trail I was leaving behind me.

I had finally resorted to a modified low crawl when Pete exclaimed something loudly and suddenly there were a cute pair of feet with a loud voice attached obstructing my way.

I noticed Pete trying to make an escape so I hollered out, “Pete, I’m fucking hungry!”

The screeching increased in volume and Pete slunk back into the room.

I was unceremoniously rolled onto a blanket and drug back over to my prison. Incredibly cruel treatment for an invalid prisoner, I wasn’t even provided proper hearing protection to lessen the aural assault. Where was silent Matilda when I needed her?

Brin crept back in and laid at my side. I simply glared at him. Had he not abandoned me, we could have made it to the glorious food stored in my packs. Instead, I was still starving and the Banshee was poking and prodding my tender wounds.

Pete was helping by rolling me over onto my right side so that the Banshee could continue my torture. We were face to face and he had to escape so I asked him, “Pete, who is this woman?”

Well Pete looked out to the distance like he was checking the weather through the roof so I asked louder, “Pete, who is this woman?”

“Your wife,” he said, and left at a sprint.