Michael Robertson - New Reality - Truth

The nail on Jake’s finger had snapped far too low and blood was leaking over the top of it. Biting down on his bottom lip, he looked at Tom. “I just snapped my fucking fingernail.”

Raising an eyebrow, Tom looked Jake up and down before sitting on his rock, his long body slumping once again.

Sucking his finger for a few seconds, a gritty mix of metallic blood and dirt filling his mouth, Jake held the scarf covering the lower half of his face away and spat on the floor.

Trying to be more cautious this time, he used the nail on his middle finger to tease the ring-pull away from the can. Lifting it to the point where it was just about the pierce the lid, the ring-pull then snapped off. Holding it in a pinch, he looked at it for a minute before glancing over at Tom.

With a sneer wiped across his face, Tom shook his head.

Holding the can up, Jake glared at it. “You’re not beating me. Not today!” Throwing it up and catching it again, he looked around.

Dashing it against the concrete seemed like the best option. Raising it above his head, Jake suddenly stopped as his eyes fell on a piece of rebar that protruded from the ground like a spear. Perfect.

Stepping closer to it, the pain in both of his legs reminding him he was a long way from being healed, Jake lifted the can again. As he brought it crashing down, he heard Tom shout, “Nooooooooooo!”

It was too late.

Pulling her knees to her chest, she slapped her hand across her mouth to stifle her scream.

White-hot pain exploded in Jake’s palm, and he roared at the sky, “Arghhhhhhh!” Queasiness sat in his guts as he looked down at his hand impaled on the piece of rebar.

Rushing over, Tom grabbed Jake’s chin and lifted his head up. “Just look at me. Don’t look down, okay?”

Nodding, Jake bit his bottom lip, but he couldn’t help glancing at his hand. The pole it was impaled on had already turned slick with his blood.

Pulling Jake’s chin up again, Tom’s grey eyes widened. “I said look at me!”

With fire stretching up his forearm like poison was getting into his veins, Jake’s breathing ran away with him. “I’m scared, Tom.”

Wrapping both hands around Jake’s wrist, Tom shook his head. “Don’t be. It’ll be fine, just keep looking at me.” Without warning, Tom yanked Jake’s hand free.

The wet squelch ran directly to Jake’s knees, and if it wasn’t for Tom grabbing him, he’d have hit the floor. When Jake turned his hand over, it looked like stigmata.

Instead of helping him, Tom rescued the bloody can and wrapped his lips around it as he chugged the peach juice. Pulling it away with a satisfied gasp, diluted blood dripping from his chin, Tom burped several times, his tongue pushing from his mouth as he heaved with each one. He then handed the can to Jake. “Drink it, we can’t waste the juice.”

Taking it with his good hand, Jake drank what was left, his gag reflex desperately trying to reject the sweet and metallic liquid.

It ran out too quickly, and once he’d finished, Jake looked at his hand again as it belched thick and syrupy blood in time with his pulse. With each surge of claret, his hand throbbed. It was hard to see the extent of the damage, but fortunately the pole hadn’t passed all the way through.

As blood leaked from the wound, soaking the rocks at his feet, Jake was overcome with dizziness. Looking at Tom, he opened his mouth to call for help, but before he could speak, his legs gave way beneath him and his world went black.

Both opening his eyes and coughing at the same time, Jake saw a blur of someone leaning over him. Shouting out, he tried to sit up, but his injured hand gave way beneath him.

Crashing back down against the rubble, Jake crossed his arms in front of his face and cowered behind them. “Please, don’t kill me. Please.”

The thing grabbed him, and he tried to twist away from it. Then he heard Tom’s voice.

“Jake, it’s me! It’s okay. I’m here, mate, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Chasing his breath, Jake let Tom help him sit upright and melted into his friend’s embrace. Sweating and looking up, he waited for Tom to come into focus. Despite the peach juice, his throat was so dry his word came out as a croak. “Tom?”

“Shhhh, Jake, I’m here, everything’s fine.”

“How long have you been sitting there?”

Pulling away, Tom rubbed his face and cleared his throat. “For as long as you’ve been passed out.”

Looking into his friend’s bloodshot eyes, stress and exhaustion having left trails on his face, Jake gulped. “Thank you for looking after me.”

Despite the thick throb running through his hand, Jake was surprised to see it look reasonably normal. Other than being tightly bound by a dirty, and now bloody rag, it looked exactly as it had before he’d skewered it. He’d expected it to be as big as a football.

Scanning the grey sky, Jake frowned. “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours.”

Sitting up farther, his world rocking, Jake waited for everything to settle around him as he rode the nauseating wave surging through his guts.

When he finally felt normal again, he picked up the punctured can, his dried blood still on it, and peered inside. Although the can was old and battered, the contents looked brand new.

Retrieving one of the slippery peach slices, Jake lifted his scarf and slipped it into his mouth. The slimy piece of fruit, pregnant with juice, sat on his tongue. When he bit down on it, it released a sweet shot of liquid and Jake groaned.

Turning to Tom, who licked his lips as he watched on, dried blood still on his jowls, Jake held the can in his direction.

Snatching it from his friend, Tom retrieved a peach slice and swallowed it whole. A slight grin lifted one side of his mouth. “Oh my god! That’s amazing!”

Taking another piece, Jake ate again and smiled at his friend. “Thanks again for looking out for me, Tom. I say it a lot, but I don’t know what I’d do without you around.”

When Jake bit the next piece of fruit, an electric pain clattered through his jaw. “Ow!” He grabbed the side of his face.

“You okay?”

Nodding, Jake shifted the remaining piece of peach to the other side of his mouth. “Toothache.” While sucking the fruit, Jake looked over to the rebar he’d speared his hand on, and his blood turned cold. “Tom.”

“Yeah?”

“You say I was out for a few hours?”

“Well, maybe a little bit longer than a few hours.”

Keeping his eyes on the pole, Jake scratched his face. “How much longer?”

“About a day.”

“So you slept while you were waiting for me?”

“Yeah. I had to. I’m as knackered as you are. I had to get some rest.”

“Did you hear anything in the night?”

“No. Why?”

With a shaky hand, Jake pointed at the rebar. “Have you noticed there’s no blood left on the pole?”

Realization dawned on Tom’s long face as he stared at the pole and gulped. “There’s no blood on the rocks around it either.”

Turning his attention to the rebar again, a glossy shine to it as if it had been licked clean, Jake then noticed the line of raised rubble leading away from it.

Speaking in no more than a whisper, Tom said, “They’re getting braver, Jake.”

Opening and closing her hand as if Jake’s pain was her own, she watched on. Jake was becoming more observant. Maybe he’d become aware enough to save his own life.

Staring at the floor as they walked, Jake listened to the shifting rubble and howling wind. Both men checked behind frequently.