Chapter 2: DSSG Chapter 1 – He who walks

A muffled groan escapes Thomas' mouth as he regains consciousness. Feeling as if he was buried under rubble he opens his eyes to dim light peering through some opaque cloth in whatever is in front of him, unfortunately it was too dark to see any details of where he was at. The muffled sounds of a snapping and popping fire nearby reaches his ears slowly, the quiet surroundings broken by this noise occasionally.

His clammy skin shivering slightly under what felt like a layer of some unknown goop motivates Thomas to try and find his way out of what ever situation he's in. Thankfully he's no longer as hot as he was but this wet cloth clung to him and bothered him enough to make him want out from under it. Pushing against its slippery and taught surface thinking it was a regular blanket yielded him nothing. This blankets fluids seeped down onto him making it feel as if it were harder to breathe. Thomas did not feel like he was supposed to be in this kind of situation. The last thoughts he can remember were feeling like he was dying and now the current situation compounded onto him causing him to panic and flail at this covering akin to a coffin.

His frantic hands splaying out to try and find some purchase against the moist sheet finally win out and rip a small hole with one finger. Feeling as if he has a way out his fingers push through the guiding hole allowing him to tear out against the light blue material. Leaning up and into it, his whole body finally tears through the sheet, the warm air slaking his cool complexion as the raw sound of a fire beats its path through his ears. 

Drinking in the feelings as he looks around he realizes something is wrong, though if whatever he just experienced wasn't a big enough indicator then the burning wreckage of a some ramshackle wagon with a lead of dead animals against it would be. After all in the modern day why would anyone but Amish or some LARPers use such a thing. It looked like he was involved in some kind of accident but whatever it was must have been pretty bad.

The stinging sensation of smoke biting at his eyes nearly blinds Thomas as he tries to step out of what ever he's in and onto the wettened grass below him. Every sensation being saturated as his first fresh breath into the world makes his lung sting with the acrid smell of smoke wafting over his body. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles to try and clear the feeling his foot lands on the grass and he realizes he feels almost no strength in his leg. The realization quickly turns into a problem as he falls out and onto the ground, the impact taking his breath away and his hands knocking against his head.

His would be groan turns into coughs as he vomits the contents of his lungs out. A nearly clear fluid forced out of him and onto the ground below him. This jelly like substance pulls and pulls, feeling as if its clinging to his lungs and will tear them out he expels it from his body. Between each expulsion of whatever was inside his lungs out, Thomas lies on his side choking in the air trying to regain his breath before he suffocates.

After what feels like minutes of hacking and choking on what remained inside of him, Thomas weakly looks around at what is next to him. His slate eyes peer up from the edge of a toppled cart that once held his confinement. The sleek metal sarcophagus leaking holding what looked like a bag with a large tear through it showing the results of where Thomas came from. 

His weakened husk pushes against the ground trying some how to stand but unable to actually accomplish this feat he resigns himself to call out for help from a passerby. Maybe whoever is nearby would have a phone and would be able to call for an ambulance. He would have to take the chance that any of the people nearby weren't injured as well.

The first couple attempts were very difficult to produce any noise at all, but after a few tries he was able to make a strained chortle of noise that was supposed to form the word "Help" but came out mangled. Trying a few times he was not able to make anything recognizable to any human language.

Weakly propping himself up he starts to push himself along the ground towards the other wrecked caravan. His legs nearly useless he has to move against the ground, scraping and dragging over the flora and small rocks. His legs pushing and thrusting to do some kind of motion, though it doesn't seem to aid in his efforts to reach the wagon. The struggle makes him feel helpless against the world, feeling as if it would overwhelm him. What if he couldn't walk again or what if he was hurt and needed someone to do surgery on him to help him? These thoughts skated across the surface of his mind as his struggle pulled him towards the only sign of people he could see in this dim area, the fire behind where he came casting shadows around the area.

After an arduous struggle he finally reaches the metallic spokes of the rear wagon wheel. Using them to drag his body closer he catches his breath, his once cold body now sweating profusely from the effort of reaching this area. Leaning his back to the wheel he sits gathering himself and his breath at the rear of the wagon.

After a few moments of this he feels ready to try walking again, this time pulling himself up the spokes and using them as support. The effort nigh impossible in this weakened state he surmounts it and clutches against the top of the wheel and the edge of the wooden body. The Cloth covering whips as the wind picks up once again, though thankfully in the opposite direction it was before alleviating some of the smoke in the air. Instead it brings with it the smell of something very rusty in front of him. Nearly choking on it he keeps his grip against the wagon though the feeling of wanting to retch grows against his throat. 

Composing himself he pulls him self along the edge of the wagon. His fawn like legs barely able to support him after his first steps hold barely as Thomas uses his entire body and the wagon to remain upright. Repeating the process he slowly takes his shambling steps to the back of the caravan, the rear covering flapping against the wind.  Finally making it to the end of the wagon he peers inside the nearly dark room, his naked form stark against the warm air. 

Three darkened forms lie slumped against the boarding, sleeping peaceably. His strained noises barely above a whisper try to gather their attention, but unfortunately they must be deep asleep and he's unable to awaken them. Lying forward onto the boarding he slowly struggles his way into the wagon to the feet of these people. Grabbing a boot he pulls and tries to get the attention of this person lying asleep in the back of the wagon. Pulling, shaking and weakly hitting does nothing to any of these people. The unbearable smell of rust coming from the wagon make Thomas wonder how anyone could ignore it so he pulls himself forward further.

Finally reaching the chest of what appears to be a man dressed in rough cotton clothing, Thomas reaches forward to hit him in the face to get his attention but instead finds his hand against a pool of something wet. Bringing it back to his face he looks at it trying to make out whatever it was, but can't make anything out in the darkened area. 

A thought sears into his mind and Thomas shudders at the thought of it. These people aren't breathing, they aren't responding to anything he does, one of them didn't seemingly have a head. These must be bodies of some murderer and he must be next. This thought makes his heart thump against his chest as he scrambles to the rear of this wagon. Throwing his legs over the edge, Thomas catches himself before he can fall and starts a shamble to the other edge away from the wagon. 

Looking into the darkness of the night, odd shapes casting against the horizon show he must be near some sort of manmade creation. Looking back towards the fire casting lights over the edges of the cart which held his would be tomb he makes a decision to struggle through the wilderness towards a place where more people might help him. Pushing off from the cart he slowly shambles his way, finally able to support himself, slowly through the night.

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