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Post by England on Apr 12, 2013 16:59:33 GMT -5
England would have lied if he'd claimed that he wasn't worried out of his mind when America's head lolled against the back of his neck. He shifted him so that he could lean his chin on his shoulder and readjusted his grip. America made no noise following the agonized moan, and with the lack of reaction when he shifted him, England realized he'd gone unconscious. That, or he'd died.
His blood froze in his veins and his steps quickened for a moment before the ache of his back brought him back to reality. He stopped next to the spring and was grateful for America's state of unconsciousness, considering he wouldn't like it very much if he could feel the cleanup process. Setting him down gingerly, he laid him out and spread him on the dead grass, immediately working on getting his clothes off. He didn't look at his legs, since he wouldn't be able to make out much anyway with all the mud on his clothes and skin. He was definitely going to get some nasty infections after this... if he survived.
"No," England choked up, using his knife to rip America's dirty t-shirt open, and bent down to feel for a heartbeat. He had to hold his breath to hear it, and it was so faint, he barely even could. That was not a good sign at all. "Okay," he took a shuddering breath, moving to his legs. Caked in mud and covered in cloth, they didn't really show him much of the damage, but he knew what was coming. Still with his knife, he ripped off all the cloth below his upper thighs and vertically cut the ripped tube to slide the cloth out from under him, and then pulled off his shoes and socks.
"There we go, darling," England breathed out, carefully slipping his arms under him to pick him up bridal style and deposit him in the sparkling water. The mud immediately clouded the surface and England was glad that he didn't have to look at the surely-gruesome injuries on America's legs. Gently lowering him to the side, he carefully kept his face above the water as he cleaned off most of the mud on his upper body and some of the bigger clumps in his hair.
Once he was completely clean, England decided to get down to business, and that every second he wasted could be America's last. Hooking his arms under his armpits, he pulled his lower body onto the bank first, and then, taking a deep breath, fished into the murky water to bring out his legs.
The sight of them forced England to look away and choke a horrified sob behind his hands.
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Post by America on Apr 12, 2013 19:01:09 GMT -5
He stayed asleep throughout the entire procedure, but because of all the movement, he couldn't help but start to drift awake again. First was the harsh breathing, then the slight murmurs, words that were lost even to him. He hummed irritably, the movement hurting his legs. He didn't know why he hurt so much at first, but things slowly began to come back to him, and then he remembered.
The zombies. The mud. The legs.
His legs
He gasped out, fingers gripping the ground below him. "En-England," he quietly called out, tears coming to his eyes again. His legs; oh, god, his legs. How bad were they? What exactly had happened to them? He tried to look around, but he had to stop and grit his teeth, feeling like he might pass out again. Now that he had remembered everything, he also remembered the pain. Or, rather, the pain was hitting him again.
He didn't even think he'd be able to sit up to check and see the extent of his wounds. And that thought worried him beyond all others. He tried to move, to sit up. He grunted as he did so, then moaned out when he accidentally moved his legs. "England, help...pl-please help." He tried to catch sight of England, then sighed in relief when he saw him. Instantly, he stretched a hand out, letting out a strangled sob. "My-My legs. Please."
He was scared of viewing the wounds, but he had to. He had to know how bad off he was.
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Post by England on Apr 12, 2013 19:18:56 GMT -5
England tried to hurry a little to get as much done before America completely gained consciousness, and expertly ripped his clothes into strips of cloth that he could use to staunch the heavy bleeding on the many parts of his legs that were wounded.
He hadn't ever seen how a zombie ate parts of a living being, but now he knew. The teeth-shaped holes were visible in America's flesh, and he shuddered as he looked at all the missing muscle from his calf, the exposed bone of his shin, the bloody, fleshy mess on his lower thighs, the scraping teeth marks on his knees, the scratched skin from grabbing hands and grazing teeth. He wanted to cry, but knew that it would not help him in the least.
"You're going to be alright," he breathed out, trying to cool his head before he fumbled with both their belts, using them to create tight tourniquets on his upper thighs, though he doubted how much that would help since one of America's major arteries had been punctured. It hadn't been ripped out, or hurt large enough to drain him of his blood on the spot, but the flow of blood was steady, and would not stop without some kind of surgery.
England's hands trembled as he tried to tie the strips around the missing parts of America's now-deformed legs, but as soon as the blood began staining his wrists, he lost it and reeled back to gag. Nothing came up, but when he returned, America seemed conscious, and England got a lot more nauseous than before.
"Don't move, darling, please," he pleaded, gently helping America lower himself to the ground again. "You'll be fine, just don't give up on me. Please stay with me," he caressed his cheek, but only smeared blood on the dirty skin. "I'll bandage your legs, and you can worry about anything else after we get back, alright?" His breath got caught in his throat, and he took his hand and squeezed it encouragingly. "I'm so sorry darling... I'm sorry, my love, I promise you'll be okay." And he kissed the knuckles of America's dirty hands over and over again until the tears he'd been trying to hold back rolled down his cheeks.
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Post by America on Apr 12, 2013 20:14:22 GMT -5
America shook his head, trying to move against England's hands. He was brave. He was going to see what had happened to his legs. Even if it was frightening, he'd see it. His movements proved to be useless, though. At the moment, England was far stronger. America was weak, unable to do much of anything but sit back and await his fate.
And from the pain, from the tears England was shedding, he already knew his fate didn't look too bright. He was going to die. The thought caused him to pause, and England was able to push him back down. The young nation stared blankly at his boyfriend, forgetting his wounds for a few minutes. The zombies had been eating him. He was going to turn into a zombie. How much time had passed? How much time would it take for someone to become a zombie? He didn't remember. He tried thinking back, but his mind was in too much of a shock.
He removed his hand from England's lips, grasping onto his shirt. "L-Let me see," he gasped out. "I-I wanna...I want..." He wanted to see, but he knew it would be bad. His fingers curled inwards, but he soon realized his strength wasn't lasting, and he had to let his arm drop down beside him. He breathed deeply, turning his eyes up towards the sky, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible.
"I don't wanna die," he whispered, now giving pants to keep himself awake and breathing. "I-I don't...god, England, pl-please don't let me die. I ca-can't do this anymore." He didn't think he'd be able to continue. He didn't think he'd be able to stay alive in time. Not if it hurt this bad.
But how long did he have? He needed to at least know that. He needed to know how much blood he was losing. So, gathering up all the energy he could possibly muster, he pushed himself up, crying out as he did. God, everything hurt. Everything was hurting, and he had to grab a hold of England's arm to keep him sitting. Before his partner could do anything, America took a peek at his legs, and fell silent when he finally caught sight of them.
All of his will vanished in an instance, and he fell back to the ground, hitting it harshly. "Ha...How...oh, g-god," he managed to blurt out, then began to sob again, shoulders shaking. "England, please, save me, please. I-I'm...I need to..."
He felt himself drifting off again, but he kept his blurry gaze on his boyfriend's. "I can't."
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Post by England on Apr 12, 2013 21:22:48 GMT -5
England couldn't deny America's wish to see what was going on, because he knew that if that were him on the ground, he'd be doing the same. Making sure he wouldn't fall, he glanced along with him and gulped down nervously at the wounds on his legs, and then rushed to hold him up as he fell back. He flinched when he wasn't fast enough and America hit the ground harshly, and immediately took his hand as comfort, brushing his hair back.
"I promise I'll save you. Do you hear me? I'm not going to let you die, or god help me I don't know what I'll do. You don't have to be strong anymore. Just strong enough to stay alive. I believe you can do this," England whispered to him, and then let go of his hand to return to his wounds. Every second he wasted would count.
There wouldn't be nearly enough cloth to cover the entirety of America's legs, and England figured he should just bandage the wounds tightly enough to keep the blood inside his system. It was just so America would not leak blood all over the ground while he carried him to the warehouse, after all.
"Darling, it's going to hurt," he warned in a pained whisper, throwing America a worried glance. "If you think you can't take it, I can knock you out. I'll do whatever it takes to save you from suffering, alright?" Seeing him sob hurt his heart too much already. England wanted to throw up and cry with him, but America needed him now. He could cry later, by America's bedside when he was safe and sound and recovering out of quarantine. But right now, he was the only thing keeping America alive, and he wouldn't let him down.
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Post by America on Apr 12, 2013 22:08:00 GMT -5
With a whimper, America nodded. He didn't want anymore of the pain. He was usually so strong, but not now. Not when it mattered. But at least England was going to do all he could to make sure everything would be fine. At least England was going to keep him alive. "I-I want..." He swallowed nervously. He didn't want to be knocked out, though. Being knocked out entailed losing consciousness. And he was afraid he wouldn't wake up if he lost consciousness. He was so afraid of death that he didn't even want to close his eyes.
"Keep me alive," he whispered back, fear clouding his vision. "Jus-Just keep...just a-alive." He didn't know what else he could do. He didn't know what England wanted him to do. Maybe he was supposed to be knocked out? But, whenever he had fallen silent, England seemed to be upset whenever he woke up.
He wanted England to just help him. He had never before wanted to be so dependent on someone, but now here he was, practically begging England to care for him. However, he wasn't worried about that. He was more worried about the pain. If what his partner said was true, it would just increase, and America didn't know if he could take all of that. If what he had now was bad enough, would he be able to handle more?
He squeezed his eyes shut and found that he wasn't crying anymore. He couldn't even find the strength to do that. He coughed slightly, then gritted his teeth and stay still, save for the small nodding of his head. Don't make me hurt, he wanted to say, but his breath was out already. Instead, he moaned again, his fingers curling into the palm of his hands and digging down tightly.
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Post by England on Apr 12, 2013 22:57:28 GMT -5
"I will, I promise I will, my love. I won't let you die," he gulped down and readied all the bandages he had before turning to America. "I promise I won't let you go, you just have to believe that I'll be able to keep my word. And I will." The glint in his eyes was fierce, but America seemed to be swimming in a haze of pain, flashing in and out of consciousness all the time. It pained England to see him that way. He didn't want him to suffer, but here he was, letting him suffer while he watched. He couldn't let this go on. "I'm sorry," he apologized in advance as he cradled America's head in his lap and kissed his dirty forehead tenderly. "I don't want you to suffer. I'll save you, but I wish you wouldn't hurt while I do it." Creeping his fingers behind America's neck, he hushed him lovingly as his index and thumb looked for the pressure points that would knock him out. When the nerve pulsated under his hand, he knew he'd found it, and England continually hushed America until he was sure that he'd sunk into a light unconsciousness. He did not know how long it would last, as he surely hadn't done it right (only China could do such things so well), but he was determined to make the most of his time while America was still out. ((Let's invite Israel to be our medic for this RP. I'm sure she'll want to ))
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Post by America on Apr 13, 2013 10:05:38 GMT -5
All of the hushing seemed to have a positive effect on America's state of mind. His panic began to subside, though it didn't fully go away, and he stared up at England, nodding at the comforting words, trying to take it all in. However, his mind was still feeling hazy, and though he understood the words at first, he couldn't, for the life of him, remember much of anything.
He did remember that England would be there for him, though. If he took anything out of it, he would remember that England wanted him to be okay, so England would be the one to save him. He barely felt the fingers on his neck; he was far more focused in making sure he didn't lose sight of England at all. So long as he continued to stare at him, so long as they kept eye contact, he felt better.
Still, he couldn't deny wanting to fall unconscious, so when he felt himself drifting off, he welcomed it, making sure the very last thing he saw before closing his eyes was England's kind and loving face, and the last thing he heard was England's quiet hushing.
Then, he felt nothing.
[[I'm sure she would! And that would be fun. ^_^]]
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Post by England on Apr 13, 2013 13:04:15 GMT -5
As soon as America was out like a light, England set his head back down and waited in bated breath to listen for noise around them, and then immediately set to work. Dipping his hands in the water to clean off the visible dirt, he splashed some water on the nearest wound and then grabbed a strip of cloth, positioning it to cover the bite entirely. He then wound the cloth around his leg and tightened it as much as possible, knowing that he'd probably kill some arterioles in America's leg by making them so tight. It didn't matter, though, since he wouldn't be walking for a while after this anyway.
The bandages did not do much to staunch the bleeding, as the heavy flow of blood was passing right through the cloth as if it were tissue paper. England used a second layer to secure everything, but the second layer quickly soaked through as well. This didn't look too good. The bandages would at least keep some blood inside of him and put some pressure on the edges. Perhaps his body could already begin regenerating a bit from the inside. Unless the zombie infection prevented him from doing it.
Either way, they couldn't stay here longer. They had to go. Squatting in front of America, England took his arms and looped them around his neck. Then, he carefully slid his arms under his butt and hoisted him up, grunting in effort as he struggled to stand up for a second, and then pushed with all his might so that he could get up. He stumbled forward under America's dead weight, but quickly adjusted his grip, able to hold him better from under the thighs now that he was unconscious and unable to feel pain.
They'd made a lot of noise back there, so England was surprised, but not disappointed, that he couldn't hear any zombies around. Perhaps they were waiting elsewhere. He just crossed his fingers, though, that he wouldn't encounter any on his way back, and slowly and painstakingly began walking towards the direction he'd come from.
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Post by America on Apr 13, 2013 16:26:15 GMT -5
America didn't wake up for a while after that, but when his eyelids finally fluttered open once more, he felt the pain return. He instantly wish he hadn't even woken up. He didn't want to feel the pain, especially not since it seemed to be worse, if that was even possible. However, due to his lack of strength, America couldn't do much but gasp quietly. His fingers, once again, grabbed onto England's shirt, and he glanced up. His sight was still rather hazy from the absolute pain and exhaustion, but he was still able to decipher that they were moving.
Where to, though? He liked being at the springs. There weren't any zombies, and everything seemed soothing to him. Of course, he quickly realized that they wouldn't be able to stay there. He was going back to the warehouse, obviously. He was going to be fixed up so he wouldn't become one of the undead himself. His gaze slowly traveled to England's face, and he couldn't help but feel relieved. For some reason, all he wanted to do was stay curled up in England's hold forever. He just wanted to close his eyes and let England stay right beside him.
His slightly-cheerful thoughts vanished, though, when his leg twitched. He flinched and let out a hiss of breath from behind clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut to try and ward off all of the pain. Of course that had to happen. He wasn't allowed to be happy, even for a couple of seconds, without something going wrong. And, of course, it was all his fault. If he had just listened to England, if he had kept out of the marshes, nothing would have happened.
"England?" he whispered when the shot of pain had passed, and he was pleased to note that his voice wasn't as trembling as bad as it was before. "We...we almost home?"
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Post by England on Apr 13, 2013 17:43:36 GMT -5
England was trying to duck under a low branch when America's hands tightened on his shirt, and he immediately tensed, though he did not stop.
"We're halfway there, love," he grunted as he carefully pushed a branch away from them using his cheek, seeing as both of his hands were busy holding America. He hated to do this, but he was slipping, so he bounced him up to readjust him on his back. "How are you feeling? You've lost a lot of blood. I tried to bandage you as best as I could, but I couldn't do much. Are you cold? You're not really wearing anything substantial and you're still losing blood, and I wish I could give you my shirt, but there's no way we're stopping."
That didn't help them much, but at least he was talking. The silence was maddening.
Of course, it didn't last long because ruffles of leaves quickly joined the conversation, along with snapping twigs and the distant, but recognizable sound of death.
The party had finally arrived, and England's blood froze in his veins.
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Post by America on Apr 13, 2013 18:51:42 GMT -5
America tried keeping up with everything England said. He nodded, cheek rubbing against England's shirt. He wasn't exactly sure what he was nodding about, but as long as it made England feel less worried, America would nod and agree. "Fine," he mumbled, whining when he was bounced up. He didn't know how bandaged he was, but since everything still hurt painfully, he guessed he wouldn't feel truly better until he was looked over by a medic.
Unsure of what else to do, America figured he could drift off to sleep again, but he didn't want to leave England by himself. His partner seemed desperate for verbal communication, and since they were already halfway to the warehouse, America figured he could spare a bit of his strength to talk. After all, England was carrying him all that way, and it didn't take a fool to see that America was the bigger one. He needed to repay him.
"N-Not cold," he whispered. He vaguely heard something else, but decided to dismiss it. "Dizzy." And in pain, but he could spare England the details. It wasn't any secret that he was in pain, of course. Anyone who had their legs torn apart by zombies would be in great pain. He closed his eyes, mouth opening in a quiet moan as he shifted, trying to get a better hold on England so he wouldn't feel as if he was falling.
But then he decided he needed to ask a very important question. "Ti-Time? How much...how longer...?" He cut himself off with a grunt of pain, then began to bite at his lips. He couldn't even finish the sentence; he couldn't even see how much longer he would have before becoming a zombie.
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Post by England on Apr 13, 2013 20:07:34 GMT -5
"Long enough for me to save you," England hissed through his teeth, his lower back aching as he readjusted America again. His hands were slipping and his arms began to tremble, but he couldn't do anything else than keep moving, hopefully quickly enough to avoid a confrontation with the party of zombies he could hear from behind them. "It depends on how soon you..." he gulped down nervously. "Depends on how much time you take to die... If you do!" he quickly corrected. "I won't let you, I promise, but if anything happens, and you bleed out before we get there, there's still hope to save you." Just a sliver, just the tiniest chance that maybe, if he died a thousand times over instead, America would be saved. And of course, he would never tell that to America.
"We're almost there, alright? It should be a few minutes before he get to the plain, and ten minutes at this rate to get to the warehouse. You'll be alright, I promise," he huffed out, trying to accelerate his pace but only managing to wear himself out faster. His breath soon started coming on in pants, and he readjusted America again, to his body's obvious complaint. He kept glancing back, knowing that they were being followed, but unnerved since he couldn't see the zombies.
They were there, though, stalking their every step like shadows, and England was aware of it. There was no way they hadn't smelled the bloody pints of blood that America had left behind them. The red substance was still making a trail behind them, dripping down the entire length of America's legs, curving on the ankle bone and accumulating on the tip of his toes before dripping to the ground.
They were watching through the trees and England prayed that he would be faster than them when they decided to chase their prey.
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Post by America on Apr 13, 2013 21:18:50 GMT -5
He didn't know why they were moving faster, but, despite wanting to get to the warehouse as soon as possible, he did not wish to move any faster. Doing so meant he bumped around a lot more, which, in turn, brought more pain upon his wounds. He tried not to cry out, since he figured that would probably just irritated England even more. Besides, America couldn't bring himself to do that. He let everything just happen, and only a couple of noises fell form his lips, mostly small, quiet whimpers.
So the most likely way he would die wouldn't be from the infection taking a hold of him. That would come later. According to England, the most likely way for him to die would be from bleeding out. He slowly brought his gaze down to his legs, struggling to keep his eyes trained on them. Despite the belts tightened around his upper thighs and the soaked bandages, it seemed that his legs continued to bleed.
Breath coming out in pants, America rested his head down, trying not to let it bounce too much. England's acceleration made it more difficult to let himself drift off again, so he could only watch as they passed multiple trees, waiting to reach the plains. However, his vision was still blurry, so everything was merging together in one giant, ugly splash of an assortment of colors. Disappointed, he closed his eyes, though he kept his mouth open, trying to gather enough breath to speak.
"Gotta...gotta go i-in quarn...ti-tine?" he mumbled, half-awake against England's body. "You ca-can't stay?"
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Post by England on Apr 13, 2013 22:19:18 GMT -5
"That would slightly beat the point of being put in quarantine, correct? Though..." England's mind flashed back to the past fall, when he was in a situation similar to the one at hand, and he remembered how America did not move an inch from his bedside when he was infected. "I suppose I could stay. You know, to oversee your recovery if the medics are occupied elsewhere." And certainly not because he was terrified and worried out of his mind at America's condition.
The crunching of twigs and leaves became more audible, and England realized that he was not going to be able to carry America out fast enough. Already he could hear the groans wafting towards them, and he was done deluding himself: they were not going to avoid a confrontation. The good news, however, were that they were very close to the plains, and once in the open, they'd be able to escape, or fight, unrestrained by their environment.
Re-adjusting America again, he slipped his forearm under his butt to free his right hand and fumbled with the strap of the holster on his hip. Pulling out his handgun, he mentally made a tally of how much ammo he'd loaded in it, and switched the safety off.
"America, don't be startled, but we have unwanted visitors," he gulped down nervously, throat going dry as he looked around, spotting the first shadow between the trees. "Don't panic. I promised you I would save you, and I'm not one to go back on my word."
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