TITLE: Worn Thin, Part 1
Cool water pounding her arm. Fine, slick mud, under her cheek. Dark, heavy weight above her, smelling of oil and metal, pressing down.
A rough swallow past a lump in a dry throat, blink away dust and grit, only to see dark, shadows, darker above and strangely yellow, the sick yellow of a tornado sky. Sudden stabbing, burning pains, tingling and numbness, tightness within and weight above preventing any deep breath.
She started to panic, struggle, not sure where she was, why she was there, or what was wrong, other than that she was trapped, buried in the dark and wet, alone, left in pain. The pain grew as she acknowledged it, growing, expanding to encompass her mind. She froze at a warning metal whine and a shift in the weight above, pressing still and silent down into the mud, willing herself into the mud.
She groped for words, reason, meaning, identity even, but found nothing, nothing but feeling and fear, and the conviction that she needed to be still, needed to be away from the awful, terrible weight, from the other dangers she knew lurked.
Her mind went down an old, old path, cutting off connections to her fear and pain. They could not help her here - she needed her deepest, oldest instincts for survival, learned at the very beginning of her life, suppressed through many years. She felt a veil between her core self and the pain and the fear fade them, blocking them away from her as she slowed her breathing, free from the panic, and sought, through infinitesimal movements, to ease herself through the mud, down and out into the hollow below the metal mass above her.
The rain poured, soaking her through, giving equal parts aid and hindrance as it softened and shifted the ground below and the mass above, running down to wet her sore eyes and throat as she pushed her head out into the lighter dark of the desert, stopping still to let the weight adjust to her movement, protesting with groans and grumbles. She pushed on, ignorant of her body’s protests, protected by a familiar phantasm.
She grabbed onto a stick, digging it hard into the mud to pull herself forward, feeling something pop in her side even through the haze in her mind, a new wetness at her side, warmer than the rain, as she pulled herself almost completely away from the metal mass that had buried her.
She lay gasping, struggling for breath before she calmed, pulling once more to rip her legs and feet free to lay uncovered in the pounding rain and vast open space of the dark desert, smelling nothing but rain and dirt, and her own sweat and blood.
No longer trapped, she did not feel safe. Her sense of imminent risk changed to focus on the relentless rain, and an awareness that some unknown someone still lurked to attack her. She determinedly sought refuge, crawling through the mud and gravel when she found she could not rise to walk, pushing to reach the dark, low rise of ridge away from her former prison.
Sofia looked anxiously through the early morning light, clouds still grumbling overhead. She rode in the passenger side of a park ranger’s jeep, the wind whipping at her bound hair as they sped up and down small barren roads, searching for a ruined red Mustang and for Sara. The rain had stopped, but not the strong gusts of wind that had made it impossible for helicopters or small aircraft.
She felt sickly horrified at the thought that Sara had been out alone, drugged, almost certainly hurt, and buried under a car in a dirt track, if that miniature had been accurate. She’d seen the rangers’ faces growing tighter, paler around the mouths as time went by. Grissom, the epitome of stoicism, had actually yelled at the Undersheriff when he’d made noises about exposure and the likelihood of survival. Sofia kept reaching for the stories that Sara had told her about hiking and roving around the desert - surely Sara had a better chance than most!
“Stop!” she shouted, grabbing the Ranger’s arm. The jeep jerked as she pulled him to turn it around, to head down a wash that she’d barely seen next to the track - she was sure she’d seen a flash of light off metal before they’d climbed down the ridge. They drove down the side of the wash, stopping when the wheels began to spin.
“Sorry - there’s too much mud. We’d never get a jeep down that - are you sure you saw something? Maybe it was just water?” the Ranger asked skeptically.
“I saw something. It may have been water, but we must check. I’ll run down the track, and you can stay here - it can’t have been far down the wash if I could see it from the ridge.” Sofia looked at him scornfully as she hopped down the wash, half-climbing to keep her balance as she pushed down towards the bend. She heard the Ranger climb after her, shamed into following.
She stumbled, rushing forward, heart in her mouth, excitement rising as she moved. She was sure that she’d seen metal, not water, and that it had been in a place no metal should be. She told herself that it might be an illegal dump, or an old trail marker, but she prayed otherwise.
“Ahh!” she half-shouted as she saw a red Mustang, upside down, neatly placed at the side of the wash.
“Sara!” she called, splashing through the water towards the car. She barely heard the Ranger say he was going back to call for help as she rushed forward, utterly sick at the sight of the mud half covering the car. If she’d found the car, only to find Sara suffocated below the mud…
Sofia reached the side of the car and began to dig frantically through the mud, half-sobbing Sara’s name.
The woman with no words opened her eyes at the sounds, watching detachedly as a group of people swarmed a red car across from her. She felt like she should know them, that she should be doing something, but could not overcome her exhaustion and unease.
Familiarity did not, after all, mean safety - she knew that, knew that the person who had been responsible for the long, terrible muddle of the last night had been familiar, and that others who had been more than familiar had hurt her before that. She watched, waiting for some sign, some reason to marshal her small remaining energy.
She stiffened, nestling down into the shadows, as a tall blond woman stomped towards her hiding spot to stand huddled for a long moment, head in her hands, before she stood straight to stare blindly up at the ridge. She stared at the woman’s face in surprise, as a name came to her. ‘Sofia. That’s Sofia.’ She clutched onto that word, absorbing the feelings and images that came with it, knowing that this woman was her friend, was strong, was safe.
She stared at her for a second more, then tried to call to her, knowing that she’d be safe with Sofia.
She felt, through the remaining haze, a moment of panic when her voice broke and she couldn’t call, then used her less damaged arm to dislodge a rock. It fell down the ridge to land near Sofia’s foot.
Sofia looked at it, then up, then sighed, and started to turn to leave. The hider struggled to call, emitting a croak as she dislodged another rock. Sofia turned back to the ridge, climbing forward, calling cautiously, “Sara?”
The woman burrowed into a crack in the ridge flapped an arm to catch Sofia’s eye, startling her into a gasp.
“Sara! Oh, Sara…” Sofia turned to yell to the others to come, that she’d found their missing one. She turned back to reach for the woman in the rocks, only to find her flinching back. Her hand fell as she looked straight into the woman’s dark eyes, her face falling into a puzzled frown.
As their eyes met, Sara gasped as her life and memory came rushing back - she knew who she was and who these people were. She felt the pieces of her mind fall back into place as she stared at Sofia, and she knew that her friend would not allow anyone to hurt her. Sara let herself fall into the lowering haze, trusting that Sofia would pull her out of it.
A rough swallow past a lump in a dry throat, blink away dust and grit, only to see dark, shadows, darker above and strangely yellow, the sick yellow of a tornado sky. Sudden stabbing, burning pains, tingling and numbness, tightness within and weight above preventing any deep breath.
She started to panic, struggle, not sure where she was, why she was there, or what was wrong, other than that she was trapped, buried in the dark and wet, alone, left in pain. The pain grew as she acknowledged it, growing, expanding to encompass her mind. She froze at a warning metal whine and a shift in the weight above, pressing still and silent down into the mud, willing herself into the mud.
She groped for words, reason, meaning, identity even, but found nothing, nothing but feeling and fear, and the conviction that she needed to be still, needed to be away from the awful, terrible weight, from the other dangers she knew lurked.
Her mind went down an old, old path, cutting off connections to her fear and pain. They could not help her here - she needed her deepest, oldest instincts for survival, learned at the very beginning of her life, suppressed through many years. She felt a veil between her core self and the pain and the fear fade them, blocking them away from her as she slowed her breathing, free from the panic, and sought, through infinitesimal movements, to ease herself through the mud, down and out into the hollow below the metal mass above her.
The rain poured, soaking her through, giving equal parts aid and hindrance as it softened and shifted the ground below and the mass above, running down to wet her sore eyes and throat as she pushed her head out into the lighter dark of the desert, stopping still to let the weight adjust to her movement, protesting with groans and grumbles. She pushed on, ignorant of her body’s protests, protected by a familiar phantasm.
She grabbed onto a stick, digging it hard into the mud to pull herself forward, feeling something pop in her side even through the haze in her mind, a new wetness at her side, warmer than the rain, as she pulled herself almost completely away from the metal mass that had buried her.
She lay gasping, struggling for breath before she calmed, pulling once more to rip her legs and feet free to lay uncovered in the pounding rain and vast open space of the dark desert, smelling nothing but rain and dirt, and her own sweat and blood.
No longer trapped, she did not feel safe. Her sense of imminent risk changed to focus on the relentless rain, and an awareness that some unknown someone still lurked to attack her. She determinedly sought refuge, crawling through the mud and gravel when she found she could not rise to walk, pushing to reach the dark, low rise of ridge away from her former prison.
Sofia looked anxiously through the early morning light, clouds still grumbling overhead. She rode in the passenger side of a park ranger’s jeep, the wind whipping at her bound hair as they sped up and down small barren roads, searching for a ruined red Mustang and for Sara. The rain had stopped, but not the strong gusts of wind that had made it impossible for helicopters or small aircraft.
She felt sickly horrified at the thought that Sara had been out alone, drugged, almost certainly hurt, and buried under a car in a dirt track, if that miniature had been accurate. She’d seen the rangers’ faces growing tighter, paler around the mouths as time went by. Grissom, the epitome of stoicism, had actually yelled at the Undersheriff when he’d made noises about exposure and the likelihood of survival. Sofia kept reaching for the stories that Sara had told her about hiking and roving around the desert - surely Sara had a better chance than most!
“Stop!” she shouted, grabbing the Ranger’s arm. The jeep jerked as she pulled him to turn it around, to head down a wash that she’d barely seen next to the track - she was sure she’d seen a flash of light off metal before they’d climbed down the ridge. They drove down the side of the wash, stopping when the wheels began to spin.
“Sorry - there’s too much mud. We’d never get a jeep down that - are you sure you saw something? Maybe it was just water?” the Ranger asked skeptically.
“I saw something. It may have been water, but we must check. I’ll run down the track, and you can stay here - it can’t have been far down the wash if I could see it from the ridge.” Sofia looked at him scornfully as she hopped down the wash, half-climbing to keep her balance as she pushed down towards the bend. She heard the Ranger climb after her, shamed into following.
She stumbled, rushing forward, heart in her mouth, excitement rising as she moved. She was sure that she’d seen metal, not water, and that it had been in a place no metal should be. She told herself that it might be an illegal dump, or an old trail marker, but she prayed otherwise.
“Ahh!” she half-shouted as she saw a red Mustang, upside down, neatly placed at the side of the wash.
“Sara!” she called, splashing through the water towards the car. She barely heard the Ranger say he was going back to call for help as she rushed forward, utterly sick at the sight of the mud half covering the car. If she’d found the car, only to find Sara suffocated below the mud…
Sofia reached the side of the car and began to dig frantically through the mud, half-sobbing Sara’s name.
The woman with no words opened her eyes at the sounds, watching detachedly as a group of people swarmed a red car across from her. She felt like she should know them, that she should be doing something, but could not overcome her exhaustion and unease.
Familiarity did not, after all, mean safety - she knew that, knew that the person who had been responsible for the long, terrible muddle of the last night had been familiar, and that others who had been more than familiar had hurt her before that. She watched, waiting for some sign, some reason to marshal her small remaining energy.
She stiffened, nestling down into the shadows, as a tall blond woman stomped towards her hiding spot to stand huddled for a long moment, head in her hands, before she stood straight to stare blindly up at the ridge. She stared at the woman’s face in surprise, as a name came to her. ‘Sofia. That’s Sofia.’ She clutched onto that word, absorbing the feelings and images that came with it, knowing that this woman was her friend, was strong, was safe.
She stared at her for a second more, then tried to call to her, knowing that she’d be safe with Sofia.
She felt, through the remaining haze, a moment of panic when her voice broke and she couldn’t call, then used her less damaged arm to dislodge a rock. It fell down the ridge to land near Sofia’s foot.
Sofia looked at it, then up, then sighed, and started to turn to leave. The hider struggled to call, emitting a croak as she dislodged another rock. Sofia turned back to the ridge, climbing forward, calling cautiously, “Sara?”
The woman burrowed into a crack in the ridge flapped an arm to catch Sofia’s eye, startling her into a gasp.
“Sara! Oh, Sara…” Sofia turned to yell to the others to come, that she’d found their missing one. She turned back to reach for the woman in the rocks, only to find her flinching back. Her hand fell as she looked straight into the woman’s dark eyes, her face falling into a puzzled frown.
As their eyes met, Sara gasped as her life and memory came rushing back - she knew who she was and who these people were. She felt the pieces of her mind fall back into place as she stared at Sofia, and she knew that her friend would not allow anyone to hurt her. Sara let herself fall into the lowering haze, trusting that Sofia would pull her out of it.