blindingly bright light above, and I have to shield my eyes as a helicopter swoops in low over the top of the cliff. Struggling to stay standing, I grab hold of a jagged rock and hold on for dear life, as the helicopter comes lower and approaches the prostrate figure. A moment later, I see to my shock that the figure is starting to move, and I watch as he turns slightly and reaches out a hand, as if he’s trying to find something he can hold onto.
“He’s alive!” I shout, scrambling over the rocks despite the turbulence caused by the helicopter’s rotors.
There are voices shouting at me from nearby, but I ignore them as I hurry to the figure. Getting closer, I see the back of his head and realize that he has the same thin, pale features as the other people from the boat. A moment later, he turns and looks straight at me with dark, ringed eyes. Part of the skin on his face has been worn away around the cheeks and eyes, exposing patches of pale, bloodless bone, but his eyes are intact. A moment later he opens his mouth, as if he’s about to say something, and I see a row of yellowed teeth.
“Are you okay?” I shout, barely able to hear my own voice over the sound of the helicopter hovering just a little way above us. “Are you hurt?”
No reply. The figure simply stares at me, as if he doesn’t understand a word I said. Thin, torn scraps of clothing on his body are being rippled and whipped up by the wind, and in the morning’s cold light I can’t help but notice that his remaining skin seems decidedly off-color, with a faint, yellowish tinge. I drop to my knees next to him and look for any sign of an injury, but there’s no blood and a brief visual check shows no sign of broken bones or even any lacerations. When I try to find his pulse, he instinctively pulls back, but not before I’ve felt his ice-cold skin. If this guy has been washed away from the wrecked ferry and has made it to shore without any serious injuries, it’s the biggest miracle I’ve ever encountered in my life.
“Do you understand me?” I ask, as he continues to stare at me. “Do you have any pain anywhere?”
Again, no reply.
Grabbing my radio, I hit the button on the side. “I’ve got a survivor!” I shout, as the helicopter comes lower and the sound of the rotor fills my ears. “I need help here! I need a doctor!”
***
“We’re checking him over now,” says Dan Farrah a short while later, as we head to the medical trailer. “I spoke to David Carter a few minutes ago and he said there’s no sign of pressing injury so far, but he’s still conducting his exam. We’re waiting for a proper medical team to get here, should be an hour or two at most.”
“He can’t be completely unhurt,” I reply. “The ferry was more than four miles out when it broke apart and the waves were twenty feet high in places, they were dashing him against the rocks. There’s no way this guy made it to shore in one piece.”
“I’m just telling you what I know,” Farrah says, stopping at the door and knocking twice. “We can’t treat a patient for the injuries he should have, only for the ones we can find. He’s lost some skin, but the wound isn’t open. Somehow the skin has grown around the spaces. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, it’s almost like…”
I wait for him to continue. “Like what?”
“Carter nearly bit my head off for saying this,” he replies, “but… I swear the flesh seems dead in places.”
Before I can ask what he means, the door opens and I look up to see a stern-faced, angry man glaring down at me.
“So you’re the idiot who went scrambling over the rocks, huh?” Stratton asks. “Well done, you broke fifteen separate rules and you almost got yourself killed in the process. Do you realize how many reports I’m going to have to file when this is over, explaining how to tighten our procedures?”
“Hi,” I reply, “my -”
“And that’s not even counting the fact that you went out
“He’s alive!” I shout, scrambling over the rocks despite the turbulence caused by the helicopter’s rotors.
There are voices shouting at me from nearby, but I ignore them as I hurry to the figure. Getting closer, I see the back of his head and realize that he has the same thin, pale features as the other people from the boat. A moment later, he turns and looks straight at me with dark, ringed eyes. Part of the skin on his face has been worn away around the cheeks and eyes, exposing patches of pale, bloodless bone, but his eyes are intact. A moment later he opens his mouth, as if he’s about to say something, and I see a row of yellowed teeth.
“Are you okay?” I shout, barely able to hear my own voice over the sound of the helicopter hovering just a little way above us. “Are you hurt?”
No reply. The figure simply stares at me, as if he doesn’t understand a word I said. Thin, torn scraps of clothing on his body are being rippled and whipped up by the wind, and in the morning’s cold light I can’t help but notice that his remaining skin seems decidedly off-color, with a faint, yellowish tinge. I drop to my knees next to him and look for any sign of an injury, but there’s no blood and a brief visual check shows no sign of broken bones or even any lacerations. When I try to find his pulse, he instinctively pulls back, but not before I’ve felt his ice-cold skin. If this guy has been washed away from the wrecked ferry and has made it to shore without any serious injuries, it’s the biggest miracle I’ve ever encountered in my life.
“Do you understand me?” I ask, as he continues to stare at me. “Do you have any pain anywhere?”
Again, no reply.
Grabbing my radio, I hit the button on the side. “I’ve got a survivor!” I shout, as the helicopter comes lower and the sound of the rotor fills my ears. “I need help here! I need a doctor!”
***
“We’re checking him over now,” says Dan Farrah a short while later, as we head to the medical trailer. “I spoke to David Carter a few minutes ago and he said there’s no sign of pressing injury so far, but he’s still conducting his exam. We’re waiting for a proper medical team to get here, should be an hour or two at most.”
“He can’t be completely unhurt,” I reply. “The ferry was more than four miles out when it broke apart and the waves were twenty feet high in places, they were dashing him against the rocks. There’s no way this guy made it to shore in one piece.”
“I’m just telling you what I know,” Farrah says, stopping at the door and knocking twice. “We can’t treat a patient for the injuries he should have, only for the ones we can find. He’s lost some skin, but the wound isn’t open. Somehow the skin has grown around the spaces. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, it’s almost like…”
I wait for him to continue. “Like what?”
“Carter nearly bit my head off for saying this,” he replies, “but… I swear the flesh seems dead in places.”
Before I can ask what he means, the door opens and I look up to see a stern-faced, angry man glaring down at me.
“So you’re the idiot who went scrambling over the rocks, huh?” Stratton asks. “Well done, you broke fifteen separate rules and you almost got yourself killed in the process. Do you realize how many reports I’m going to have to file when this is over, explaining how to tighten our procedures?”
“Hi,” I reply, “my -”
“And that’s not even counting the fact that you went out
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