The Roar of the Throbbing Hum

Throbbing. A throbbing pain that he couldn't isolate. A throbbing noise; a loud deafening hum fading in and out.

Uncertain, he opened his eyes and saw ... nothing. Grayness with hints of black and red. He could make out no discernible shapes. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make his eyes focus. In fact, he wasn't even certain he wanted his eyes to focus. He wasn't certain of anything ... where he was, when it was or even who he was. But he knew pain. Ripping through his body, welling in his chest and cutting through his mind as though it were a blade. Confused and frightened, he stayed motionless. Finally, another sensation.

Taste. Disgusting, horrible taste filled his mouth. A combination of salt and bile. Had he thrown up? Was it sweat? He reached up and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. It didn't help. He leaned back and for the first time realized he had been sitting upright, but slumped forward. His vision wasn't clearing, but the throbbing hum was growing louder and the taste was even stronger. With his right hand he wiped away the inside of his mouth. Moisture. Liquid. Sticky, hot liquid. "My God, am I bleeding?"

With his hand on his lap he tried to focus on it. Concentrate on it. Find out what it was.

But it was impossible to concentrate with the roar of the throbbing hum, the pain shooting through his body. He realized then that he was trembling. Violently. His hand wasn't resting on his lap, but was flopping around like a fish pulled from the ocean. The recognition of that movement somehow made his eyes begin to find shapes and objects, not clearly, but enough to recognize that he was looking at his hand, his arm, jerking wildly against his blood soaked jeans. He also recognized smoke. Black smoke coming up from near his feet. Moments after seeing it, he inhaled it deeply.

In a daze he began to cough. Phlegm and spittle flew from his mouth and nose. The first cough brought a searing pain that shot round and round in his chest like a tornado breaking ribs. The second and third coughs did likewise and the pain was so great that he fought to suppress the next cough. He lost that fight and with the following cough his body wretched and vomit spewed from his mouth. The pain and the nausea brought another bit of clarity. He knew he had been unconscious, he knew he was someplace familiar.

"The car?"

He forced his head up, ignoring the pain and the smoke and saw a spider-web of cracks through glass. He recognized the interior of his car, so familiar yet so unrecognizable. A nightmarish version of someplace familiar and welcoming. He was in his car and that ... that shattered piece of blue, gray and black metal in front of him had hit him. He had been in a crash.

Papers from the glove box floated in the air burning as large embers. "The car is on fire," he thought to himself incredulous as to this even being possible. He looked down at the crimson that soaked his legs and realized that the blood must be his. He also realized that the car wasn't the only thing on fire ... his pants were on fire as well. Only upon making this realization did he feel that pain, a sharp sting surrounding his calf. He reached for the door handle, but to no avail. It wasn't where it normally was. In a panic, he ran his hands across the metal and plastic to his left until he felt the latch and pulled.

A wave of fresh, cool air hit him followed by the hard gravel and ground. Immediately he remembered the old saying, “stop, drop and roll.” The only problem was that he simply couldn't get his body to react to the thought. On his knees, he patted at the fire on his lower legs weakly. He watched the blood stain the dirt in front of him, uncertain of where it was coming from. If only he could concentrate, if only the surging, throbbing noise would go away. He turned and saw the flames in the cab of the car, embers flying about. It was surreal, as if he were watching television with the sound off. Yet he could feel the heat.

He knew he wasn't safe. He had to move. He had to do something. But he couldn't. He felt helpless. Like an invalid. Like a child. Like a baby.

A baby?

Dear God! They were still in there!