Everything hurt; most people say that when they ached, but for me it really was everything. My head rang like a church bell, my skin felt like it was on fire, and I could feel a multitude of bones shifting where they weren’t supposed to.

Wait, I was wrong. Everything didn’t hurt; my legs felt more like they were asleep.

I blinked, trying to clear my vision. It took a few moments but I started to see the blurry outline of rubble around me. The pain made it hard to focus, but as my old instructor constantly told me: pain meant you were still alive. I hurt too much to move but as I regained consciousness recent events surfaced. The school, cops moving in, a scared little girl running from the bearded man with a vest covered in explosives.

The flash of light as I dove over the little blond haired girl and the pain as shrapnel and flame reached out and drove me into darkness.

A soft feminine voice nearby whispered, “Are you okay mister?”

I accepted the stab of pain in my head and neck as I turned to the source of the voice. The blurry figure of what could only be the little girl sat a few feet away from me. I laid my head back down and whispered back in a surprisingly steady voice, “Ow.”

A soft giggle, quickly stifled, was my initial response, followed by, “Some rescue people were by a minute ago. They are trying to move the rocks to get us out.”

“Okay,” was the only response I could manage.

“Thank you for saving me mister,” the voice said again as I slipped once more into darkness.

My next conscious thought was fuzzy, but surprisingly pain free. My body was still stiff, but I could feel a pillow beneath my head and a sheet over my body. A soft beep repeated nearby, and a strong disinfectant smell permeated the air. I wasn’t that surprised when I opened my eyes to see I was in a hospital room. Unfortunately my head was clear enough to notice that the sheet started to dip way too soon on my left leg. My left arm was wrapped up in a cast and strapped in place to prevent it from moving, and my right arm was covered in bandages. I could also feel bandages wrapping around my head and neck. I fumbled around a little until I found the call button near my right hand, which was surprisingly free of bandages.

A minute later a blurry form in a light purple outfit stepped into the room and said in a calm female, “Good you’re awake. How do you feel?”

I tried to shrug, but I could tell it wasn’t visible after I felt the pull of bandages preventing much movement. I settled for rasping out, “Like I got run over by a bus.”

“Well sounds like you’re well enough to attempt humor, though maybe some water would help,” she replied.

She move closer and I felt the tube of a large straw, the kind that are usually found on sports bottles pressed against my lips. I sipped carefully, knowing to be cautious if I had been out for a while. There was a sharp pain in my throat as I sipped but I resisted the cough, somehow knowing that it would hurt more. My mouth moistened I said, in a much clearer voice, “The tubes just come out?”

I could see her head nod. My vision was still blurry and I wasn’t certain if it was the medication or an injury. It was clear enough for me to tell she was taller than average and dark haired, but everything else was a mystery. She did have a nice voice though, which I got to appreciate further when she asked, “Are you in pain?”

I took a mental stock and said, “I’m not feeling it, sharp pain when I drank.”

Shifting a little I felt a small amount of pain and winced as she said, “Don’t try and move, you still have a number of injuries.”

“Do I try and rest or wait for the doctor?” I asked.

“If you feel the need to sleep then go ahead, the doctor was notified you had woken up,” she responded.

I closed my eyes again, but didn’t think I would fall back asleep. I could hear her move from the room as I waited. Sitting still was one of those things I never did well. I tried to remember the details of the incident but couldn’t remember much beyond the flashes I had seen when I awoke in the rubble. I had been at the school to speak to one of my old teachers for advice. I had just been turned down for joining the military, and hadn’t had a backup plan in place. I had hoped that my old teacher, a friend of the family, had some advice on what to do. It was a bit of a desperate hope since I hadn’t wanted to return home to tell my family I had failed to pass the psychiatric evaluation for military service.

No I am not crazy, contrary to popular belief or the fact that I was mentally talking to myself. I shook my head, causing a sharp pain at the base of my skull. A mature male voice, with the traces of an accent that reminded me of Texas, stated, “I would advise against rapid movement. Your body is likely still sore from the trauma you suffered.”

I opened my eyes to see another blurry figure, clearly bald and dark skinned, wearing what I assumed was a lab coat standing at the foot of my bed. I said, a little sharply, “No shit doc.”

He chuckled, his voice a deep rumble, and responded to my sharpness with a calmness that had to come from years of experience, “Young man, you are entitled to some grumpiness with what you have endured. Just remember to rein it in a bit as we discuss matters.”

“I’ll try, can’t promise much,” I replied.

“Fair enough, my name is Doctor Mike Owens. Can you tell me your name?” he asked.

“Alexander Cayne,” I answered, not really sure why he was asking.

I saw his hand make a short motion on a clipboard he carried and I realized he was checking on my mental recall; probably standard practice from a head injury. I preempted his next couple of questions, “I have intact memories from August 2nd, and the details of my trip to the school are fuzzy. I don’t know what day it is as I don’t know how much time passed between then and now.”

My statement came out a little slower than I was used to. Normally my mouth couldn’t keep up with my thoughts. I assumed it was whatever drug they were using to cut off the pain I should be feeling based on the number of bandages I had on. I could see his hand moving as he wrote down some more notes before he asked, “You told the nurse you weren’t feeling much pain?”

I slowly nodded, then responded, “Stiffness, pain when I move quickly, and soreness in the back of my throat. I know that last is from tubes being removed.”

“Yes, we removed them when we reduced the anesthetic after the latest surgery. Are you aware enough to tell me how you’re feeling beyond that?” he asked.

I thought that was an odd question, but I answered anyway, “Mentally, a little slow on the uptake. Emotionally, confused and scared. Physically, what I said before and my vision is pretty blurry.”

The doctor moved closer to examine my eyes, “You seem to still be suffering from a concussion as you took a pretty significant blow to your head. We will have to monitor it to see if there are changes over the next couple of days. As to your confusion I can tell you that you’ve been down for almost three days. Your first two days were spent in surgery as you had multiple fractures and some shrapnel. You also suffered from severe lacerations and some moderate burns on sections of your body along with blunt trauma from portions of a wall falling down on you.”

I had to hold back a shudder as I stated, “I don’t remember much of it. I have flashes of getting between a man and a little girl, then a brief interlude of the girl asking me if I was okay.”

“That is expected when the body suffers trauma. It pushes the trauma out of your mind to cope with it. You may never remember fully, and if you do it will be after you have recovered,” he responded.

I took a deep breath and said, “Okay doc, now can we cover the elephant in the room. How much did I lose?”

Even blurry I could tell he was frowning as he asked, “You suffered pretty significant injuries. To be honest I’m surprised you are as healthy as you are considering how close you were to that explosion. How much do you want to know?”

I took another deep breath, steeling myself, and answered, “All of it doc. Rip the proverbial bandage off, I would like to keep the literal ones on for a while.”

That got a wry chuckle out of him and he answered, “You will have some scarring from some of the lacerations. Your left arm was severely burned and was broken in three places. Your left leg was broken in multiple locations but we were able to correct a large portion of the damage with surgery. Your right leg was crushed below the knee from rubble and it had to be removed. Your back was burned and cut but seems to be healing well, while your face has some light abrasions. You took a significant blow to the back of your head from the rubble as well.”

I closed my eyes, feeling bitter tears try and come up and asked, “Anything else?”

“Unfortunately until you told me your name we had no way of knowing who you were, so you haven’t had any visitors we could let in. Your clothes were burnt as was your identification,” he answered.

I chuckled softly, “Funny part is I was at MEPs the day before and got fingerprinted.”

“We couldn’t get a clear print, your hands were singed. Since you were expected to recover we figured we could ask. Who should we contact?” he asked.

I gave him my mother’s name and contact number and he left to have a nurse make the call. I leaned my head back and tried hard to fall asleep. Now I needed that advice on what to do with my life even more than before.

Before I drifted off to sleep my brain recalled one scene clearly, the little girl, dirty but calm, uninjured while I lay broken in the rubble.

“Worth it,” I said into the empty room.

* * * * *

Two weeks passed, with my mother visiting every day. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my mother; but she has a tendency to hover when one of her kids get hurt. I being just a few months out of high school was still considered one of her babies. Something I doubted would change when I was old and grey. The nurses and I managed to chase her out Friday evening to go home and rest after the doctor reported that everything that could was healing well and I would likely be discharged on Monday.

My Saturday began with the removal of the bandages on most of my body. The injuries were closed, but I still needed to be careful moving about. My skin was an interesting shade as the bruises healed, but I still had the recovery speed of a healthy young man. I could tell there would be some impressive scarring though. My self-examination was interrupted by a knock on the door and Nurse Hill, who now that my vision had cleared up turned out to be a fairly attractive middle aged nurse, said, “Do you feel like visitors?”

I smirked and replied, “I feel like tenderized meat. Did my mother return with the rest of the brood or something?”

Nurse Hill laughed and said, “No, it’s not your family. Something tells me you should see this pair though.”

My curiosity was piqued and I said, “Sure why not, I actually feel pretty good today.”

A man in what I guessed was his forties with salt and pepper hair cut neatly wearing a navy blue business suit stepped into the room. His blue eyes showing a keen mind and clear attention to detail as he studied me. It was the little blond girl, probably about eight or nine in a green dress holding his hand that caught my attention though.

Her voice was just a soft as it had been in the rubble, but also as clear as a bell as she said, “Hello mister.”

I smiled and said back, “Hello young lady, you’re looking well.”

She grinned and the man, who I assumed was her father said, “She is well, barely a scrape thanks to you.”

I shrugged, something that didn’t even hurt that much after the time I had spent healing. He shook his head and stated, “You put your body between a madman with a bomb and my daughter. That is a debt I cannot repay.”

I was shaking my head before he had finished speaking, “I wouldn’t consider myself much of a man if I stood there and watched.”

“Nevertheless you protected my daughter, at the cost of damage that will likely never completely heal. I wouldn’t consider myself much of a man if I let that debt go unanswered.”

Countered with my own argument I just kind of stared at the now smiling man as his daughter walked over and hopped up on the bed next to me. She looked me over and asked, “Does it hurt?”

“Not really, I have to be careful of my arm since the bones are still healing. Everything else is just kind of tender,” I answered.

“I fell off my bike last year and broke my arm. It took forever to heal,” she said as she dug around in a small purse and pulled out a permanent marker before carefully writing her name on the cast before continuing, “It was too plain.”

I just grinned at the innocence of the young girl. Her father returned the smile and asked, “What were your plans after you left here? Still going to college?”

I shook my head, “I had planned to go into the military before the incident. I didn’t really have a backup plan. I’m not exactly well suited to sitting still for long periods of time. My hospital stay has been, difficult.”

Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out a business card and set it on the side table next to me and said, “When you feel up to it, come by my office and we will talk. Maybe we can discover something you would be good at.”

I took the card and handed back toward him, “Sir, I don’t want you to give me a job just because I helped. I wouldn’t want to take away from someone who has better qualifications.”

He just smiled at me and said, “Oh don’t worry, if you don’t qualify for a job you won’t get the job. I figure the least I can do is have a more serious chat when there is time. Think about it, do some research, and then come talk to me if you’re interested. Now, though, I’m going to take little Marie here to see her grandmother. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

As the two left I looked at the card. It read: Pandora Interactive, William O’Brian.

I knew the company name; it was one of the leading game developers in the country possibly the world. I had no idea what kind of job I could do at that company though; I really, really, wasn’t suited to desk work.

Time would tell, for now I just had to make it through the weekend.