Fred got the feeling this wasn’t the first time he’d tried to claw his way out of the numbness towards Garrett’s face. It was, however, the first time he’d succeeded, never mind that his eyes kept trying to float off in different directions. He blinked a few times and his field of vision broadened to include George, looking haggard but relieved, and a tray of mugs and baked goods on his bedside table.
He couldn’t feel his lower half, but that was normal. Could he breathe? Yes. So far, so good. Could he sit up?
George’s hand shot out to stop him, but not before he’d caught a glimpse of the twisted shape of his left leg beneath the sheets. He swallowed a wave of nausea and let his brother ease his head back again.
Speaking. Maybe he’d try speaking instead.
His throat was still raw from inhaled dust and debris, but he managed a weak and raspy “Hi,” with what he hoped was a smile in Garrett’s direction.