Waking Marc up softly, she clamped her now sweaty palm against his mouth.
She normally didn't sweat this profusely.
But this time it was different.
There was Marc to think of.
As he woke, he widened his eyes and then twigged it. Carefully he removed her hand and stealthily slid off the other side. He produced a taser from his back pocket and started to create a sling for his arm out of the sheet.. Meanwhile, Cynthia scoured the nearby area. It was unlikely anyone was still here.
They would have killed them by now.
"Cynth, Cynth, over here," Marc beckoned her over, the sheet skillfully draped over his shoulder supporting his arm. She went over. Marc had found the other bullet.
And a foot.
White. Ghostly white.
It look cauterised where it had been forcefully amputated.
No blood surrounded it.
But the scarlet blotches gave it away.
They were fresh.
Too fresh.
...
Cynthia couldn't help it, she looked down to check. Thankfully they were both still attached to her legs. Beside her Marc had done the same.
"Whose foot's that?"
"No idea."
Life had just got a little weirder.