Normally, Jim tends to move around in his sleep a little, whether in reaction to nightmares or just seeking out a more comfortable position. This time, he doesn't twitch a muscle all night, still lying in the same position every time Hunter checks on him.
To Jim, it's not even very much like being in a coma. At least then, he was vaguely aware that people were with him, hearing snatches of voices and hospital sounds, even if he doesn't remember what he heard. Now, it's just darkness and silence wrapping around him like a cocoon, not even enough to recognize it for what it is, a smooth transition from his last state of waking to the next, with no real sense of how time has passed.
And the last thing he remembers is dying in the warp core.
He's lying down in the dirt, his clothes and one of his arms uncomfortably twisted beneath him, but he doesn't dare move a muscle. Along his sides, he can feel the lifeless bodies of his fellow colonists, still smoking from the fatal burns in their chests, their heads, their bellies. Lying across his chest is the weight of his aunt, her bony elbows digging into his ribs, unseeing eyes staring down at him, bearing unshed tears that will never fall.
Beyond her body, he can hear the repeated sound of weapons fire and screams, as more of Kodos' men shoot those who have been slated to die, and the soft sounds of bodies falling to the ground or on top of each other. The moans of the wounded are cut off abruptly as more weapons fire, finishing off those who didn't die the first time, until the screaming finally stops.
"Check the bodies," that deep, measured voice orders, the same one that stood above the plaza and announced the execution of half the colony. Footsteps walk among the corpses, prodding at bodies, checking for signs of breath. Every now and then, a shot rings out, snuffing out the life of another survivor. Jimmy lies still and silent, forcing himself to take shallow breaths, praying that it's enough to escape notice underneath the body of his aunt, every animal instinct in his body screaming for him to get up and run and go go go.
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To Jim, it's not even very much like being in a coma. At least then, he was vaguely aware that people were with him, hearing snatches of voices and hospital sounds, even if he doesn't remember what he heard. Now, it's just darkness and silence wrapping around him like a cocoon, not even enough to recognize it for what it is, a smooth transition from his last state of waking to the next, with no real sense of how time has passed.
And the last thing he remembers is dying in the warp core.
He's lying down in the dirt, his clothes and one of his arms uncomfortably twisted beneath him, but he doesn't dare move a muscle. Along his sides, he can feel the lifeless bodies of his fellow colonists, still smoking from the fatal burns in their chests, their heads, their bellies. Lying across his chest is the weight of his aunt, her bony elbows digging into his ribs, unseeing eyes staring down at him, bearing unshed tears that will never fall.
Beyond her body, he can hear the repeated sound of weapons fire and screams, as more of Kodos' men shoot those who have been slated to die, and the soft sounds of bodies falling to the ground or on top of each other. The moans of the wounded are cut off abruptly as more weapons fire, finishing off those who didn't die the first time, until the screaming finally stops.
"Check the bodies," that deep, measured voice orders, the same one that stood above the plaza and announced the execution of half the colony. Footsteps walk among the corpses, prodding at bodies, checking for signs of breath. Every now and then, a shot rings out, snuffing out the life of another survivor. Jimmy lies still and silent, forcing himself to take shallow breaths, praying that it's enough to escape notice underneath the body of his aunt, every animal instinct in his body screaming for him to get up and run and go go go.
If he does, he's dead. It's as simple as that.