Survival Of The Fittest

Adam looked at the pale redhead, and then shrugging, he reached across the table and placed his hand on Hawley's forehead. Quite definitely feverish, Adam swore.

"Damnit, man, you're burning up." He looked around the kitchen, looking for something - anything that might help. Nothing jumped out at him, and he sighed, slumping down in his chair.

"I guess you could try and drink lots, that might help?"

Again, he sighed, and figured that he'd bring Hawley into the loop on his earlier finding upon the search of his pockets.

"Hey, I've got some...well, I guess it could be good news, really depending on how you look at it. I found this...in my pocket. They forgot to take it, I suppose..." As he spoke, he tossed his blue cell phone on the table. It still read 'no service' across the small display. Adam shook his head.

"As soon as I get some fucking service on that thing, we can get out of here, man. We can all go home...I hope."

"That's unlikely." the still bleeding Alan said from the doorway. He knocked on his collard and said, "These collars have mics that pick up everything we say, even if we managed to call for help, they'd detonate our collars."

Hawley blinked light, leaning back in his chair somewhat with an annoyed sound coming from him. "I'll check the medicine I brought with us later. Maybe there's something that'll help..." He managed before coughing again, looking to Adam lightly as he begun to talk.

Somewhere a sense of relief washed over him, finding the highest point on the island would be the best bet for the cellphone to get service. And besides the lighthouse, he did believe that there where a few mountain forms that where higher up than the lighthouse itself.

Though any sense of relief that he once had dissapered when Alan spoke, his hand touching his collar without much thought. So there where mics in them... peachy. Not only where they always being watched, they where being listened onto as well.

Glancing back to Alan fully, Hawley took note of the still bleeding wound. "You're going to kill over from blood loss soon, you know that right? You need to find something and keep pressure on it..."

Adam grinned at both boys, and while Alan's realism cut through his optimism like a knife, he still managed a smile.

"Hey, guys...come on...haven't you ever heard of text messaging?"

He sighed. At least, he hoped that he'd be able to find a way off of this godforsaken island somehow...

Using the door frame to keep his balance, Alan looked around for something to do just that. "Tried doing that with a bedsheet, but it soaked through and ripped. You think there's anything else that could stop blood flow short of my hand?" Alan then looked to Adam.

"That won't work either, remember the T.V. cameras? they'd pick up our message from the cameras and blow us up. They seem to have honed this game to the point where playing is the only way out."

"Find a needle and thread, or something that could double as that and I could sew you up." Hawley offered giving him a lazy look at his comment about the bedsheet before turning back around in his chair.

Glancing back to Adam he shrugged, "That could work, maybe. No way they could listen to that... but the cameras are the other issue."

"Why would sewing materials be here?" Alan asked, trying to surpress the blood with his hand, basically painting the brass knuckles in a menacing crimson tint.

"Fuckers..." he mumbled. He WOULD find a way out, some form of way to get the collar off, and then from there...freedom.

Bringing himself back to current events, he looked at Alan, and agreed with Hawley.

"Yeah man, you should let him do that, you're bleeding pretty friggin' profusely."

"Well how do we expect to do that when the closet thing to a needle is the knife that prick used to slash me, and the only threads are our clothes and those crappy sheets."

"You really are the kind of person who looks at the glass half-empty aren't you?" Hawley questioned lightly, glancing back to Alan. "There's a chance that could work. Now we can look for something else, or we could try with those objects... or you can die. Personally I'm being nice in trying to help, so let's look to the good side of things for the moment, alright?"

Sighing he pushed himself out of the chair, pausing a moment as he brought a hand to run through his hair.

"There is another way. We could cauterise the wound." Alan said, nodding his head as if he had found a sort of ultimate conclusion. "There must be gas, or those guys wouldn't ve been able to chuck Molotovs at us. If we could make a flame, we could heat some metal or something to a certain degree and use it to literally burn the cut shut. Only problem is the risk of burning off my face."

Adam's face went white at the suggestion. If they did what Alan wanted, it would not only likely seriously disfigure him, but it would hurt like no pain he had ever felt before. Adam couldn't help but silently thank the fact that he was uninjured. He had to think about things rationally. And if Alan wanted to bleed out while he did so, then so be it. If he wanted to accept Hawley's help, then so be it. Adam figured that the only thing he could do would be to watch, and if possible, help.

"Of course, they might have used up all the gas. We'llt ry Hawley's idea first, just in case."

"I have to admit, if I can't sew the wound with what we have. Cauterising could work, though I've never done it before. I've read about it..." Hawley admitted weakly, though sighed somewhat when Alan did decide on his plan first.

"Sit down, And I'll get what we need."

"Alright." Alan sat down, his hand trying to hold the blood in until the nevcessary supplies were gathered.