You Adapt, You Overcome

[Aura]

(Rhonda Rollins continued from TV3: The Second Announcement)

The cruise ship was at her back, and the last eight times Rhonda looked over her shoulder, she didn't see anyone chasing her. Between that and the fact that she felt like she was about to collapse, she found a corner behind some crates to sit down and rest while she took care of some pressing matters. She needed rehydration, and more importantly, she needed to do something about the stab wound in her side.

She had kept her hand clutched against it since running from the ship, so she could feel exactly how wet and sticky her shirt was. Honestly, with how it felt, she considered it a small miracle that she hadn't passed out from blood loss, or just flat-out bled out before then. But that just strengthened her need to fix it before she lost too much time. Pulling up her shirt, she got her first look at it, and she had to spend the next few moments trying not to puke. It was her first time seeing a stab wound, and she sincerely hoped that it would be the last. The blood wasn't running super fast, but she was still losing it.

Anticipating how much this would hurt, she pulled a crimson shirt out of her bag that had her team's logo on it. Knowing there was no way in hell she would ever be wearing that thing, she balled it up and stuck as much as she could into her mouth, gagging herself as effectively as she could with what was on hand. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best she could do. She took the disinfectant, pulled up her shirt again, and applied it to the wound.

It stung like a son of a motherfucker, and her makeshift gag came in handy as she screamed bloody murder into her shirt, the team shirt turning out to do a fairly decent job of muffling the sound. When the pain became less searing, and she was sure that the disinfectant had been applied properly, she took the crimson shirt out of her mouth and left it on the dock as she went about applying the bandage properly. She laid out the gauze and covered it with the bandage itself, hoping that what knew about first aid wouldn't fail her. The bandage felt like it might limit her mobility a little bit, but she would take that over actively bleeding out of an infected hole any day.

When the job was done, she leaned back against the large crate, relieved that at least that part of it was over. She went on to her next priority: Refueling to replace at least some of the energy that she had lost. She put away a handful of crackers and one of her seaweed packs, which wound up tasting better than she had expected, and washed it down with a healthy-sized swig of water.

Feeling not quite refreshed, but at least stable, Rhonda rose to her feet. Her job wasn't done yet. She still needed to find Ivan and figure out where the hell he went with Giselle. Her stomach hurt, and she wasn't sure it was entirely her injuries causing it.

She looked back at her team logo shirt, left lying on the dock and wet from being lodged in a screaming mouth. Begrudgingly, she picked it up and folded it before putting it back into her bag. Yes, under normal circumstances, she wouldn't be caught dead with it, but it was still a spare change of clothes. Besides, she could throw it out or burn it after she got out of the flotilla.

(Rhonda Rollins continued elsewhere...)