7. Like flowers

Hunter knew he couldn't do anything, if the problem was a punctured brain, and it obviously was, there was no CPR or anything he could do. He waited with his head on the youth's chest and nodded off. His own strength was at his limit as well.

As he came to himself, Jack was already cold under him. 

"Damn it." He really thought they could be friends. 

"Is this some kind of curse?" Hunter thought self-mockingly. He hadn't had a friend before, only rich aristocratic kids at school, who were too scared to talk to him. 

Ah, he hated himself and this stupid life. He first thought that this was the apocalypse, and he kind of welcomed it, to be honest. But not with a cast on his whole leg and not alone on the top floor of a hospital he couldn't leave. He thought he could go outside without bodyguards and without others looking at him like a monster, he could get himself a beard, then get a baseball bat and walk the streets killing whoever, whenever. Not that he wanted to kill, just the kind of lawless society where he had the possibility to do so.

But being half crippled, surviving on liquid nutrient solution he found, and without a toilet, a shower, or a goddamn razor—and yeah, he came to hate the beard and didn't want it anymore, it scratches like hell — this was not how he imagined his last days would be like. Now, he had a chance to go out with Jack's help, maybe gain a friend, observe other people, and see what's going on because, yes, he was fucking curious about the situation.

And now this bullshit. He propped himself up and looked at the metal thing. 

"This fucking eyesore!" With a violent yank, he pulled the metal rod out of Jack's head. 

In the midst of looking at the metal pole, trying to find out what it even was that killed his first potential friend, he heard Jack gasping, sucking in a deep breath.

Hunter was so scared that his body nearly jumped down the stairs.

He stared at Jack and couldn't believe it. Jack stared with pale, with wide-opened eyes at the ceiling, taking rapid breaths. 

"How.....how is this possible?" He moved closer to Jack and laid his hand on his chest, feeling a heartbeat that drummed like crazy. He was back, really back from the dead. Even Hunter didn't notice how excited he was at this development. 

Then he saw the blood flowing out of Jack's head, and his smile froze. He pressed his sweater on the wound, and Jack cursed, 

"Fuck, that hurts, man!" But thankfully, he didn't move. 

"Jack, you came back from the dead, how are you?" Hunter asked, still in disbelief.

"Dunno..." he paused and let his eyes wander,

"What happened?"

"Are you serious?" Hunter asked in a bad tone.

"Yeah, what's going on? Who are you?" Jack's eyes moved, the rest of his body didn't. 

"Do you remember who you are?" Hunter asked, thinking that now that he had forgotten their short encounter, perhaps other memories were back instead.

Jack stared blankly at the ceiling again. 

"No, but why are flowers here?" He looked back dizzily at the bearded man.

"Flowers?" 

"Yeah, it smells like flowers, I don't remember the name, but we are indoors, right? The smell is so strong and weird... wanna vomit....." He said it, he did it; he vomited on his red jogging suit.

Hunter wasn't as averse to it as he thought he would be. He stared at Jack with a complicated gaze. Brain injuries can lead to every believable and unbelievable symptom. It was already a miracle that he came back from the dead, if it was now only the smell of flowers, he was blessed. 

But Hunter suddenly saw another detail. 

"Shit." Jack's left pupil was huge, he saw no blue-brown iris, but only black. He put his hand over Jack's left eye and said, 

"Listen to me and keep your eye shut; you had a brain injury, and your pupil on this eye is huge; it could damage your optic nerve if you keep it open."

Jack laughed hoarsely—who knows what about—and blacked out again.