Blood + Lungs = Hospital

(and no, my lungs are not filling up with blood).

Vince, I'm sad to say, is not the Ironman. He's not even Superman or Batman - no kevlar, just cotton. The problem, is that he thinks he's 'Invincible' - and therefore, will not go to the hospital. (In order for my friends to get this, I told them he's hospital-a-phobic... if I hadn't I don't think they would've understood how I just cant make him up and go to the hospital.. they seem to think I'm in charge of the story, not the characters!)

But anyways, I need Vince to go to the hospital. He his knee hurts, leg is infected and had lots and lots of bruises. Seriously, it's not plausable for one good rest to revive him. So, in order to get his stubborn arse (I'm sooo english, eh? - Actually 1/4 l'Anglais) to a hospital, I'm sending him over a cliff, into a lake and getting a rock to fall on his ear (just to add another hurting bit if blood). Then, when he finally gets out of the water, he'll be shot in the back. Lungs filling with blood, Vince will ride down the mountain and just make it to the hospital, where he'll survive - barely. During that time, I'll POV change to the other group of good-baddies (with Paul and Eddie, and recently, Wings).

Sounds... not very plausible. But I need to get him to the hospital, or else it'll be even more not plausible. Does anyone know the statistics for lungs + blood? It only has to be a small hole, but enough for him to freak and get some perfessional help.

Any ideas for added reality with the whole lungs and blood bit?  Or just reality overall?

Invincible pages 17-18

I grabbed the bike, knowing two things for sure.

One: There were at least 3 other people on this mountain.

Two: Someone was going to be very mad that I stole their bike.

It was almost a perfect fit - maybe a little bit too small, but I had a habit of standing up on bikes anyways.

I rode away. The bike was top quality - disc brakes (which were perfect for mud) a sweet odometer to check my speed, back and front suspension and an awesomely durable but light frame. Across the middle bar, a name had been messily drawn in front of the brand name. Tyson.

A smile swept through my face, but was quickly gone. My knees killed, my arms hurt, and biking around a mountain was a lot of work. Every three seconds there was a rock, just hidden from my view, which I had to jump over or somehow avoid, and the path was like a condensed rollercoaster - steep up-hills followed by a series of turning down-hills, which ended up with a log across the path…

I checked my speedometer for a dangerous second. I was going about 22 kilometers an hour - good. At least, if it came down to that, I could outrun my pursers.

Or not. A shout sounded from behind me and I heard someone running behind me. What the-

“Yo, dude, that’s my bike!” I spun around, taking a sharp corner around a tree. Some sort of animal had made a smooth dirt path heading down - towards what, I had no idea. But at least it was away from the chair lift and the boy.

Or not. I checked over my shoulder and I saw him running behind me. He had a pale face with lots of freckles and extremely straight black hair. I think it was dyed, but didn’t dwell on it - how could that help me? Instead, I watched the ground, making sure any upcoming roots and branches were avoided. The leafy, light green forest was replaced with the darker green of hemlocks and pine trees. A shadow was cast over the path and the prickly branches whipped at my arms. I checked my speedometer. With the downhill I was going at about 30 kilometers an hour. I looked behind, confident that I wouldn’t mess up and go off-track - where else was there to go? - and searched for any sign of the Trainees, or boy. Neither showed positive.

I looked ahead and the air was sucked from my lungs. Water. Water and me, falling into it.

The makeshift ramp below me fell away, and held on tight to the bike. The lake was big and very, very open. A bike floating in it could be the cause of a confrontation with the Trainees, and that was very, very bad.