Stumped (The story so far)

Adam woke up to find his heart beating like an infants; rapid and very weak. Unable to move his body, he stared up into a blue sky that was turning white from the burning sun digging into his eyes. Underneath him, brown dead grass poked at his neck and sharp rocks prodded into various parts of his back. In the upper left peripherals of his vision he could see a long nylon strap, most likely for the purpose of some safety device. ‘How ironic,’ he thought. In the lower corner of his vision were miscellaneous pieces of the plane, strewn about the autumn leaves of the urban forestry in the Vancouver Clark Washington Park. Adam Daniels was never a hero. He was your typical twenty-something white man, who felt like a failure. Why he ever thought he could for once make an adrenaline fueled decision, drunk on emotion, and get away with it, he could not understand at this point. He had already lost three pints of blood and was pondering how ridiculous it was that in Vancouver, the sun could be sitting on top of you and you could still be freezing to death. Why did she want to move here, of all places? Sure, he could have died alone and unhappy in the United States, but she was convinced that with the supposed economic doom of the country, they would be safer in Vancouver. Adam never disputed that, but he was just too excited to cash in on his front row seat to the destruction of the United States; a country that rewarded selfishness, deceit, and mediocrity. Television had hyped up this Armageddon for years on the cable news stations, and having been born and bred an American, he felt he had the opportunity of a lifetime to witness its collapse.
Retarded. He felt so retarded lying there in an open city park, blood flowing around a failed parachute, eyes as white as milk, waiting for a careless pedestrian to casually stroll over him and offer help. He had been waiting in a pathetic state in his country of origin, so what choice did he have other than to steal a plane and stop the wedding from taking place? He had to show initiative. He had to prove to her that he could do it. To do something, or at least to try. How could Sally Armstrong, a name so beautiful, marry a douche bag like Bob Grost? It sounded too much like Blob Gross, or Boob Gross. Fuck that! Adam Daniels could either die a helpless, lonely-fart-bag in his stained white undershirt, or get off his ass and save the girl he loved; however, when he stole the plane, he didn't think flying it would be all that difficult-what with everything being automated now-and managed to crash it, once again fucking up the simplest of tasks. ‘Never send the mediocre to do a hero's job,’ he thought. Such pain. With all of his life's bad luck, he knew for sure he would survive. Shit, at this point, he wasn't sure what the worst outcome could possibly be, but somehow it found him and always surprised him. Never disappointed. Quiet! Someone's coming.
A woman of 35-37 years of age, pretty but in that, 'I can also built a nice pool deck or put up vinyl siding' kinda way, stepped over Adam, looking down into his teary and blurring eyes. "You o.k.?" Adam saw a figure wearing some kind of open green sweater dangling below billowing waves of sandy brown hair. "Mister? Uh, Hey Mister, you o.k.?" Adam wasn't sure whether or not he was able to speak, so he decided to play it safe and let out a long series of weak airy sounds that escaped from the back of this throat. 'hhaahhhh. HhaaAhhhh. Hhohh. hospital.' He was so excited. The figure elongated itself and the waves of hair and sweater were now one with a disappointing stick with two arms at its sides. Wendy looked about her thinking of what to do. If she dealt with this guy's problem she would have to get to know him and that was simply out of the question. 'I still have to go grocery shopping today,' she thought to herself. "Well shit," she said quietly to herself. "Listen buddy, I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but there isn't a hospital around here for miles, maybe ten or so. And, and, look, I don't have a car, alright, I take the bus, so I can't help you alright? I'll try and have someone call an ambulance for you ok." Wendy let out a forceful pocket of air from her lungs and looked around for the nearest and most convenient person available. Seeing no one other than an old gentleman across the street, having some trouble with a walker that had lost one of its hollowed out tennis balls, she sighed again, this time with a surrendering defeat. "This isn't my day," and decided to look for a pay phone.
Adam, was confused as to what this figure in front of him might be doing at this point. She had said very little and didn't appear to be moving around as people do when they are helping with an emergency situation. When she had taken a few steps east, then west, then south, she finally left heading north, or whatever direction was directly over Adam's head. He thought he'd give it one more shot. 'Hhhaaaa, HHoooosspitallll!'
The worst had already happened. Adam survived the plane crash. When he woke up, fat and grossly unqualified nurses surrounded him. "Well then, somebody finally decided to join the land of the living." The nurse bent over him putting ungodly amounts of pressure on his broken ribs with her unnaturally gargantuan breasts, while she struggled with the new iv needle. Adam managed to turn his head slightly to his right, watching in amazement at his own stupefying inability to affect change upon himself. He was at the mercy of the idiotic and mediocre. People like him never got the best of the best.
After a remarkably cheap discharge from the hospital-Sally wasn't full of shit about their health care after all-Adam was surprised to see a lanky, thirty-something-year-old, waiting in the lobby, holding a cigarette, upset that she was unable to smoke. Wendy Dossimer darted her eyes at and around Adam with a child's impatience. "Well, you ok now, or what?" Adam instinctively grabbed at his side as one does when looking for sympathy. "I guess. Who are you?" Wendy sighed, looked toward the ceiling and decided to light up anyway. "Figures you know. No thanks or nuthin. I'm the one that saved your ass you know." Wendy turned and walked toward the electronic sliding doors exiting the lobby with a familiar finger pointed at Adam. "So long asshole."
Adam, unable to move quickly, hobbled across the short carpet displacing new born scabs on his body and caught up with the woman who may have cruelly brought him back to life. "Wait. Wait." Hearing Adam's desperate panting, Wendy stopped never turning her back. "What? What do you want?" Adam hated saying sorry, but that's just what you do when someone saves your life and you don't thank them, or worse you stare at them wondering why in the fuck did they have to save you when they could have left you there like any other decent person. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you. I'm not even sure how I got here. If you brought me help, then, well, thanks." Wendy finally turned around to face Adam. He was expecting a slightly prettier face, but was caught instead between disappointment and relief at the sight of her. She blew out smoke as she said, "Something tells me you're full of shit, you know that?" Adam confirmed her suspicion when he looked down at the ground and then away into the parking lot feeling ashamed. "You're probably right. Well, I don't want to take up any more of your-"
Wendy butted in, "Yes please don't."
"time."
Wendy began fidgeting with any accessories on her body and then gave Adam Daniels a most disturbing good bye. "Yeah, well. Just know that if I run into you again and you need help, don't hesitate to ask someone else alright?" With that, Wendy did her best to permanently leave Adam's presence when he asked her one final question. "Uhh, sorry but, what day is it." Without missing a step away from Adam, Wendy yelled from across the parking lot, "Saturday." Adam perked up his head and took a deep breath. "SHIT! The wedding. I should still have a few hours."