pulled that one off,” she groaned and
chuckled with relief. “Talk about cutting it close.”
The water ran wine-red in his hands as he scooped handful after handful up to
his face with increasing vehemence until it ran clear, whereupon he exhaled and
dried his face in a dirty, frayed vest lying on the floor. He then held out the
garment and examined it briefly for size as a fresh thought occurred to him:
He would need civilian clothes.
He came into the only bedroom in the apartment; flicked the switch four times.
No light. Apart from the ruffled sheets on the bed, everything else in the
apartment was still in place. Celyn waited on the threshold and observed
without a word as he propped the rifle against the wall and stepped up to the
bureau. A sharp pain shot through his arm as soon as he tried to pull open the
top drawer. He winced and clutched his shoulder, feeling the sting of his
touch against the exposed pulp of a wound beneath the rip in his gear.
“You’re hit?” Celyn came toward him.
Now that the rush of battle had passed, his mind was being awakened to all kinds
of sensations. The pain oozed into his flesh.
“Come here,” she said, beckoning him onto the edge of the bed. “Can you raise
your arm?”
He attempted to do so and managed, subduing a grimace with a clenched jaw, but
not the shaking of his outstretched arm.
“Looks like the round tore through the deltoid,” said Celyn, with a careful eye
on the laceration. She emptied out all the contents of an iatric pack and
opened up a vial. “This may sting a little,” she said, holding the vial over
his shoulder.
He subdued another grimace as the pale fluid poured out and seared his flesh
like a brand. The burn lingered until the painkillers kicked in, and the gear was
gently peeled back over the wound. He watched her from the corner of his eye.
Her touch was tender through the dead flesh. The sounds of the faraway battles
had all but disappeared, and an uncanny peace settled upon them, in the solace
of that dark room.
“So…” Celyn murmured, “now you’ll just …disappear into the night?”
He sensed the hints of longing in her voice. “Not yet,” he answered, quietly, “but…
soon.” He flinched again. The suturing gel filled the gap of the wound and
the raw flesh tingled.
“This whole region is one big warzone. Where will you go?”
“South, toward Mamayev. Then east, to the Kazakh border.”
“That’s East Grid territory.”
“There is no choice,” he said. “I cannot remain in the West.”
He felt the wound contract and the binding gently but firmly layered over the
wound
“That is one hell of a march,” said Celyn. “Better stock up on supplies. You
may run into a few skirmishes on the way.”
“I can take care of myself.” He brusquely came to his feet once the last strip
of gauze was layered and a loud explosion sounded from nearby.
They rushed out of the building just in time to see the last fragments of a
severely battered building tumbling into the street. Celyn came up by his side.
“Be vigilant,” he said, lowering his weapon. “There is still conflict in the
other districts.”
They descended the stairs and begun ambling up the street, surveying goings-on.
“Any updates?” asked Celyn.
“They are doing the final sweeps of the buildings,” he said.
“Casualties?”
“Duguay is dead,” he said, after a slightly less than solemn pause.
“…He had a good run.”
“I suppose it is just you and Malachi from now on,” said Saul.
“Well, I don’t know what Eli has planned, but I’ll probably be taking some time
off after this.”
“That makes two of us, then.”
Another group of POWs was led onto the main street. They stopped and allowed a
drove of POWs to pass and he
chuckled with relief. “Talk about cutting it close.”
The water ran wine-red in his hands as he scooped handful after handful up to
his face with increasing vehemence until it ran clear, whereupon he exhaled and
dried his face in a dirty, frayed vest lying on the floor. He then held out the
garment and examined it briefly for size as a fresh thought occurred to him:
He would need civilian clothes.
He came into the only bedroom in the apartment; flicked the switch four times.
No light. Apart from the ruffled sheets on the bed, everything else in the
apartment was still in place. Celyn waited on the threshold and observed
without a word as he propped the rifle against the wall and stepped up to the
bureau. A sharp pain shot through his arm as soon as he tried to pull open the
top drawer. He winced and clutched his shoulder, feeling the sting of his
touch against the exposed pulp of a wound beneath the rip in his gear.
“You’re hit?” Celyn came toward him.
Now that the rush of battle had passed, his mind was being awakened to all kinds
of sensations. The pain oozed into his flesh.
“Come here,” she said, beckoning him onto the edge of the bed. “Can you raise
your arm?”
He attempted to do so and managed, subduing a grimace with a clenched jaw, but
not the shaking of his outstretched arm.
“Looks like the round tore through the deltoid,” said Celyn, with a careful eye
on the laceration. She emptied out all the contents of an iatric pack and
opened up a vial. “This may sting a little,” she said, holding the vial over
his shoulder.
He subdued another grimace as the pale fluid poured out and seared his flesh
like a brand. The burn lingered until the painkillers kicked in, and the gear was
gently peeled back over the wound. He watched her from the corner of his eye.
Her touch was tender through the dead flesh. The sounds of the faraway battles
had all but disappeared, and an uncanny peace settled upon them, in the solace
of that dark room.
“So…” Celyn murmured, “now you’ll just …disappear into the night?”
He sensed the hints of longing in her voice. “Not yet,” he answered, quietly, “but…
soon.” He flinched again. The suturing gel filled the gap of the wound and
the raw flesh tingled.
“This whole region is one big warzone. Where will you go?”
“South, toward Mamayev. Then east, to the Kazakh border.”
“That’s East Grid territory.”
“There is no choice,” he said. “I cannot remain in the West.”
He felt the wound contract and the binding gently but firmly layered over the
wound
“That is one hell of a march,” said Celyn. “Better stock up on supplies. You
may run into a few skirmishes on the way.”
“I can take care of myself.” He brusquely came to his feet once the last strip
of gauze was layered and a loud explosion sounded from nearby.
They rushed out of the building just in time to see the last fragments of a
severely battered building tumbling into the street. Celyn came up by his side.
“Be vigilant,” he said, lowering his weapon. “There is still conflict in the
other districts.”
They descended the stairs and begun ambling up the street, surveying goings-on.
“Any updates?” asked Celyn.
“They are doing the final sweeps of the buildings,” he said.
“Casualties?”
“Duguay is dead,” he said, after a slightly less than solemn pause.
“…He had a good run.”
“I suppose it is just you and Malachi from now on,” said Saul.
“Well, I don’t know what Eli has planned, but I’ll probably be taking some time
off after this.”
“That makes two of us, then.”
Another group of POWs was led onto the main street. They stopped and allowed a
drove of POWs to pass and he
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