The Vacant Chair by Kaylea Cross

night and the awkwardness they had banished with laughter; the way her heart had turned over in her chest when she’d woken beside him the next morning as dawn gilded his body with brushstrokes of gold.
    But most of all she remembered that haunted expression in his eyes, terrified but mustering a brave front for her, holding her with his remaining strength.
    Promise me…
    Part of her was terrified of fulfilling that promise, because it meant she was moving on. She’d been frozen and numb for so long, until Justin had come into her life and thawed the ice encasing her heart. Now that he had, she felt everything more acutely than she had in a long time and it hurt so much she didn’t want to face it.
    Where the footpath met the main road, fresh wheel ruts and hoof prints indicated the hospital must have received more wounded overnight. She quickened her pace, her aches and pains subsiding under a rush of adrenaline. A rumbling groan reached her ears at last, only audible from this distance if made by a large group of men. She hurried the rest of the way, and the sight awaiting her when she arrived tore a gasp from her throat.
    Men were strewn everywhere around the hospital, on the grass, in wagons. The angel of death had been at work again, and the harvest he had reaped spread across the grounds in a writhing blue carpet.
    Brianna rushed through the mass of tents, shocked by the level of chaos. So many soldiers packed the grounds that the wards were indistinguishable. Doctors worked in groups, performing amputations in the open in front of their horrified audience.
    Heart clattering against her ribs, she raced to gather supplies and went to work even though she ached all over, her body chilled one moment and burning the next. Climbing to her feet beside her first patient, the world spun and she had to steady herself. She raised a shaky hand to her forehead, took a few breaths.
    Definitely ill, but it didn’t matter. The men were suffering much more than she was and they needed help.
    She worked with the wounded until late evening. When she’d done all she could for the men placed in her care, she went to check on Tim and found him sitting up in his bed reading, most comfortable in that position since the blood and mucus didn’t clog his lungs as much. His breathing had worsened some since the last time she’d seen him, but his smile was as cheery as ever. 
    Outside in the enveloping twilight, exhaustion crept in with its heavy cloak, pulling her down like a weight. She shivered and placed a hand to her cheek, knew it must be raging hot. Just the fever then, she reasoned. The fever was making her weak.
    This was no time to get sick. The staff had enough patients to look after. If she worsened to the point where she couldn’t do her work, she’d go home.
    Walking across the grounds, a hollow emptiness filled her. Maybe her illness and intensifying feelings for Captain Thompson were to blame, but it had been a long, long time since she’d felt this alone.
    Overhead, stars winked in the purpling sky. Tendrils of mist swirled on the grass and spilled into the hollows, pooling in puddles. Crickets sang, their chirps blending with the bass notes of male voices and coughs. She strode past wagons filled with severed limbs and dead bodies, a burial detail as it passed by on its way to the cemetery.
    Tonight her ability to stay detached was gone. It was so hard to watch men she had nursed slip away before her eyes, though she’d learned long ago how to remove herself emotionally from it. It was the only way she could do this sort of work. Now it felt as if a giant fist was closing around her heart, squeezing, its grip ever tightening. Obviously her protective shell wasn’t as thick as it needed to be, and her emotional distance from her patients wasn’t great enough.
    Especially when it came to one man in particular. She sighed, fighting an overwhelming urge to see him in spite of the inappropriate things he’d said to her.