Lining up for Heaven

Wake up, little bird.

Her slightly parted lips seemed to call me, as if with a silent scream. I couldn’t resist them, and it wasn’t the first time. They usually caught my eye and allowed my thoughts to wander freely, up till my blood flowed out of my brain and it was hard to think at all. Her breasts heaved heavily, maybe a little bit too fast; I couldn’t help but remember the last time they heaved in exactly the same manner. Except then, she was lying on a bed, in the messy sheets, with her face reddened, looking at me from lowered eyelids, too tired to say anything. Now her eyelids were shut tight, her face terrifyingly pale. Instead of a bed, there was only ground underneath her, covered not with bedding, but with blood drying slowly into dark rosewood color.

She was wounded. Low on her hip, I could clearly see the place where the bullet went through. For a moment, I stared at her, still not fully awake. She was wounded. She was... wounded...

I jerked up and immediately regretted it as unbearable pain tore my skull apart. I put my hand against my forehead and realized I could feel blood under my fingers, and for a second there I wondered how I could be still alive since apparently someone shot me in the head. After a while, though, I understood that was just an exceptionally ugly bruise, and the nausea, slowly waking up deep inside me, was probably a symptom of a concussion. Once upon a time I had been taught one should not move in such situation, one should wait calmly for an ambulance, but... I was sure no ambulance would come this time. A hearse would be more likely.

My head started spinning, so I closed my eyelids tightly, trying to overcome the feeling. I heard Raven and her quiet moan, and I immediately moved towards her, on all fours, not exactly sure where the ground ended and hallucinations started.

“Raven?” I uttered. I could barely hear my own voice, so I tried to gather my strength. The feeling of nausea was back and this time I wasn’t able to force it back inside. The sharp stink of vomit still filled my nose when I regained composure and straightened up again. My eyes were too deceiving, so I closed them. “Raven? Shake it off. Wake up, sweet little bird. It’s time to get up.”

A moan sounded not far from me, a moan I’d recognize anywhere, at any time.

“…Fang?” she whispered. Just by the sound of her voice, I could hear she was completely devoid of power. I had to figure out how to get us out of here, quickly.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m here.”

I crawled to her and, exhausted, lay in the small claret-colored puddle that started forming around her.

“Fang… What happened…?” she forced out after a while. I really didn’t want to tell her what had to be told.

“We lost, little bird,” I muttered at last, quietly. I honestly hoped she hadn’t heard me.

“We l" Oh, no.” I could easily hear a sob starting in her throat. “But… Crocus…?”

I clenched my teeth at the very memory of my own bullet that pierced the leader’s temple, sending him to his death into the icy river.

“Don’t you remember anything?” I asked.

“Crocus?” she repeated, her voice somehow different, so I took the risk of opening my eyes to see what’s going on. With huge effort, Raven was hovering above me, leaning on her elbow.

“Gosh, girl, what are you doing?” I shouted, forcing her back down. There were streams of tears dripping down her cheeks, and her beautiful, dark purple eyes stared at me hesitantly and a little reproachfully.

“Crocus?!” she repeated again, although I could clearly see she had to try her hardest to make a sound. When she exhaled, a wave of blood flowed out of her wound.

“He’s dead,” I replied in a soft voice, pushing my hands against her abdomen and trying to stop the bleeding and my own tears when she started whimpering like a wounded animal. I couldn’t determine whether that was because of the pain or grief.

“Faa-ang…” she yelped, forcing her arms up, as though she only wanted to cuddle up and cry a little, and I pushed them down with a heavy heart.

“Don’t move,” I whispered. She looked at me like an unjustfully scolded pup. “You’re only gonna get hurt, little bird.”

She closed her eyes, exhausted, but still shaking with spasms of silent sobs that she tried to stop, in vain. I glanced over my shoulder, looking for some shelter we could hide in. It was just then that I saw the real image of the battlefield which our Clan War left behind.

The river--still bound with a thin layer of ice--was red with blood. Bodies were scattered around, their empty eyes watching the skies for salvation, which was never to come. Timer’s carcass pushed dead Leda to the ground, like he threw himself at her in the last minute of his life to protect her with his own body from the bullet that still killed her. A bit further an arm moved"and I was that close to rushing to a comrade’s rescue, but I saw it was torn off Hafe’s body and just now slid down the melting snow, stopping on a rock that fit perfectly into the nook of its elbow. The sight of friends awoke a new wave of nausea and fresh memories of the fight that was never going to be won. The lost battle fought for what? For pride? For independence? And here’s where it got us. Seven mauled bodies, one drowned goner and us two in the middle, lining up for heaven.

Raven calmed down a little and now just lay there, staring into the distance with her gaze almost as empty as the eyes of our fallen friends.

“Don’t look,” I said. “Look at me.”

She turned her head with effort and raised her gaze to meet mine. Her eyelids were red and swollen. I stared at her face, taking it in. Her mouth was even more red, which made no sense--it should be pale by now, with all the blood she’d lost. But then she coughed and when another layer of scarlet saliva covered her lips, I finally understood. Though she would be in agony for much longer, I’d already lost her now.

Author's Note

This is, uh... a 'spin-off' from 'The Mutated World' series, one of my book projects. It's a scene that won't be in the books, but speaks of events that are intergral part of the story.