Author's Note:
I wrote this months ago for my creative writing class, but decided not to turn it in. Rather than let it sit on my hard drive forever, I decided to post it here. It's the first time I've written something for Fullmetal Alchemist, so I hope you like it!
A Thousand Grains of Sand
Blood is an excellent fertilizer.
Return to a battlefield a decade after the fight, and the land will be a verdant paradise compared to its prior state. Fed by the nitrogen-rich blood and flesh of the slain, plants will thrive, trees will shoot towards the sky, and flowers will carpet the land.
At least, that's what normally happens.
But not here, Riza Hawkeye thought with distaste, crouching lower on the towering sandstone pillar that shielded her from view of the encampment below. Here, there's nothing but desert rock and sand dunes. The blood spilled here feeds only the arid winds.
It was a gorgeous country, albeit a harsh one. Auburn sandstone reached towards the sky in towering pillars, riddled with hidden arches and slot canyons. Tiny, hidden springs welled up out of the ground, giving life to the hardy plants that crowded the oases. Lizards and snakes thrived; everything else withered in the punishing heat.
That included humans. Riza wiped sweat off her brow, wishing she could pant like a dog to cool herself. Taking a small sip of water from her flask, just enough to wet her parched throat, she settled herself more firmly into the hollow that cradled her body. Her rifle pressed firmly against her shoulder, but she didn't raise her eye to the viewfinder. Not yet. The people in the rebel camp were sleeping in their tents, as any sane person would do during the hottest part of the afternoon; her target would show himself soon enough.
She didn't know his name, but then, she rarely knew the names of her targets. Her superiors identified the men – they were all men – who were thorns in the military's side, then sent her after them. And, like a well-trained hunting dog, she obeyed. It sickened her, but she had no choice. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped that, by removing the leaders of the rebellion, she could bring this senseless war to a close sooner. But that didn't relieve her guilt each time her bullets slammed through another man's skull.
A bath would scour the grime from her skin, but nothing would remove the faces from her memory… or her nightmares.
Movement in the white tents below caught her attention. An older man slipped out of his makeshift shelter and wandered towards the edge of camp, running his fingers through his tousled hair. She pressed her eye to the sight of her rifle, staring down at him coolly. Could he be her target? The tan robe and auburn sash were no help; every person in the country wore similar garments. But the bandage over his left eye matched the description she had been given.
Taking a slow, deep breath, she lowered her finger to the trigger. Then she froze. A child, no more than five years old, toddled out of the tent and trotted towards the man. "Daddy!" The man turned, beamed, and scooped the child up in his arms. Riza couldn't hear what he said, but the child buried his face in the man's shoulder and clutched him tightly. The man ruffled the child's hair soothingly, but he refused to let go.
Damn it, Riza spat silently. Her superiors would tell her to shoot, to ignore the presence of the child – if they gave her that order in person, she had a sneaking suspicion that she would shoot them instead. I don't kill children. And she wasn't about to murder the boy's father in front of him. What is a kid doing in a rebel camp, anyway?
Because it's not a rebel camp, it's a refugee camp, she answered herself a moment later. He didn't have anywhere else to go. This massacre is barbaric, she thought angrily, baring her teeth in frustration. Women, children, noncombatants… we're killing them all, and we have no reason to! The military commanders called it regrettable collateral damage; Riza called it murder – at least in the privacy of her own mind.
In all likelihood, the boy down there would die before a week passed, if she fulfilled her task. Orphaned children did not fare well in this war.
She bowed her head, letting her rifle fall to the side. Can I really do this? she asked herself, watching as her target unwrapped his son's arms from his neck and set him on the ground with a paternal pat to the head. The kid looked up with a wide-eyed expression, and his father waved a hand towards the tent. The boy scowled, but obediently trotted off.
Riza's mouth thinned. It's now or never. The camp was asleep, her target was alone: she wouldn't get a better shot than this. She raised the rifle to her eye, sighting coldly down the barrel. The man's calm, resolute expression swam into view, crystal clear in her viewfinder, and her fingers tightened on the trigger.
Then echoing laughter boomed across the canyon. Scarlet lightning cracked across the sky, slamming into the man's body with a thunderclap. He crumpled to the ground in a shower of blood.
Before his body hit the ground, the cliff face opposite Riza's position exploded in a massive plume of dust and rock. A figure clad in navy blue stepped forward into the dissipating clouds, a cruel smirk playing about his lips. Riza's jaw clenched as she recognized him. Damn it, Kimblee, what are you doing? We're only supposed to kill rebels, remember? Not civilians. Never civilians…
Kimblee clapped his hands together, and another explosion split the air, sending flames cascading down the rock walls. As they reached the canyon floor, it shuddered and convulsed, bucking like a startled horse.
Panic erupted in the camp. People spilled out of the tents, clutching makeshift weaponry and guns with wild eyes as they frantically searched for the source of the danger. Screams split the air as the ground began to vomit up gouts of flame that incinerated anything they touched. One young girl, unlucky enough to be caught in one, shrieked in agony before crumpling into ashes. The child Riza had been watching sprinted out of his tent, mouth gaping in an inaudible wail, and darted over to the fallen body of his father.
Kimblee barked another laugh and raised his hand. Stone creaked and groaned as pillars rose up out of the earth to form a crude staircase that stretched up the canyon wall. The alchemist strode down it with his hands shoved in his pockets and a nasty gleam in his dark eyes.
"Alchemist!" a man screamed, gesturing pointlessly at the uniformed figure strolling into the camp. He lifted a gun in shaking hands, pointing it at Kimblee.
The crimson alchemist shook his head chidingly and tapped the stone beside him with his foot. Before the man could react, fire burst from the ground beneath his feet, cooking him instantly. Rita swallowed hard as the distinctive scent of charred flesh drifted towards her. This isn't right, she thought numbly, hands clenching convulsively on her rifle as Kimblee gestured to another man. He, too, burst into flames, screams bubbling from his throat as he died.
Then Kimblee turned his gaze on the child wailing incoherently over his father's cooling corpse.
Riza's hands moved before she knew what she was doing, swinging her rifle to aim at Kimblee's head. Some instinct of self-preservation kicked in at the last second, twitching the rifle sideways a nanosecond before she pulled the trigger. Fire guttered in Kimblee's hands as he turned to stare incredulously at the bullet embedded in the sandstone by his left ear.
The rebels seized the opportunity to attack. Bullets soared through the air, crashing around Kimblee in a hail of lead and gunpowder. He snarled and smashed his hands together, bringing up a rock wall to act as a shield. Riza ignored the uproar as she scrambled off of her perch, sliding down the fin at a breakneck pace that bloodied her palms and shredded her white robe. She had no clear idea of what she was doing; her superiors would court-martial her for firing on an alchemist if they ever learned of her treason. But she couldn't stand by and watch Kimblee murder children. Not to mention the dozens of civilians who shouldn't even be here.
Sliding the last few feet on a landslide of shifting sand, she skidded to a halt at the base of the wash that held the rebel camp. Only a few feet away, she could see the narrow entrance to a slot canyon that wound its way back into the maze; she had scouted it that morning. If the civilians could reach it, they might be safe. Sprinting towards the camp, she did her best to block out the terrified screaming and stench of burnt flesh as Kimblee's power wreaked havoc.
"This way!" she screamed, pulling her hood over her face and wrapping her overrobe around her in a futile attempt to conceal her uniform. If she had possessed her father's powers of alchemy, she might have been able to combat Kimblee directly, but she was only a sniper. This attempt at a rescue was the best she could do.
One young man glanced at her, animal panic shining starkly in his eyes, before continuing his rush towards a smoldering tent; no one else even looked up. The sharp retort of ragged gunfire battled with the booming cacophony of repetitive explosions. Riza hurried through the smoke wreathing the battlefield, seizing the first person she spotted. "Go this way!" she yelled over the din, shoving them in the direction of the entrance to the narrow canyon.
"But… but, my brother…" the young woman babbled, clutching Riza's sleeve with desperate strength.
Rather than argue, Riza grabbed her hand and yanked her, stumbling, out of the camp. Motioning towards the slot canyon, she snapped, "Go! Show other people how to find this!"
Away from the chaos of the battlefield, the woman's eyes sharpened. Fastening onto the sliver of blue visible at Riza's collar, she gasped and scrambled backwards. "You're… you're…" she blurted out, throat working as she fought for air.
"Just go," Riza repeated, spinning on her heel and diving back into the hazy pandemonium. For once, Kimblee's propensity for explosions is coming in handy, she thought wryly, shoving another rebel towards safety. He can't see me, and neither can they. Smothering a cough as her throat burned from the foul smoke, she barked an order at a couple stumbling in the wrong direction. They obeyed numbly, and she turned to the next person.
But she couldn't stay for too long. Already the broken bursts of gunfire were dying down, as Kimblee leisurely picked off each rebel one by one. His cackling laughter echoed through the camp each time another explosion echoed off of the walls. I still haven't found that kid, she thought desperately, stumbling over a blackened corpse lying in a puddle of blood. She could hear his plaintive sobs somewhere up ahead, but the smoke which had protected her was clearing. Damn it, not now! Holding her hand over her mouth, forcing herself not to vomit from the reeking smoke, she hurried onwards. Just a little bit further.
"Daddy! Wake up, Daddy!" The whimper came from her left. Dodging the mangled remains of a leg, Riza sprinted towards it. The child looked up at her with tear-filled eyes, clinging fiercely to his father's chest. Blood and flecks of ash smeared across his face.
Riza dropped to one knee, heedless of the gore that squelched underfoot. "You need to come with me," she coaxed, holding out a hand. The boy bawled louder, burying his face in his father's robe. "Please?" Riza asked without much hope. Come on, kid, she thought in frustration. I have to go. Thankfully, she couldn't see any more silhouettes through the smog. Either they've escaped, or they're already dead.
When the boy refused to move, Riza grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him over her shoulder. He screamed and kicked her, then tried to bite her as she sprinted out of the ruined campsite, but she ignored him. "It's for your own good," she muttered, wincing as he yanked at her hair.
A small group of refugees clustered just inside the slot canyon, holding each other and weeping hysterically. Riza's sudden appearance brought an immediate hush, broken only by the child's wails. "Here," she said, handing the kid to the nearest woman. She accepted him with a dazed expression. "Now get out of here," Riza ordered curtly.
"Why are you doing this?" a young man demanded, pointing a gun at her with unpracticed hands. "Military bitch! You did this to us! I'll kill you where you stand!" He clenched his hands around the gun and glared hotly at her.
Abruptly weary, Riza just shook her head. "If you don't leave now, you'll be caught," she warned them. "Go!" I don't have time to waste arguing with you.
One of the women laid a hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Marik, it's okay," she urged softly. "We need to leave, now." As the youngster reluctantly lowered the gun, Riza turned away and trotted back up the canyon. Her shoulder blades prickled in anticipation of a bullet, but none came.
As she rounded the corner, she froze. Kimblee, navy uniform splashed with dark blood, stood in the midst of the carnage with a thoughtful expression on his face. Smoke trickled gently off of his hands as he studied the body lying at his feet. Without pausing to think, she snapped, "What the hell are you doing? You ruined a perfectly good ambush! My target was the leader of this group of rebels; there was no need to kill the rest of them."
Kimblee shrugged nonchalantly. "He's dead, isn't he?"
Riza threw up her hands in disgust. "My superiors, and yours, will not be happy about this," she warned. It was an empty threat, and both of them knew it, but she couldn't think of anything else to say. Please, don't have seen anything, she begged mentally. Let those people escape in peace. Despite her inner turmoil, her face revealed nothing but anger.
The crimson alchemist snickered. "They won't care, and you should know that." He glanced at her with amused eyes. "But then, this is war. What did you expect, parades of roses?" Spitting on the stained sands, he snickered again. "Well, see you around." Tipping an imaginary hat to her, he strolled off as casually as if he walked across paved streets.
Once he was safely out of sight, Riza grimaced. I enlisted to be a soldier to help people, not to kill, she thought mournfully. But maybe that was naïve. Exhaling heavily, she ran her gaze over the bodies strewn like discarded dolls over the canyon floor. Maybe I should have known that this was inevitable.
A soft breeze began to disperse the stench of death, and she shook her head firmly. No. There is a better way; I know there is. Her gaze hardened. And someday, we'll find it.