From Blood & Ashes
Disclaimer: I do not own HSM.
Chapter One
"The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire."-Ferdinand Marshall Foch
The dry air brought dust and sand into her tiny room that was shared with three other women. She lay on her narrow, standard issue cot with her knees drawn up to her chest and weariness evident in every line of her body. Her heavily lashed, dark chocolate eyes were closed and her breathing remained even as the breeze filtered through the gaps in the olive green, army supplied tent and cast dirt across the entrance ways and the floor. The mosquito net was draped and securely attached above her, keeping the pests out and one less worry off her mind. On the floor, her sandals lay scattered next to her two simple bags.
One held her minimal belongings. Appropriate clothing for the weather and location, minimal toiletries after months away from any major city had diminished her supplies down to tampons and soap, and a tiny photo album that she had brought as a reminder of what was waiting if she survived. The pages were worn and the colors faded after being viewed in the harsh sun for hours on end by herself and the inhabitants of her overcrowded community who wanted to see the life of luxury their saviours willingly left behind to come to this place. The second bag was marked with a bold red cross and held the essential medical supplies for any call outside the designated borders of her station. The outer pouches held considerable amounts of morphine for the times that came too frequently and with too much acceptance.
The flaps of her tent flapped against the breeze as it wove its way over the site. Multitudes of tents and hastily erected, makeshift homes stood stark on the plain. The scrappy shrubs of the bush sprouted around rocks, sucking life from deep underground in rations until the rainy season arrived to feed its needs. Larger tents marked the offices of overseers and organizers and people who needed to know what the fuck was going on at the moment. People who held the ignorant in their hands as they scanned radio waves and communicated with small teams of lookouts. They held the medical teams and the journalists; the foreigners and the privileged who had given up money and safety for uncertainty and a little bit of heroism.
She shifted in her sleep, her loose cotton shirt riding up to expose the tan lines that indicated how the sun had darkened her already golden complexion. The loose waist of her pants circled slim hips that had been rounder upon her arrival, but food rations and a difficult adjustment to changes in her diet had cost her precious pounds. Her hair was messily caught up in a colourful headscarf that kept the curls at bay during the day so that it was easier to tease out the knots in the night. She moved again, frowning in her sleep as something pulled her from the depths of her dreams.
In the distance, a booming thundered as it vibrated across the plain. The sound of jeeps and trucks, their motors in tune as they rumbled across rough roads, buzzed ahead of the thunder. It was the increasing closeness of the screams that startled her awake and caused her to push aside the netting and shove her feet into sandals while moving on autopilot. The first bag went over her shoulders, settling across her back, and the other was slung across her right shoulder, certain to be used in the coming hours. The water canteen at the foot of her bed, filled with precious fluid, was clipped in place before she pushed aside the tent entrance and stepped into the harshly blinding sun.
Truck engines could be heard approaching along the road and she turned in the opposite direction, seeking the familiar voice above the cries and shouts of terror. Dark skinned children streamed under foot, carrying what little they could, searching for someone to give them direction. Mothers with babies followed, their battered cooking dishes bundled in their arms. The men and boys barely reaching puberty ran past her to the road entrance where the engines could be heard. She heard the familiar sound of gun fire and the shouts of orders and demands in Arabic reached her ears as she met her colleagues and began organizing the people around her into groups for a one time only attempt at evacuation.
The noise level rose as panic infused itself in the residents. The buzzing grew louder as the caravan reached the outer regions of the camp. Shots were heard and she tried to reassure a small boy, with a metal pot and a soccer ball. in halting words said with an atrocious accent. He tried to understand her with wide eyes before being pulled away by his terrified mother. Dust thickened the air, stirred by the huge wheels carrying the men marked by rifles and camouflage fatigues with armbands. The gun fire became closer, and she could smell the blood on the air.
Voices were drowned out by the rattling of metal on metal and the screams of those in the way. This was where it always hit her that she was not at home. That her spontaneous moment of needing to do something real could have drastic consequences. She looked around frantically, trying to find the familiar dark bob of hair and the coffee cream skin tones of her best friend. She stood on her tiptoes as people streamed around her, the ground rippling beneath her feet and terror only barely held at bay, trying to locate the glint of a camera lens or the reflection of sun off the shutter. Unable to find her, she turned to help another friend gather the groups together to head towards the covered trucks kept for this purpose.
Behind her, dust rose in tornadoes as steel booted feet ripped at the earth. Metal flashed in the sun as barrels were aimed or knives were lowered. The screams filled her ears as someone lifted her into the back of a truck and yelled to the driver in French, his voice harsh as he choked on the dust before swinging himself up and in beside her. He saw the question in her eyes and shrugged, not knowing who else had managed to leave before them. Behind them, obscured by the swirling sand, the screams and the roar of more trucks faded......
Gabriella Montez bolted up in bed, sweat covering her face as her hands flew to rub her eyes. Her breath came in pants as she tried to separate the past from the present. Sighing, she looked around her room, settling her gaze on the alarm clock flashing beside the bed. Groaning while she pulled slender fingers through her tangled hair, she swung her feet to the floor and left to start the coffee in the kitchen.
The apartment was small and unadorned for the most part. Her furniture was of good quality but practical and comfortable, the windows covered by curtains that she rarely closed. Enlarged and framed photographs, boasting a familiar signature in the lower corner were scattered throughout the rooms and the narrow hallway. In fact, there was very little about the place that spoke to its owner. There had been more to it over a year ago, the rooms brightly decorated with knickknacks and snapshots, books and magazines. Most of it had been boxed up a year ago, and she had yet to feel the desire to bring it back when everything was so different. On her way back to her room, she passed the tightly closed door to the second bedroom on the left and a shudder rippled through her even though the temperatures outside and inside boasted high reaching magnitudes.
After showering and twisting her hair up into a braid that kept it tameable, she returned to her room and pulled on the neat navy blue pants that hung slightly more loose than was stylish and the short-sleeved blouse with the Albuquerque Emergency Services emblem embroidered on both arms and the front pocket. The required, heavy black boots were pulled on next and then the carved wooden pendent that rested on the slim gold chain around her neck. Grabbing the jacket that she wouldn't need but thought to take anyway, and her oversized tote filled with essentials, she left the apartment and walked down the six flights of stairs to the shiny new jeep she both loved and hated.
Sighing, she double checked the backseat to see her kit bag already inspected and packed to her liking, her name emblazoned across the front, sitting on the floor. Putting the car into gear, she pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards the firehouse in the Eastern quadrant of the city.
