When Margaret woke it was still dark. She was simultaneously surprised to find she had managed to drop off and curious as to why she had abandoned the sweet oblivion. Probably this hard ground. Shifting carefully she took a look at BJ. Although each breath sounded painful and rasping, he seemed to be sleeping fairly peacefully. Lucky devil. She smiled fondly at the sleeping surgeon. It had been such a relief to share some of herself with someone. Funny that out here, in such an awful situation, she had been happy for a few hours as they had talked about everything from what they missed about home to which type of ice cream goes best with banana pancakes. (She'd said vanilla, he'd seemed to think pistachio – honestly!) Of course there had been issues they had skirted around. She'd surprised herself by talking openly about her ailing marriage but had been very careful to avoid further references to a certain dark haired surgeon. And it hadn't escaped her attention that BJ was almost too cheerful whenever the conversation veered towards his wife. Cheerful but quick to steer it away again. I hope he's not still feeling bad about the kiss. As she lay there contemplating this, she began to realise what must have awoken her. Aargh, why? Here? She rose silently to her feet and stared out into the dark trees. Well if nature calls, it calls. She took a deep breath and moved away from their little haven; just enough to be decent. Suddenly she ceased her unhappy quest. Standing perfectly still she strained her ears. There it was again: the shuffles of a person moving somewhere in the darkness.
"BJ…?" Her voice came out as little more than a hoarse croak. Margaret stood frantically still. Of course it wasn't BJ; he couldn't be walking about. But then who? Enemy or ally? If she stayed here, maybe he would go away. Then again, he was between her and their little camp and could easily stumble across the helpless BJ. Could she leave him to that fate? Could she really do anything? Still in a frazzle the hapless nurse began to creep back towards her friend. As she moved closer she could make out the dark figure skulking through the undergrowth. The gun held out in front of him confirmed that he was a soldier but it wasn't until he turned to look at her that Margaret could be sure; he was North Korean. Her mind went blank except for one overriding thought: run!
He seemed to be right on her heels as they crashed through the trees. Woody fingers lashed at her face and body and thick roots tried to trip her. Realising escape was impossible she madly searched for a solution. Instead she stepped into an unexpected depression and pitched forward. The dark figure went hurtling over the top of her and without thinking she pounced. They rolled over and over, a tussle for life itself. Then two loud shots and it was over. The life went out of one pair of eyes. Death stole the light out of the other.
