Ch 9

Gavroche led her through Paris, avoiding the road blocks, darting into alleyways, racing as night rose and the sun disappeared. She could hear the pounding footsteps of hundreds of marching men, and then they suddenly stopped. We must be close, she thought. She can reach him before the real fighting starts, before Claquesous. They were close to the Musain. Gavroche led her through an alley to the street the building stood, but before they could take the street, the passing National Guard blocked their path, the dark figures bobbing against the black background. The torches they carried flickered as they walked, sparks spitting from the torches to dance as they went. Out of sight, Gavroche and Éponine waited for the men to pass, her heart hammering in her chest as the soldiers stepped in and out of view. There are so many against so few. She had warned him, but Enjolras did not listen. Even if citizens did stand with the Amis, they would never be enough against the might of the National Guard.

"Why do you want to join us? Why do you suddenly care about the revolution?"Gavroche asked.

"I had a change of heart," Éponine said, harsher than she intended. "Why does it matter? They need the help."

He shrugged, "Yes, but you could get hurt."

"So could you."

"If I die, it's for something I believe in." He replied with ease. "You don't believe in anything. Except Maruis."

Her heart spoke for her. "I believe in Enjolras."

And when the last of the men marched by, Gavroche led her up the street, the opposite direction of the barricade. They ran up and turned on to the next street, passed the buildings and turned into the closest next alley. Their path curved and bended, constraining from the walls and trash build-up as they walked, and then the alley came to an abrupt end.

"What now?" Dread loomed over her.

Her little brother pointed to the space between the buildings. "There."

Wood crates made the gap a little less obvious, but the gap was narrow. Gavroche would have no problem squeezing through, but the same could not necessarily be said for Éponine. Still, she would let it break her bones if it meant getting through. Gavroche climbed the crates which creaked and wobbled, and he slid in between the space. He hopped down, his bare feet slapping against the hard ground. Éponine cautiously climbed the crates, her body hunched forward as she gripped the walls of both buildings. She sized herself between the buildings and moved carefully to make sure she fit. It was easier than she thought as she jumped down onto the other side. Relief filled her.

Gavroche smiled up at her. "Just promise me you won't allow yourself to get hurt. You know the way out."

Éponine smiled. "You too, little brother." Under different circumstances, they could have bonded like true siblings. They could have been family.

Then shouts echoed, bouncing off the buildings, and her relief vanished in a puff of smoke as a gunshot erupted like thunder. She and her brother stood motionless, breath held, waiting for the onslaught of gunfire. But nothing more came. Their exhales quivered. They continued on, Éponine trailing behind Gavroche, and not too long after, a barrage of gunfire shook through Paris. The battle started, and Éponine was nowhere near where she wanted to be. They ran as quickly as they could through the narrow passage that was only a shoulder length wide. The alley seemed to continue forever, and Éponine feared she would never reach him in time as she raced to beat the bullets through the jagged path like one through a forest. The fighting grew louder, and she finally reached the back entrance of the Musain.

Gavroche sought to hide inside the walls of the café. Éponine followed behind him and watched as he darted behind the bar. The café tables were covered with white sheets, and the chairs had been taken away, perhaps to become part of the barricade. A body already lay on one of those white tables, fresh blood streaked across the floor, staining the sheet scarlet. Eponine recognized the man lying on the table, Mabeuf. He had given her charity. The trickling of blood was haunting, red slipping, splattering, pooling below the table. Drip, drip, drip.

Sharp breathing came from the left. Tied to the staircase, Javert sat, a prisoner of the revolutionaries, still wearing his civilian clothes. He did not look at her, his eyes to the floor, not that she cared to be noticed. And on the other side of the double doors, the fighting took place, the men shouting and clamoring, struggling to refill their rifles as the National Guard attempted to climb the barricade.

Éponine opened the doors and walked out into the chaos, the smell of smoke and gunpowder overtaking her other senses, eyes narrowing as clouds of smoke thickened, making it difficult to distinguish the men about her, even in the torchlight all about the barricade. She spotted Marius jumping down from the barricade, Courfeyrac and the rest of the men fighting back against the Guard. And then she saw Enjolras, and the world seemed to slow as her heart pounded, relief overcoming her. He was up on the barricade standing beside pole, red flag raised, a rifle pressed against his shoulder. He's alive. She wasn't too late.

The hulking figure of Claquesous came into view, almost as if out of the smoke itself. Unnoticed by the rest who were focused on the battle before them, he pulled out his pistol, aiming for Enjolras' back.

"No!" Éponine yelled, her feet moving faster than she could think. She reached for the gun with both hands, struggling to pull it from Claquesous who cursed at Éponine. She wrestled for the gun, calling for Enjolras in the smoke and in the fire, amongst the dead and dying, the barricade of bodies. Claquesous shoved and pushed against her, the screams of dying men in her ears, and then she saw a flash, sparks spiting from the gun, unable to hear anything except a high pitched ringing. She had been flung back, her body landing on hard wood, her eyes to the midnight sky. She wheezed. Unbearable pain tore through her, rendering her still. She opened her mouth, her lungs forcing a sound from her mouth that she could not hear. Her vision wavered. The ringing caused her head to ache, and she was faintly sure someone called out "murderer".

She did not know how long she laid there until she somehow found the strength to move her arms, lifting them to the source of such terrible pain at her stomach. Her fingers felt it, something thick and wet soaking the velvet, something pooling—she lifted her hand, straining to see—red, red worms slowly creeping down her fingers, her hand, her wrist, crawling under her dress. She groaned softly and despite the pain, she managed to slowly lift herself up from the wood that supported her to stand on the ground, her head lolling to the side, fighting the pain, fighting for breath. She looked around, eyes scanning for Enjolras, and across the way she saw golden curls coming down from the barricade. She took a step, desperate to call for him but only feeble grunts of pain left her as she struggled to walk. From her footsteps followed small crimson pools, and a faint, haunting sound. Drip, drip, drip.

"Éponine?"

Her feet gave out beneath her, a sigh and a hiss escaping her lips as she felt herself fall, only to be caught by gentle arms.

"Éponine? Éponine, what's happened?" It was Marius that held her, sitting with her in the middle of the barricade.

No, no, not you, she thought, her eyes glancing for Enjolras. She opened her mouth to speak, to say his name, but instead she found herself choking, coughing, gasping. It hurts too much Enjolras, she thought. I can see the crows. But I don't want them. It's too soon. Oh, oh, let me look at him again. She did not see Marius as he stared down her in earnest, did not see the men that gathered around her, each face not belonging to Enjolras. She lifted her hand, arm outstretched, nearly grazing the ground, her vision tossing shadows, gray and orange. She twisted and writhed, coughing as she did, wheezing, blood bubbling from her mouth Where is he? Tears ran red and white that burned like vinegar. Kiss me again. Make the pain go away.

"Enj—" She choked, eyes rolling back, blinking as she tried to keep them open.

"Eponine?"

The voice that spoke her name did not belong to Marius, but she could not recognize its owner. She had forgotten her own voice, forgotten everything but his name. She heard cawing, talons tearing at her flesh, a feast for crows. Don't let them take me Enjolras! She wheezed, blood dripping from her lips. She thought she heard someone say "Éppie," and she turned her head, and everything turned black and cold.