Vanessa stood to wipe sweat and sand from her brow, then discarded the shovel and climbed out of the hole to retrieve the dead man's body.
"Knives!" she exclaimed, stuck in place before running to the shack door.
He was standing there, leaning against the doorframe that was still intact. "Where are they?" he asked, calm despite the nagging pain and blood loss. His angel arm blades were retracted a mere few inches from his left forearm, slicing into the wall beside him.
"Lie back down, you'll rip out your stitches! You lost a lot of blood; you're going to-"
Just as he lost his balance and began to pass out, she rushed to catch him. Easing him into the sand, Vanessa frowned. "Your blood pressure's low, so you're going to lose consciousness if you exert yourself. You're cold, your heart's racing, you might tear open the wounds and start bleeding again…" Helping him to his feet so that she could walk him back to the shack, she sighed. "Stay in bed. I'm taking care of things. Everything's fine."
He was lowered onto his uninjured, left side. "Where are you hurt," he asked, eyes closed as he winced from the pain.
"I'm not. I'll be back in an hour, ok?"
"Tie them to something, this time."
"I already did. Stay still, ok?" she asked, kissing his clammy, bloodied forehead.
He nodded.
O
O
Normally, waking to breakfast in bed would be a pleasant thing. But, that morning, the throbbing pain in his shoulder and back sickened him to the point of nearly vomiting as Vanessa presented fruit for him to down.
"Eat it, for me?" she asked, smiling feebly as she offered a slice of orange.
Chewing slowly and swallowing too early, he managed to take in an orange, a handful of grapes, and half a melon. He glanced about, surveying the shack's damage, the light peering through the tarps she'd put up over the missing wall and roof.
Vanessa peeled a pole of sugar cane and left it beside him in bed, asking him to "Chew on it, please." The more sugar, the faster he could recover the blood he'd spilt.
Knives asked for a status report on the intruders. He didn't seem very angry, just deeply concerned.
"The big guy died," she began, offering water while wiping blood and sweat from him. "He saw your arm extended and he had a heart attack."
"You couldn't save him?" Knives asked, handing back the canteen.
What a strange way for him to word that, she wondered, massaging grime from his cheek with a washcloth. "I didn't try."
Knives closed his eyelids to let her wash around his eyes, not saying a word. She moved to his neck and he stared back at her, eyes piercing and blue.
"I…He would've probably died anyway," she continued. "The other two are stable, secured in the eastern shed. I need to bring them something to eat, drink, soon."
"Go on," he pressed, gently. There was a hint of sadness in his tone.
"I want to finish this first." She drew back the sheets to wipe his legs clean quickly, and helped him into some comfortable pants. He lay as still as he could, clearly in pain.
Finally, he spoke, chuckling softly. "I was trying not to kill them." He knew how pathetic it sounded.
"You did well, at that. We make a great team," she added, smiling.
His face was serious, somber.
Finishing by changing his bandages, Vanessa wondered if he was feeling remorse for the death. "Shock killed him, his body killed him – his lifestyle, his cholesterol, his heart, that's what killed him. It wasn't your fault."
"I know."
"Now, off to the prisoners," she announced, kneeling beside him. Kissing him softly on the cheek, then the mouth, she rested her forehead against his. "Yesterday was a pretty crappy day for you, huh?"
Grinning, he kissed her again. "Not entirely."