"The path of faith is before each of us. Even if it is not the path of fame and honor, it is still the path of duty and of great happiness. To find it means to gain a part of the eternal strength that moves the worlds." - Helmut Stellrecht
All was quiet. All was still.
The air conditioner, usually present with its monotonous hum, was absent at this hour. No birds were singing from outside. It was peacefully silent in the dorms, and its occupants, sound asleep, were content to keep their dreams in play.
Dreams were a perfect, confusing utopia. Everything and nothing lived in this intangible space. Anything that was thought was brought to life and filled the emptiness with sensual pleasures. The smell of flowers on a sunny day. Sweet tastes of cookies and milk. The warmth of fresh laundry, the cool touch of the breeze on the tip of one's nose.
The smell of burning oil and rubber brought to fruition the sight of flames. The line of cars along the street were ablaze, their attempt to reach the freeway earning them a fiery demise. The red flaming tendrils rose into pitch black smoke, molding into the night sky.
All she can hear is her own breathing, and the wails of the crowd. Whatever words spoken to her by her brother are lost in the noise. She is pulled closer into her mother's embrace.
There is no warmth to cling to, here in this frigid breeze of October. It had rained recently, the hues of streetlights and the flames flicker across the wet asphalt as they rush forward. Shapes blur into incandescent streaks, and it's like she is snatched from her mother's arms by an unseen force. Her vision never strays from her mother's face, so it's hard to tell otherwise.
Don't be afraid, we'll come looking for you once it's over. Don't give up hope, Emilia.
Her hand reaches out and grasps at nothing. Her brother is vaguely shouting for her, but she can't make out his words. She is pulled by her shoulder further away from her mother, the endless void and the screams advancing upon her mother standing there, alone and without regret. The matriarch leaves a soft, sorrowful smile on her face, as she's washed away in the sea of pitch black, and now Emilia's crying out, begging—
Emilia gasps as her shoulder is gently nudged once more, and she rolls quickly onto her back, startled.
The sudden motion startled Kate as well, as she backs away a couple steps before whispering, "Good morning. Sorry to wake you like that."
"W-what happened?"
"You were asleep," Kate noted, "and it seemed like you were having a bad dream. I woke you up."
With a groan, Greenock rubbed her eyes and made for the folded pile of clothes, placed on the round-table close by, and lamented to her roommate, "Yeah, I was. Thanks."
Kate was unsure of how to respond to that. She believed that if she were to be suffering from a bad dream, that it'd be appreciated if her friends woke her from slumber, but this was not the case here. Emilia was probably not a morning person like she was. The raven-haired hermit had her own parameters about sleeping, regardless of the dreams she had. Kate decided to give the girl some space, striding back to her desk to continue reading a book she'd pulled from the shelf. Eventually, Greenock dressed herself, and stretched her arms, and this was when Marsh spoke, "...forgive me for waking you. I didn't mean to be rude."
"...it's alright," Emilia dissuaded, "I appreciate it. I was just shaken up from my dream, is all."
Kate nodded, "I've had bad dreams too. I usually have Max and the others to help me through them, they'd wake me up if it ever got to the point where I was tossing in my sleep. I should've asked you about this before we'd gone to bed."
"Again, it's okay," Greenock said, "I appreciate the concern though. It's nice having a friendly face around here," she smiled.
Kate smiled as well, "You know, we've got some time before everyone wakes up. We could spend it getting you acquainted with the others, if you're fine with that," then the blonde rose from her seat and made for the exit. Not to leave a chance like this go to waste, Emilia followed.
They stepped out into the hall. Over by the bathrooms, there was the sound of chatter and the running water of the showers, but otherwise dorms were quiet. It seemed a majority of them were slow-going to the wake-up call. Even despite the events of last night, they greeted this new day sluggishly. The happenings that have occurred since the onset of the red tide have exacted a toll on them, indirectly or otherwise.
Yet Kate was accustomed to this early hour, and this was a fact that Greenock was impressed in. The hermit found it challenging to wake herself up at the right time, especially when there were pressing matters to be ready for. And she admired even more so the heart of gold that this blonde held; it seemed that despite the distant look in her eyes, or the timid nature in her step, this new friend of hers was gifted with a gentle grace.
Even if Emilia did not exactly believe in a higher power, she did believe that Kate was a good friend, and a person she could trust. So, she followed Marsh across the hall, to a room with a number plate titled 219 placed at eye-level on its surface.
A gentle knock on the door was answered swiftly as Max opened up, already past the morning drag. The mousy brunette had anticipated a busy schedule for this Sunday the Thirteenth and was well awake and prepared.
"'Morning, guys."
"Good morning, Max," Kate softly greeted, "Glad to see we didn't wake you."
"Yeah, me too," Max noted sarcastically, a smirk on her face, "Chloe's still sleeping though. I'm starting to think I'm gonna have to wake her up, we've only got so much time left before we're up and about."
"Do you need some help?" Marsh proposed, and Emilia glanced over the blonde's shoulder at the blanketed mass rolled up on the floor farther in the room.
"I should be fine. But if I get mauled to death, you'll know who it was from," Max snickered.
"What, does she have claws for nails?" Greenock mumbled nervously, to which the two beside her grinned at the idea.
"No, she doesn't," Kate eased her concerns, "Not unless you make her really mad. Chloe's got retractable nails, so she can extend them out and poke people's eyes out when they least expect it."
"What—!?" and they laughed at the poor girl's genuine confusion, before Emilia chuckled along with them, "I don't know why you guys are laughing, that's freakin' terrifying!"
"Oh, no, Kate's just under-exaggerating," Max snickered, much to Emilia's concern, "In actuality, she can stab someone from five feet away with her fingernails—like a porcupine."
"To have your nail shoot off your finger and impale someone-that's got to come in handy somehow," Kate pondered this serious idea very carefully, much to their amusement, "With great power comes great responsibility, obviously. And yet, you could stop some creep from walking up to you just by pointing at them and sending a nail at them."
"Well, wait, are the nails lethal by themselves, or is it the velocity that makes them deadly?" Emilia decided to add onto the ridiculousness.
"I don't know. You've got a point there, some people have softer nails than others, so they might be at a disadvantage," Caulfield cupped her chin, lost to the details, "I'd say to counter that, you lather your nail in hot sauce or something spicy, then you deal even more damage by having the spice burn the nerves under the skin, assuming the nail goes through."
"Ok, I'm done with the joke," Kate cringed, "You're going give me nightmares about flying fingernails at this rate."
Chuckles rose again. It seemed to Emilia that Kate was good friends with Max, and that was something to be thankful for. If she was to not be tossed aside on a whim, it would definitely be by this brunette's side. And she chuckled along with them, finding solace from being accepted in another group.
"Alrighty then, I got to make sure everyone else gets prepared. you two go ahead and head out, I'll catch up with you guys later," and with a solemn wave goodbye, Max stepped back into her dorm. Kate took this moment of tranquility to ask, "We got some time left before we go, would you like a small tour of this place?"
"Sure!" Greenock agreed enthusiastically. It brought a smile to Marsh's features, "Alright, then let's go."
So off they went, and Kate fell back into a steadfast narration about the things she knew from the Blackwell campus and its buildings. Greenock was apprised on places like the lounge with its open spaces and chairs, to the dorm's courtyard, and the Tobanga statue that stood off to the edge of the perimeter, like a guardian to the students in its care.
Emilia was brought through the corridor, with its overhead structures to provide shelter from the rain, then up the steps and into the awaiting expanse of the front quad. Where yesterday had seen the bustle of dozens of militiamen, carrying out the mountains of supplies from Blackwell's lower levels, there now was a quieter pace for this Sunday morning. Kate's soft narration made it all the more of a calm and collected atmosphere, even despite the kinds of rumors Emilia's overheard.
Speaking of rumors—
"Ahm, Kate?"
"Yes?" Marsh paused in her explanation of the fountain and turned to the black-haired hermit.
"I know this might seem rude to ask, but…are the rumors true?"
This dampened the blonde's spirits, and her smile faded, "I guess it would depend on which rumors you're talking about, specifically."
"Is it true then, that a shooting happened here?"
Kate ducked her eyes away and looked off to the main building. She did not speak for some time, but when she did, it was careful, "I would not describe it like that. It was not like what you'd hear from the news, it was…well, it was more like a siege."
It is now that Emilia follows Kate's steady gaze to the brick structure towering before them and noticed the holes. Hundreds of them, small and barely noticeable, but still there. Some panes of glass on the second-floor windows were chipped, and Greenock realized that there were entire sections that just didn't have windows to begin with. They must've been shot out of their frames, as badly damaged as the brick surrounding those windowpanes.
"Were you in there, when it happened?" she asked, in fright, in awe.
"Yes," the blonde finally replied, softly, "pardon me, but I don't...I'm not sure how to go about explaining it."
"It's fine," Emilia sympathized, "I understand."
So, they let it be. The raven-haired hermit wasn't one to poke a scab while it was still healing, figurative or otherwise. The blonde wasn't keen to talk about it either.
Emilia had yet to open up herself, and she knew it would not be pleasant. Because to suppress this inner turmoil would bring her nothing good, and that if she could just find someone to share these terrible emotions to, she wouldn't feel like the weight slowly creeping on her shoulders was too much to handle.
But doubt was assailing her, and this was why she had not spoken to Kate of how she ended up here.
She said nothing of the frantic calamity that had befallen her own home many miles to the north, how the Reds had come and put the torch to whoever had stood in their way. She spoke nothing of her last chance to say goodbye to her father, who'd separated from them to join the militia's rallying call. Nothing was mentioned of how her mother had ordered her and her brother, out of fear that they couldn't escape together, to follow an ever-growing column of people fleeing southwards, and to await their parent's return. No word had been spoken of how her brother had disappeared along this solemn journey southwards and hasn't been seen by her since.
Alone, she still waited. She still hoped.
The hours stretched on. The time for their gathering grew closer.
"We will be focusing on the main task that will be expected of you all—the retrieval of the wounded from the defensive lines," the baritone voice rung clear in the open space of the quad, and so clearly in their ears.
Taylor Christensen eyed the Head of the Militia, who was striding past the line of Blackwell Angels and was supported by two militiamen. Both of these men were decorated with plain grey shirts and woodland green camouflage pants and could only be distinguished by the caps they wore. Behind them, and what Taylor had been more focused on, was the number of items laid out on the grass, no doubt pertaining to what they had volunteered for.
"Behind me is former army servicemen Wallace and Blackburn, they will be helping us with this exercise," Madsen continued, "You all will be divided into teams of two. With your partner, you will practice how to pick up and carry the wounded on a stretcher. Wallace and Blackburn will demonstrate."
So they watched, as these two men moved to opposite ends of a single stretcher. Wallace, the one with the plain black cap on his head, made for the front of the stretcher, and got down on one knee—Blackburn did the same.
"Under normal circumstances, you and your partner would ease the wounded man onto the stretcher, and make sure their head does not extend past the front of the canvas. Furthermore, the team must carry the stretcher by facing the opposite direction of where the wounded man's head rests. This is done so that there is no unnecessary contact between whoever's up front and the wounded. I don't need to spell that out to you all to know what that entails."
Nobody wants a face-full of ass after getting shot, was what Taylor concluded.
From down the line, she could hear some snickers, some huffs of laughter. She'd join them, but she wasn't in the mood for it, not after the generous wakeup-call they received some hours before.
The two men waited in their spots as Madsen explained to the girls how to lift the stretcher. Because when one considers the reality of a stretcher, with its woven canvas supported by two solid metal bars and the addition of one-hundred-fifty plus pounds of some poor bastard laying on top of that canvas; it became apparent that using just one's arms wasn't going to bring them out of harm's way quickly enough to their liking.
The girls were told to use their legs, instead; for all the weight would not be hauled up from the muscles in their arms and back but would be transferred to the more stable platform of their somewhat larger, stronger thigh muscles. By using the momentum of propelling themselves off of the knee, they would be able to balance the heavy weight between them and their partners and be able to carry the wounded cargo to safety.
Wallace and Blackburn demonstrated it simply enough—Blackburn called his buddy up-front that he was ready, and together they both heaved up, pushing themselves off the ground in a single motion. The weight on the stretcher, which made a slight dip in the sturdy canvas, appeared like lightweight to them, and they even bothered to make a small lap around the rest of the equipment, much to the girls' amusement.
"So long as you and your partner follow each other's movements and support each other, then this should be easy enough to do," Madsen capped his spiel, and gestured to the assistants to ready the rest of the stretchers for use, "Now, before we go about this, you all must find a partner—decide who it is and decide it quick!"
Before he had finished the command, Taylor was given a soft nudge from her side, and she reciprocated. While she wished to be there for Victoria, having Courtney by her side was just as relieving to know. Some girls already had their friends to look towards, others were brought into their pairs by Madsen's executive hand.
So once the men finished setting up the stretchers and the improvised weights, Madsen ordered them to take one for their pairs, and make a single trip around the football field and back.
Taylor and Courtney found themselves relieved, for Madsen was not as insistent on how timely he wished them to complete this task, and like the other struggling pairs, went about at a walking pace across the empty street, and around the track. The weight they carried was tough on their arms, but it was manageable.
There was a slight breeze now, in this early hour. It didn't bother Taylor at first, what with her favorite jacket shielding her from the frigid chill, but she cursed herself all the same; she had chosen some pitiful pair of shorts rather than an actual pair of pants or jeans, and now she felt her bones rattle at this biting cold. She swore to herself, as they traveled the curve of the track, that she'd get a pair of proper pants from her wardrobe before the next morn.
The price one pays, just for some drip, the denim blonde joked to herself.
"Psst, Tay', you see Vic over there?"
"What—?" and Christensen looked back to Wagner, who subtly nodded behind to where Victoria and her partner were lugging the weight between them. This partner of was one of the outsiders, a brunette with long, straight hair. Taylor couldn't remember what her name was.
"You see what I'm seeing?" Courtney asked again, worriedly.
"I see them talking, but that's about it," and the denim blonde turned forward, watching where she stepped, "why, what's the big deal?"
"That's the same bitch that spilled my morning coffee!" and Taylor chuckled, thinking of the story Courtney had told her an hour ago.
As anybody would know, no day started well for Wagner without a nice, steaming-hot cup of joe, along with a helping of some cream and sweetener. But this time the world had cursed her to forget tightening the lid on her favorite stainless-steel bottle—so when Courtney was blindsided by a swinging door, the bottle and its contents were knocked from her tired hands and ended up on the dull carpet of the dorm's floor.
And so, Taylor had to listen for a solid minute about how her friend knew it was no accident, that the apology given to her by the perpetrator was absolute bullshit, and that Courtney swore on her life that she saw this heartless girl sneer at her misfortune.
"Are you sure it's her?" Taylor deadpanned, not quite dissuading the idea, nor encouraging it.
"I'm damn sure of it," came the reply, "she's the queen bitch of the other girls, I've seen it. I bet she's trying to cozy up to Vic because she knows who's top around here."
"What, you think she's really gonna do something like that?" and it seemed funny to Taylor then, because she's lost count of how many times she's been described as the paranoid one, as Victoria's right-hand woman. People clearly didn't know about how much concern Courtney had when it came to those she cared for.
"I do, and I know who's to blame for it," and while Taylor kept her eyes forward, Courtney had her sights adjusted to their right flank, as she spied her target pointedly, "Caulfield's done something stupid again, and now we'll be paying for it."
"Caulfield?" Taylor inquired, looking over to Max and Chloe. The two were chatting about something, and Max herself was doing most of the talking, "what's she got to do with…what's her name again?"
"Sara."
"Right—what's Max got to do with Sara sucking up to Vic?"
"I heard from Tori herself, and she was real upset about this. Turns out, Max gave this other girl some special treatment or something, and next thing you know, I hear the entirety of the first-floor dorms murmuring about it when I went down for my coffee. You see that girl that's with Marsh, just ahead of us?" and Taylor identified the suspect in question, a girl with short, fluffy black hair heaving the back end of a stretcher. The weight was testing this girl's arms, and it appeared like she was being dragged by Kate's more energetic stride.
"Yeah, I see her."
"Max decides to be nice to her, gives her a place to stay on our floor, and now everyone else wants a piece of that generosity," Wagner droned on, "and Tori's gonna lay the hammer down about it, when she gets the chance. I say it's right—letting this go is only gonna make the situation worse for all of us."
Taylor agreed. She would not outright say it, but Courtney had a point in this here: what's to say that this small band of strangers, who comprised almost half of their number, would begin demanding for appeasements, even despite their natural inclination to help the Blackwell students?
Even before all that had transpired these last few days, there had existed a previous struggle for power within the school's student population, and especially in the Internationale. It wasn't necessarily a fight to be the King or Queen, as those places were already filled, but a fight to be the closest of confidants, a hypothetical mosh pit for who would be standing beside the Prescott heir, or the Queen of Blackwell.
Taylor and Courtney had been blessed by circumstance, when they had first happened upon Victoria. Before there had been a true cult of personality surrounding Nathan and his hounds, there was a general sense of apathy to school politics, and this translated to them becoming good friends with the pixie blonde as time went on. For the three of them, they had the same acquaintances and the same enemies, every step of the way.
So it now came down to the fourth year of friendship, and Taylor found it fitting to follow Victoria's judgement. She would not stand against one of her closest friends, not when the stakes were so high. Perhaps, if there wasn't the reality of Arkadia being set alight by the Reds, then they would have found a more fitting manner of dealing with the newcomers amongst them, but the time to ponder was long gone.
They kept their pace, going around the football field and back to the quad as ordered. And when everyone had done so, Madsen ordered them at it again, until the heavy, trudging weight was not foreign to them.
The synchronized shuffle of boots drummed on the concrete sidewalk, as the twenty girls marched down the quiet stretch of Fern Avenue. Madsen had other matters to attend and had ordered them to reach the church on their own, located in the center of town. As a parting gift, all of them had received a rucksack, a canteen with a mess kit, and pair of boots, these having been pulled from the storage underground and rationed to them at Madsen's insistence. It was with these that they would carry whatever gear or personal items they wished and make their way to their next destination. Victoria had taken her cue to be the primary leader of this group, and with Max by her side, now led the two single-file columns down the sidewalk.
The sun was making its way, slow and cloudy as it was, to its zenith. Lunch hour was approaching, and with it the increasing desire for a hot-cooked meal. So was it that the girls were starved after lugging around some stretchers for a few hours, and so languished the idea of having to walk any more than they must to get it.
From amongst the ranks, a stomach rumbled, and a poor soul coaxed the organ's temper with a placating hand, and grumbled to herself, "I don't know about you guys, but I could go for some of those cheeseburgers they got over at ACFC's—"
"Don't make it worse, Stella," Brooke deadpanned, "I'm already hungry as it is."
"I can't help it man! If I remember right, you haven't even tried that shit, so you don't know what you're missing out on. Just think of it—some warm hamburger with melted cheese—or some pulled-pork with coleslaw, or with that barbecue sauce they serve, especially when you pair it with the popcorn chicken—oh man the popcorn chicken!" and a dreamy smile arose at the thought of those warm, crispy chicken bites, "do you think they'll have any of that at the church?"
"I would hope so," Dana chipped in, "I've tried some of that stuff before, and it's really good."
"Amateurs," came a whisper.
"Ayo hold up, who said that?" Stella barbed, a ready glint in her eyes, ready to give someone a verbal smacking. But this offender did not back down, and so turned their head to face the ebony brunette's challenge, "Amateurs, all of you! Everyone knows that Barstuck's Café is where it's at!"
"Jules, they only serve breakfast sandwiches," Dana slyly replied.
"Yeah, okay, your point?" Watson clapped back, but everyone around her had a chuckle at the hungry fool in their midst, "They got some of the best coffee to make up for it, I say it's even better than what the Two Whales has!"
"You can't enjoy the better parts of life with just two slices of bread and a coffee, holmes," Stella smugly countered, "I'm just saying."
And they bickered amongst themselves, and their assertions over what cuisine was best fell on the ears of those surrounding them.
And this was why Victoria was growling along with her own empty stomach, "If they don't shut up about food, I swear to God—I'm gonna lose my fucking mind."
Max smirked at the thought, "What, are you against the idea of eating at someplace other than that one fancy restaurant in town, the Polly Bergures—?"
"Folies Bergères," the pixie blonde corrected, pointedly, "and no, I'm not. But all this talk about greasy junk food and half-stale sandwiches is making me consider that idea, without a doubt."
"Sounds like you're not you when you're hungry, Vicky," Chloe piped up from behind, and Victoria snuck a sour glance back to the self-righteous punk, "Why don't you try something outside of your income bracket for a change, hm? Who knows, maybe you'll like some of the stuff they got."
"The day I listen to you, Price, is the day I see a fucking whale fly," Chase snipped. A grumpy, hungry leader she was, and this short-hand temper was shared by those following her lead, "...how far is that damn church again?"
"It's just a few blocks ahead," came a voice from just down the line, and Victoria turned to glance back at Marsh, who was a couple steps behind Chloe, "it should be on our right, just past the history museum."
"You hear that girls, we're almost there!" and a mumbling of jubilations greeted the sudden announcement, a jubilation far too somber to Max's liking. She looked back to nothing but tired faces, with pinched frowns and a hunch in their strides.
"Victoria, we should lighten the mood up, get the others' minds off the trip," Max hushed to the leading blonde, and was met with an incredulous look, "Well, I suppose, but with what? It seems like nothing short of some lunch would work."
"I got an idea," and Max then turned back, and called, "Hey Kate, you remember that one Disney movie, The Jungle Book?"
"What the hell, Caulfield?" Vic mumbled, and along with the curious few beside her, turned her head again to see the inquisitive look on the addressed-blonde's face, "Ah—well, yes. My sisters like to watch that movie a lot, so yes, I do."
"You remember Colonel Hathi and the elephants then, and that song they used to sing when they marched?" and now the others found themselves clueless, for they had not the refreshed memories of such childish nostalgia at the ready, but the excited glint in Marsh's eyes spoke volumes to it, "Oh yeah, I remember that! Wait, are you thinking of—?"
"I am! On my cue, then," and with a noticeably dramatic flair to her step, Max sounded off with excitement, "Hup, two, three, four—keep it up, two, three, four—!"
And from the chorus of surprised chuckles, the girls notice Kate join the brunette in this steady beat, "Hup, two, three, four—keep it up, two, three, four—!"
There was a sudden quiet amongst the ranks as these two sang in unison, for no one wanted to be the fool to inhibit a long-forgotten memory, brought to life once again.
"Oh the aim of our patrol, is a question rather droll! For to march and drill, over field and hill—is our military goal, is our military goal~!"
"Hup, two, three, four—dress it up, two, three, four—!"
Hums joined in. A few at first, not wanting to impede, but soon this elated a capella was supported by the whole company of girls, and this brought the two lead singers out of their shells. And amongst the entirety of them were they all adorned with smiles of various degrees. Hunger did not bother them now; the clouds above could not hinder their beating hearts.
"By the ranks or single file, over every jungle mile! As we stamp and crush, through the underbrush—is our military style, is our military style~!"
"Hup, two, three, four—keep it up, two, three, four—!"
And when the tired nurses and volunteers who happened to be outside the church looked from their workings, they beheld the sight of their arriving guests, who marched down the street with a cheeriness unbefitting the solemn tone of this late Sunday morning.