A/N: So, I would have made Rene's death much more gory, but, since she was a real woman, I didn't want to be too disrespectful. I really love her. Plus, I think it gives you an opportunity to imagine what it was that Emilie saw that could have traumatised her so much.
Enjoy. :D
xx
It came in the morning. The sun had hardly been given a chance to rise.
Emilie sat in her bed, massaging her injured ankle after having just completed more exercise with the crutches, practising getting used to walking with them and such. She closed her eyes; despite the smell and occasional yelps of pain, when her eyes were closed, she could more-or-less imagine she was out of the confines of the hospital that could barely be called that. She had begun to recognise each person just by how they walked. Now, she could hear Rene walking past her, before turning and continuing down an aisle. Emilie peaked open one eye. Yes, she was right. Little things like that were the only thing keeping her from going completely mad.
That morning was quieter than usual. Almost peaceful, with most of the patients sleeping. Emilie should have sensed it couldn't last, that something dark was coming.
She had been surprised when Eddie had come down to check on her a few days ago. Of course, he had attempted to justify his visit by saying he had to take something to Headquarters anyway, but it was evident that he had meant to see her. While he had been down there, he had introduced her to a buddy of his that was a patient in the hospital; his name was William Van Patten, and he was in there with a finger that had been blown off. He had admitted that it wasn't as bad as it looked, and that he was in there more because he just wanted a relief from the terror of the front line. Emilie had felt a flash of guilt, a feeling she was beginning to get accustomed to experiencing.
"How are you feeling today, Harriet?"
Emilie didn't respond to the name at first; the only thing she thought was that perhaps she hadn't noticed another injured woman amongst the men. Then she remembered that, when she had first arrived at the hospital, Rene had asked her name, and Emilie, so used to lying, had, without any thought, let the fake name slip past her lips. She had been surprised at herself, but had reasoned that perhaps it was better if they didn't have a real name to hold to her. So she had played along with it.
She looked up and smiled, ceasing her massaging and instead using her hands to try to get her fingers through some of the knots in her auburn hair. "Getting there," she responded, shrugging. Rene was standing in front of her, wiping her blood-coated hands with a stained cloth. "Thanks again for the crutches. It makes my wild hopping look a little more purposeful." Her lips curled up into an amused smile.
Rene chuckled slightly, though the smile didn't reach her dark, saddened eyes.
Emilie's smile faded, and she tentatively reached forward to touch her hand to Rene's wrist comfortingly. "Hey, you know you're doing a lot of good here, right?"
The Belgian nurse let out a sigh, looking down then over her shoulder at the men lying in filthy cots behind her. "It's still not enough," she murmured.
Emilie was about to say something, but, before she could utter another word, a rumbling sound akin to thunder boomed close by, and every conscious, able-eared person's head snapped to stare in that direction, eyes wide and quickly filling with terror at the realisation of what it was. Everyone stopped dead. Before any instructions could be given, that all-too-familiar air-raid siren filled the air. Though the church was below ground, the drone was still deafening. Emilie could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
Another bomb landed and exploded; Emilie could hear the people screaming in panic outside, and could picture them scrambling for cover. She pitied the people without bomb shelters. Without thinking, she fumbled to her feet, grabbed her crutches, and was almost at the base of the stairs, going as fast as her injured foot would allow, when Rene pulled her back by her arm.
"Where are you going?" she hissed, clearly scared. But determination shone in her eyes, seeming to give her extra life.
Emilie grimaced as another bomb fell, closer this time. "I have to help!" she screeched, snatching her arm out of Rene's grip and stumbling backwards as she lost her balance, still not completely used to being supported by the crutches. She crashed against the side of the staircase, but managed to remain standing, and hobbled back to her feet. She stared at her desperately, before her eyes flicked to the doorway that led onto the street. "And you can't stop me."
Rene shook her head, already half way up the stairs when she looked back down, eyes locking with Emilie's for a few heartbeats. "If I let you die, if I got you killed, I would never forgive myself," she called back, "Please, stay here."
"But it's not safe down here!" Emilie yelled back, adrenaline streaming through her veins. "We have to evacuate the patients!" But her voice was drowned out by another explosion, and it was clear Rene wasn't listening anyway; she was already nearly at the door.
But, just as she reached it, what Emilie had been dreading most became a reality. She heard it before she felt it: that eerie whistling, like screaming from a long way away. It was the sound of a bomb falling. Rene must have heard it too, as she stopped mid-stride just a few feet from the doorway, and looked up. "Get down!" Emilie screamed, diving for cover and ignoring the searing pain in her foot as it slammed against the grimy floor. She landed with a thud and scrambled under her bed, covering her head with her hands and squeezing her eyes shut. "God damn Germans," she breathed. It was pay back, she supposed, for what they had endured that day with the 88's. But what a time to choose to do it, when their only medic was a patient in the hospital.
The bomb hit, and exploded on impact with the towering roof; maybe the height of it would give them some relief. Rubble showered down around her, and, though common sense screamed at her to keep her eyes closed to shield her mind from the image, she had never been very good at common sense. She saw men crushed in their beds by falling chunks of brick, their screaming immediately cut off. Their screams were only that of people who knew their life was coming to an end; a death scream, one that echoed in your bones and replayed over and over in your ears.
Blood and guts spurted out, blanketing the floor. Shrapnel clattered as it fell all around her bed, and she felt her mattress heave as rubble landed on it. Dust was churned up and stung her eyes.
And then all was silent; no bombs, no screaming. Well, at least not for a few seconds as the people outside slunk uncertainly from their bunkers to find their friends and family dead on the streets. Then the wailing began. But in the church, all was quiet. Only the thudding as a few more pieces of brick fell to the ground, and the raining of dirt.
Breath coming in gasps, Emilie backed out from under her bed, forgetting to grab her crutches and instead stumbling and limping forward, using anything high enough for support. All around her, the men and women she had come to know were dead, some hit by shrapnel and killed instantly, with their bodies sprawled across the rubble, while, in other cases, only hands and feet were visible under hunks of stone. She peered through each room, listening for any cries for help, before reluctantly facing what she had been refusing to believe: they were all dead. Why, once again, had she lived? Was God punishing her?
Then she turned to the stars, and was confronted with the sight of collapsed stairs, with wooden beams and rubble smothering them. Dragging herself back to her destroyed bed, where she had only been seated, blissfully unaware, a few minutes ago, she scooped up her crutches and held them both under one arm as she began to pick her way up the stairs. It was soon obvious that she would have to crawl up. Her mind was blank as she began up it, on all fours, knees scraping the jagged edges and blood welling on her scratched palms. No tears fell. She couldn't feel anything. It was too horrible to comprehend, too much for her body to handle, and her emotions just sort of… shut down. But she knew that, sooner or later, it would wear off, and she would be faced with the full force of her grief.
Once she reached the top, she was about to make her way out onto the streets to face the music and adopt the role of nurse to treat the wounded, when she noticed there was something soft under her right leg. She stopped. She knew only one thing that felt like that; warm, but slowly beginning to grow cooler. Emilie looked down and clambered to her feet where there was space, throwing some rubble aside, slowly at first but with more speed and strength as she went on. She had to know for sure. It couldn't be. No. No, no, no. No. Emilie had warned her. She would have sought shelter. This was just another poor soul caught in the fray who had run into the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, that didn't make it better. It just made it more bearable.
But she knew in her heart what she was trying to convince herself of was ultimately just a string of lies.
As she shoved aside another piece of brick, a face came into view beneath her, and her breath hitched in her throat. Emilie stared at the dead woman before her, unable to do anything for what must have been at least a minute. Then, finally, she reached forward and gently closed Rene's eyes. As was her morbid tradition, Emilie whispered, "You didn't deserve this. It was my fault, all my fault. I'm so sorry. But you are a hero, Rene, and I am alive because of you. You are an inspiration. I will not let you be forgotten."
That felt like more of a curse than a blessing. And, ultimately, it looked as though Rene's efforts had been in vain: everyone was dead. Still no tears fell. She was too hurt for that. She was just about to turn and leave when she remembered something.
"Oh. And my name is Emilie Elizabeth Demont."
