It was hard to think. Her eyes didn't want to open quickly, and there was a ringing in her ears. When they did fully open, it took a moment for her to figure out what she was seeing, and remember where she was.
It was her bed. Her room at the Lafrange's. But everything was wrong. It was dim, but lit with a flickering orange from behind her, and there was a slow rain of dust and papers trickling down from somewhere above. There was an acrid smell hitting her nose, now, and something black billowing in one corner.
Orange light. Smoke. Fire.
Delphine scrambled onto her knees. She could barely hear anything over the ringing in her ears, but she could see dark spots and smears on the sheets of her bed. It was blood. She looked down at her body and saw a few small rivulets dripping down her front and down her arm from her shoulder. She touched the back of her head. It was sticky, damp, and sore in a sharp way. Something cut her finger and she jerked her hand away to look at it. Glass. There was glass in her hair.
Blood on the bed. In streaks.
Cosima.
She lurched to the edge of the bed and nearly put her foot down right on the American. Cosima was sprawled, twisted, face up with her knees toward the bed. Her eyes were open, but she looked stunned. There was a slash across one of her cheeks and one at her hairline, which were oozing, but somehow her glasses were unbroken. Delphine leaned forward and touched her face.
"Cosima! Cosima, are you alright?"
Cosima blinked several times rapidly, and then her eyes found Delphine's backlit silhouette.
"Uh… yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Are you okay?"
Delphine could barely make her voice out over the ringing, but she nodded. She put her foot down to stand, next to Cosima this time, and gasped out a small, surprised yell as she felt a shard of glass puncture the sole of her foot.
Cosima snapped up into a sitting position, reaching toward her, and then suddenly curled in on herself, pulling her arms around her midsection.
"Holy fuck!" she gasped, and Delphine dropped into a crouch to put a hand on her shoulder. Cosima took a shivering breath and patted the Frenchwoman's knee.
"I'm — I'm okay. Just a little banged up here. Don't move."
She slowly uncoiled her arms from around herself, and moved her hands down to check Delphine's foot. A quick tug removed the shard of glass, but the bleeding got worse. Cosima grabbed at the end of the sheets and strained, tearing off a strip. She quickly tied it around the wound.
"Okay, we have to get out of here, but we've gotta look where we step. You think you're okay to walk?"
Pain shot through Delphine's sole as she tested her weight on the foot, and she grimaced, but then she nodded, resolved. She would have to endure it.
Cosima slowly pushed herself into a standing position, squinching her eyes closed at one moment of pain, and offered her arm to her friend. There was a sudden rumble and crash above them as Delphine took it, and they looked at each other in alarm.
"Alright, one foot in front of the other. Let's go," Cosima insisted.
The two of them proceeded carefully, Delphine having to put her arm around Cosima's shoulder when her foot protested at taking all her weight, and Cosima wheezing a bit and guiding them to step around and between pieces of glass sparkling in the orange flicker coming through the window. Delphine's ears still rang, but less, and she could now hear the wail of air raid sirens puncturing the night. Who was bombing them? Was it the Allies, or the Germans? Weren't they supposed to be liberated, now?
Entering the hall, the smoke became thicker, and they both began to cough. Delphine turned to follow Cosima's gaze as the American's attention snapped to the attic door down the hall. It was nearly obscured by the thick, black smoke billowing out of it, the flash of embers and sparks adding a hellish glow further up the stairs.
"Scott," Cosima screamed, stumbling toward the attic door, "Scott!"
But the smoke was overwhelming, the heat building and crackling of flames becoming more audible. Delphine tugged on Cosima's shoulder.
"There's nothing you can do," she shouted through the din and vapours. "Cosima… Cosima, no one could get through that!"
"Scott!" Cosima understood, but she just couldn't help herself. She let out one last sound, a choked sob, and then, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, turned back to help Delphine down the main staircase.
They made the rest of their way mainly by feel. Although the air was better on the first floor, it was darker, and the sweat, soot and tears running into their eyes blurred their vision, just as the chaos around them and their panic clouded their minds. But the front door wasn't far, and it was open. They made it through and out into the fresher air.
Cosima kept them limping along until they were some distance from the house, then stopped and looked around, coughing and sore. Madame Lafrange ran up to them from a small group of people.
"Girls! Thank God! Are you alright? Have you seen Hubert? Have you seen the doctor?"
"We're fine," Delphine dismissed their minor injuries. "No, is he inside? Have you seen Scott or Danielle?"
"He went back inside to find them. Pierre, one of our wounded patients, he is out, but the other… he didn't make it."
The three women all looked at each other in terror. Cosima turned back around as if to make for the door.
"No," both Delphine and Madame Lafrange said at the same time, grasping her arms.
"Cosima, we can't go back in there, it's too dangerous," Delphine warned her.
"There's got to be something…" Cosima cried, looking quickly around her. "Can we get water? Where are the firemen?"
"They're coming," Madame Lafrange replied. "They'll be here soon." The look on her face said she was trying to reassure herself as much as the younger women.
Sure enough, they could hear the distant wail of a siren coming toward them. Cosima was turning in different directions, distraught, hands clenching and unclenching, so Delphine pulled her closer.
"Stay with me," she insisted, putting her arm around Cosima's shoulders, and hoping she could dissuade her from being rash. "I still need your support to stand."
Cosima's eyes, overflowing with unnoticed tears, met hers, and slowly focused. The American nodded in acquiescence.
Delphine put her other arm around Madame Lafrange, pulling her close. The older woman wrung at the material of her robe, all three of them peering at the door of the house, searching for a sign of their loved ones. There was a cracking, ripping sound, and part of the roof collapsed, releasing a column of flames into the sky.
And then, a flicker, a shadow at the door. Hubert Lafrange came barreling out, his medical bag in hand. Madame Lafrange cried out his name, and he quickly saw the women and jogged over to them, his face red with exertion. He bent over, wheezing, as he reached them, his wife's hand touching his shoulder.
"I couldn't find them. The smoke was too much," his voice was distressed, apologetic. Delphine trembled at his gaze.
And then, another movement at the door.
A figure emerged, cradling another in its arms. It was Scott, part of one sleeve singed off, cradling Danielle in his arms. He stumbled forward.
All of them went racing to him at once, Cosima yelling his name. He made it a few more feet forward, and then collapsed to his knees as they reached him, laying Danielle's form on the ground.
"Danielle! Danielle!" Delphine was crying, and then as she saw her friend motionless, nonresponsive, she erupted into a horrified, pained wail, not even realizing herself what she was doing. She sank to her knees beside the journalist, and the doctor joined her, kneeling, as they tried to revive her, detect the slightest breath, a single heartbeat.
"Wait," the doctor said, "wait," and Delphine's wrist flew to her own mouth, her teeth clenching it in order to quiet herself. The doctor opened his medical bag, pulled out his stethoscope and put the earpieces to his ears, pressing the diaphragm to her chest. There was a long, silent moment. Then he looked up at them.
"She's breathing, her heart is beating. She's unconscious, but alive."
Delphine clutched at Danielle's hand, mumbling some sort of thanks she wasn't aware of. Cosima moved over to Scott, putting an arm around him.
"Are you alright," she asked, "are you injured?"
He nodded, coughed a bit, and then found his voice.
"A little burned, not too serious. You?"
The clangor around them had risen, as the fire engine had arrived, and citizens and firemen pushed through rubble to set up hoses, find loved ones and tend to the wounded.
"I'm fine," she answered, and looked around. "We need an ambulance." She whirled around, grabbing the arm of a fireman as he went by. "We need medical help," she barked at him.
The fireman cocked his head. "I'm not… I don't know," he fumbled, his French sounding off. "Do you speak English?"
"What? Yes," Cosima answered, taken aback. "Are you American?"
"Yeah, we're just… helping out. You?"
"Same. Look, we really need…"
"My car is still down the street, we will take her to the hospital," Doctor Lafrange interjected. "There's no telling when an ambulance might get here, how many bombs have dropped…"
"I'm coming with you," Scott and Delphine both insisted at the same time, and the doctor looked at them.
"Scott, help me carry her, Delphine, you'll be with her in the back, monitoring her life signs." He looked up at his wife. "Mon ange…"
"I know," she answered, touching his face. "We can't all fit in there. Cosima and I will get there as soon as we can, somehow."
Cosima watched, flustered, as the others picked up Danielle and scurried to the car.
"Hey, you American? You speak French," the fireman suddenly asked her, and she blinked rapidly, trying to make some sense of all that was happening.
"Yes," she managed.
"Then we could use your help. My buddy and I, we're from the states, and our translator is back there hooking up the hose. Can you help us talk with the French? We have to make the rounds and see where the worst fire is, and if there are people missing."
"We will both help you," Madame Lafrange assured him, touching Cosima's arm. My English is not so good, but I can assist."
There was more noise as an ambulance suddenly pulled up, parting the crowd. Cosima glanced at it.
"There they are now, of course," she sighed, and looked back at the doctor's wife. "Why don't you help with triage, and I'll help translate for… this guy," she offered. "We'll meet back by the ambulance soon."
Madame Lafrange nodded, and they parted ways.
Cosima wasn't sure at all how much of this night was real. Lying in bed with Delphine, talking, the explosion, the fire and the emergence of her friends… and now a seemingly Parisian fireman who turned out to be American. She shook her head to clear it as they approached a group of people crying and gesticulating at another crumbling house.
She'd have to sort it out later. For now, they needed her help.