Chapter 10
"That yellow spindly thing is witch hazel. It helps clear skin," Marian says with a gesture towards the plant growing in the shadow between two boulders. Jean hums but doesn't bother with a reply. She's named every flower and herb they've passed for the last couple hours. There are only so many times he can fake interest in withered plants.
"Oi! Don't step on that goldenseal! It's good for infections!"
Jean freezes, his foot centimeters from the bunch of crunchy looking leaves. Keeping his eyes locked on Marian's, he slowly brings his foot down onto the plant.
"Bad Scout," she says, hands on her hips, light dancing in her eyes. "What if we need that later?"
"Aren't the roots the important part?"
"Wow. You do listen!" Marian holds a hand to her chest, an expression of mock-awe on her face.
Jean shakes his head, then continues walking with his crutch. They're still travelling in the ravine, but on the opposite side near the tree line. The trail of junipers had led them there, and Marian had found all sorts of edible flowers and herbs between the tall pine trunks. The sun hovers just above the treetops. They'll need to start thinking about shelter soon, especially with how the temperature has dropped throughout the day. Wickedly cold winds beat against Jean and Marian, making the pair hunker down in their jackets.
"Where are we going to sleep for the night, my dear raccoon?"
"On the ground," Jean grumbles, trying to slip through a narrow passage with a lame foot and walking stick without much success.
"But where on the ground? Between some rocks? Some trees? Or maybe a rock and a tree?"
"Or in a cave," Jean says, his eyes zeroed in on a black hole nestled in the side of the ravine.
"That'd be nice. I'd love to get out of this wind," Marian says. She twirls at the top of the ravine ahead of Jean, entertaining herself while waiting for him to catch up.
"Over there, Marian."
She stops twirling long enough to follow Jean's gesture. When she spies the cave, she throws her hands up.
"Yay! We get to sleep inside a hole of rock and dirt! My favorite!"
As Marian scampers to the cave, Jean feels the hair on the back of his neck rise. He glances around, searching for the reason behind his sudden unease. There's snow-filled trees and glistening rocks. Grass, weeds, and flowers poke out from the frost at their feet. Wind whooshes through the ravine. Long shadows stretch away from the setting sun. Birds swooping through the trees are the only other living things Jean sees.
There's nothing out of the ordinary. Still, his heartbeat drums into a crescendo.
Years as a Scout had taught Jean to never ignore a gut feeling. Even if his eyes can't see what's wrong, the part of him that's human, that's prey, screams.
It's as he turns to call Marian back to him that he sees yellow eyes reflect in the last glimmers of sunset. The eyes blink, then disappear behind a tree.
The body was hidden in shadow, but it's enough.
There is a wolf stalking them, and far as Jean knows, wolves travel in packs. Which meant there were more out there. He just couldn't see them.
"Mari..." His voice falls away when another set of yellow eyes peek out from behind a boulder beside her.
"What?" Marian singsongs, absently kicking at the snow while she waits for Jean to catch.
"Come here. Slowly."
His tone makes Marian straighten. Her eyes skirt around, but she doesn't see the danger. Her eyes catch his, and the panicked gleam shining in there makes her follow his orders without another word.
Marian picks her way back towards Jean. Her footsteps crunching in the snow are the only sounds beside the pair's heavy breathing. Jean grabs his sword hilts, desperately wishing his ODM gear worked, and he could grab Marian and fly them far, far away from the threat. The swords are better than nothing, but they sentence him to fighting instead of evading.
Jean's eyes are so glued to the wolf behind Marian that he doesn't see the scrawny black beast crouched between two boulders.
He doesn't see it until the wolf pounces on Marian.
They fall with a cacophony of screams and growls. Blood and black fur fly everywhere. The rest of the pack surges forward, trying to join in on the kill. Jean's crutch clatters to the ground as he rushes to intercept them. His sword slips through the nearest one's ribcage, stopping it in its tracks with a cut-off yelp. He turns on his heel, the motion not as smooth as it should be because of the splint, then cuts off the next wolf's attack with a well-placed slice. Hot blood sprays him, but Jean doesn't let that stop him. It isn't the first time he's been coated in blood, and it won't be the last. Besides, the amount of blood inside a wolf is miniscule compared to a titan.
A shaggy tan wolf joins the black one atop Marian. Jean raises his blade to get them off, but another animal crashes into his side. Teeth sink into his shoulder. He shouts but turns with the fall, creating just enough space to shove his blade through the wolf's gut. Its heavy weight falls onto Jean. Panting, he shoves it off his chest and stands on his throbbing foot.
With a yell, Jean charges the last two wolves. The tan one falls before it realizes what's happening. The black wolf crushes Marian's forearm between its jaws. She clenches a bloody knife hilt that's buried in the wolf's jaw. Blood coats her face and chest as she uses her arm to keep the wolf's gleaming teeth away from her throat.
Jean raises his blade and brings it down on the animal's neck. There's a sickening crunch. The wolf stops squabbling and chewing, but its teeth remain locked around her arm. Kneeling beside her, Jean slips his fingers between the sharp teeth and Marian's slick skin. It takes more effort than it should to pry the wolf's jaws away.
Marian clutches at the torn flesh, her breaths coming and going rapidly. Her sun-kissed skin is pale, and when their eyes meet, her pupils are blown. There's too much blood staining her skin. It dribbles from her arm to the fresh snow in scarlet waterfalls.
She's losing too much blood.
Every ounce of first aid Jean learned in the Cadet Corp races through his brain. It's like a switch flips, and Marian is no longer a friendly civilian girl, but a wounded comrade. He pulls her hand away from the injury, ignoring the way she fights him and how she whimpers at his of ragged puncture wounds litter her skin. Some are so deep, Jean is sure her bone is the only thing that kept those teeth from going all the way through. Blood falls from the wounds like water from a pitcher. If he doesn't stop it, she'll die.
(And the thought fills him with the same stone-heavy dread that Sasha or Connie's or any of the 104's death does, and he doesn't have enough time to wonder why or how or if he even should.)
He must act now.
Jean pulls off his cloak and rips a strip off the bottom. He wraps it around Marian's arm and puts his weight against it, wincing as she whimpers and struggles against him. Blood soaks through the thick wool almost immediately. Cursing, Jean tears off another piece of cloak and holds it against her wound.
He forces himself to count, to not panic when the blood doesn't stop.
A bit longer, he tells himself. That's all it needs.
Crimson fluid leaks through the cloak and between Jean's fingers before he gets to one hundred.
That heavy stone in his gut gets even heavier.
(She's gonna bleed out. She's gonna die. There's nothing I can do about it.)
It's about trying again and again, even when there's no reason to believe.
And so, he tries.
Jean tugs Marian's scarf off, then scrambles for his abandoned walking stick. He wedges the crooked part of the stick between two boulders and leans against it until the wood breaks with a snap. Snatching the broken crook, Jean returns to Marian's side.
He reaches for her, his heart clenching as she squirms away from him, her pupils so big there's only a strip of chestnut visible. He doubts she truly knows what's happening. Her clammy skin makes it difficult for Jean to loop the scarf around her upper arm. Commander Shadis' instructions ring in his ears as he loops and knots the scarf, then wedges the stick between the fabric. With a murmured apology, he grasps the stick and turns.
Marian's scream echoes throughout the ravine, racing through boulders and tree trunks and tiny withered herbs. Jean cringes, his heart pulsing in his throat, but he keeps turning the stick.
(This has to work. This has to work. This has to work.)
He counts, and bit by bit, the blood flow slows.
Marian slumps on the ground, her lids heavy and breaths rapid. Jean hopes she passes out soon, so the pain will fall away into dreamland. Fresh snow falls on top of them, turning bloodstained and pink where they land. It's awfully cold, and it's impossible to tell if the two of them are shivering from the temperature or shock.
The cave is about sixteen meters behind them. It offers shelter and protection, but heavens above, it's going to hurt getting the two of them there.
But it's their best shot, and Jean's not about to throw that away because of a little pain.
He rises with a groan, wondering why his vision spins. When he bends down to grab Marian, the world turns so topsy-turvy his eyes slam shut.
I'm not going to hurl. I'm not going to hurl.
Slowly and carefully, Jean scoops Marian up with an arm beneath her shoulders and knees. The second his right arm bears weight, he's painfully reminded of the bite he'd taken to the shoulder. There are jagged holes in his cloak, the emerald material turning brown beneath the scarlet stains. He absently watches as blood drips from beneath his sleeve, down his hand, off a fingertip, and onto the snowy ground. His gut turns.
I'm not going to hurl. I'm going to make it to that cave.
With a squealing ankle and throbbing shoulder, Jean limps towards the cave with Marian in his arms. He slips and stumbles but refuses to fall. He's not sure he'd be able to get up again.
The pair duck beneath the cave entrance and are once again encased in shadow and dirt. Stones clang together as Jean stumbles deeper inside, seeking the promise of warmth. He doesn't have enough energy to make sure the cave is safe or set up some form of protection at the entrance. He has just enough energy to slide down the cave wall and keep ahold of Marian.
I should do something about that, Jean thinks as he reaches across Marian to hold his wounded shoulder. I should clean it and bandage it. Try to keep us warm. Get more water.
But he's so tired, and Marian's warm in his lap, and the stones are cool against his throbbing ankle.
Jean falls unconscious to the sound of wind whistles and labored breathing.