She tenses under his hand, but she doesn't scream, her eyes going wide as she sees the wolf. Soul cuts his eyes to his gun sitting on the opposite bank, too far away, and with the wolf now between them.
The Lobo is definitely alone, a renegade cast out of the pack. It moves stiffly as if its limbs are frozen, and its ribs show like a skeleton beneath its matted gray hide. Its lips curl back from its teeth in a growl, though it makes no sound. Saliva drools in foamy globs from its mouth. Its eye shine with a crazy glint. Rabies.
Little Chief growls, his hackles raised and his teeth bared. Maka rips his hand away from her mouth, her voice filling with panic.
"No, Chief stay!"
But it's too late, the little dog charges down the bank, putting himself between the wolf and them.
They meet in a brief frenzy of gray and patchwork fur and snapping teeth. It's a brief fight, Soul has no time to react before Chief yelps and runs off with his tail deep between his legs. With a strangled snarl, the wolf leaps into the river and comes at them. Soul thrusts Maka to the ground and throws himself on top of her just as the wolf hits the island with a spray of water.
Soul flings up one hand as the wolf lunges, his fingers digging into the animal's neck, while he gropes for his knife with the other. Bloodstained teeth snap, barely missing his eyes, spraying foam and strings of saliva and bathing his face with fetid breath. The flesh and fur beneath Soul's fist vibrates with growls that are trapped in the wolf's convulsing throat. Maka screams beneath him and with every ounce of strength he has, with his free hand closing around the hilt of his bowie, he stabs the blade deep into the wolf's neck and rips it open. Blood gushes, spilling over his hands, splashing onto Maka's terrified face.
She utters not a sound, although she trembles with her arms and legs, heaving against his back and shoulder, which has her trapped to the ground. He flings the wolf's body off them and hauls her to her feet. She is covered in blood, saliva, and gore, and his heart freezes a the sight.
He drags her into the deep part of the river and pushes her head under the water. She comes up sputtering and starts to scrub frantically at her face and hair.
"Get it off of me," she says in an eerily controlled voice. "Get it off."
He pushes her under twice more before he is satisfied that the river has washed away the wolf's blood and saliva.
Shivers wrack her body. Her hair is plastered to her face. Her mouth falls open, her lips white and trembling. His hands hover over her face, needing so desperately to touch her.
"Maka. . . Oh, dear Christ, darlin'. Did he bite you?"
She starts to shake her head. Her gaze becomes caught in his and she grows still. His hands shake, but he cannot bear to keep from touching her, not a moment longer. His hands clasp the sides of her face and, with a low sound of despair, he drags her into his arms, pressing her tightly to his chest.
He gasps for air, his heart and lungs straining. He can feel her heart drumming along with his own, and they stay like that for a time, each drinking in the other. She shakes in his embrace and he runs his hands up and down her arms to warm her, to soothe her.
"Ouch." She exclaims, pulling away from his touch.
Soul is confused until he sees that his hand is coated in blood. He yanks her arm up and she winces in pain. He knows he's being rougher than he should, but he can't concentrate past the pounding in his ears and the fear stabbing at his heart. All of his worst fears are realized at this moment. On the soft white flesh of her inner arm is a gaping cut. Terror whipsaws through him with such force that his legs sway.
"I thought you said he didn't bite you!" he shouts, his voice guttural with fear.
She winces at the pitch of his voice but doesn't acknowledge the wound, her eyes still far away from the shock.
"Dammit, darlin', did it bite you?!" He shouts shaking her a bit, knowing full well he isn't being gentle, but he's too scared to rein in his emotions.
"I don't know, I don't know! Why?" She shudders and backs away, pulling against his grasp on her hurt arm.
He lets her go and then grips her face hard between his two hands.
"Maka, look at me, listen to me. I need to know if that Lobo bit you or if you got that cut when you fell. It's important."
"I- I don't know, it all happened so fast. Why? I'm ok, right?" She whimpers, not understanding the severity.
He strokes his thumb across her cheek, inhaling sharply, trying to stay calm as his own insides turn at what he's about to tell her.
"That wolf, he was sick. He had rabies."
Her head moves, shaking in denial. Horror fills her eyes as his words slowly sink in.
"Oh, God," she whispers, "What am I going to do? Am I going to die?"
He swings her up into his arms. She stiffens and pushes against him, but he presses her head into the curve of his neck and speaks to her softly.
"Lie still, kid, lie still. I'm only taking you back to the house."
She goes quiet as he wades across the river and climbs the bank.
"Am I going to die?" She asks echoing her earlier question with a strange calmness.
"No, you're not, darlin'." He promises, even though in his heart he isn't sure. He's making promises he knows he may not be able to keep, and the fear of that knowledge drives him into a staggering run as he cuts across the furrows of the freshly mown hay meadow.
Soul stumbles into the kitchen frantically and everyone eating lunch stands, their chairs scraping the floor, hurting his ears in the pounding silence.
Tsubaki, Black Star, and Justin take in the horrific scene, both smattered with blood, Maka bleeding freely in Soul's arms.
"Jesus, Jesus, Soul, what's-"
"A wolf attacked us down at the river. She's hurt." Soul cuts Justin off.
"I don't understand, Black Star says in a daze as he takes in their bloodies appearance. "Wolves are never this bold."
Soul clutches her to him tightly to keep himself from shaking as he chokes out, "It was rabid."
The whole room grows quiet, then just as swiftly erupts.
A retching sound tears out of Justin's throat. He whirls and stumbles outside. Black Star clutches Tsubaki who sways dangerously on her feet, a small cry escaping her mouth.
"We have to get the doctor." Black Star says his voice rough with emotion.
Soul shakes his head. "The doc is on his monthly rounds, we have no idea which settlement or town he's in or what direction to even start.
"Then we ride in all directions," Justin says, stepping back into the kitchen. "There's enough of us to ride to all the neighboring towns, we'll find him," He says firmly, his face still pale, but his eyes determined.
Soul looks down at her in his arms for a moment before slowly nodding his head. "Get the horses ready."
The men bolt from the kitchen and Tsubaki flies into the pantry for supplies. He carries her carefully up the stairs.
Alone in her bedroom, Soul gingerly lays her on the soft mattress. She winces at being moved, but she doesn't utter a sound. Soul strokes a matted strand of hair from her face, those scarlet orbs burning, passing words to her that wouldn't come from his mouth as he stares down at her.
He opens his mouth, wanting so desperately to speak, to comfort her, reassure her, but no words come out. Her eyes, which had been very far away, start to focus back as he gently strokes her hair.
"Maka…" is the only thing that quivers off his lips.
She reaches out with a shakey hand and cups his cheek. She smiles at him, so warm and kind, even in the face of this disaster. It's such a gentle act, and he turns burying his face into her hand, ashamed at the hot burn of tears he feels trying to escape. He should be comforting her, not the other way around damn it.
"Go. I'll be fine." She says, her voice humming softly.
He nods once and hesitantly removes himself from her gentle hands.
"I'll be back soon." He promises.
"You better." She chuckles, her smile growing watery.
He groans, before placing his hand on her forehead. Her skin is soft, and warm, maybe too warm, or was that just his imagination?
He turns swiftly, leaving the room before he breaks down completely in front of her. He passes Tsubaki in the hallway, her arms full of bandages and bottles of ointment. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her mouth pinched in worry. She looks as bad as he feels.
"Our girl is tough, don't give up just yet." He says softly, his feet picking up the pace as he runs down the stairs.
Tsubaki lets out a choked sob but managed to hold the rest of it in.
"Godspeed, Soul." She breathes, as the front door bangs closed behind him.
Four riders set out, traveling like the hounds of hell are nipping at their heels. They thunder onto the prairie and then scatter to the four winds.
Black Star to the South, Justin and Tad to the North, and he would head East into town. He'd check there first, just in case the Doc had made it back, then he'd move to the next town if need be.
Soul's heart matches the rhythm of his horse's hooves striking the ground as they fly, stretched out over land and sky. He breathes in deep the smell of the earth and horse as the sound of wind rushes into his ears.
He needs to calm down, to think clearly. Losing his head would do her no good. If he fell and broke his own neck, he wouldn't be able to help her. If he could even help her. Once he found the doctor and brought him back, he also would probably do no good. There was no cure to raibies. Most people bitten by sick animals didn't make it, their chances were very grim. He knew this. He had to try though.
He urges his paint faster as the clapboard structures of town come into sight. People turn their heads to stare as he races down the main street like a madman.
Let them stare. They always did. Right now though he didn't give a fuck.
The doctor's office comes into view and Soul launches himself from the saddle, his feet hitting the ground running before his horse has time to slow. He bangs his fist on the door, waiting, hoping, but there is no answer from the doctor. Somewhere close by a train whistle shrieks and he wants nothing more than to shriek his own frustration along with it.
"Fuck!" He shouts as he remounts, swinging his horse around, ready to ride to the next town over.
He cuts through the alley behind the general store, then shoots out at the train depot like a bat out of hell. His paint is swift, hooves churning up the dirt of the road, leaving a thick blanket of dust in their wake. An unsuspecting man steps out in front of them and throws his arms wide causing his paint to shy and nearly throw Soul from his saddle.
"Get out of the fucking way!" Soul bellows, jerking the reins hard to go around the fool.
"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" The man shouts back tipping his hat back and revealing his face. His face is different, framed by grey whiskers and a few more wrinkles than he remembers, but Soul would recognize those piercing eyes anywhere.
"Stein." Soul exhales in disbelief, his legs nearly giving way as he dismounts.
"How?"
"I just arrived, off the afternoon train. What's got you all emotional boy? Did you miss me that much?" He asks arching a questioning eyebrow.
"We have to find the doctor." Soul blurts, his mind feeling slow, trying to process this news.
Stein's expression slides into a frown.
"What the hell is going on?"
"There was a wolf attack. Rabies. She was bitten. I have to find the doctor." Soul grits, his hands shaking at his sides.
All the color washes from Stein's face.
"Tsubaki was bit?"
Soul shakes his head, his face pulling painfully as he remembers her laying still and bloodied in her bed.
"No, you're neice." He manages to choke out.
Stein grips Soul by the forearm and shakes him soundly.
"Look at me." He demands.
Soul's vision fades from Maka in her bed, back onto his old friend's face.
"I don't know what's going on, but you need to focus. I have a lot of questions, but those can wait. What do you need me to do?"
Soul grits his teeth, his jaw setting hard. We need the doctor, he may be the next town over, we're not sure."
Stein nods curtly and takes the reins from Soul's grip.
"I'll ride to the next few towns, you go back to the ranch. Leave everything to me."
"My horse?" Soul questions.
"I need him more. If I'm to get the doctor in time." Stein smiles at him then and it raises the fine white hairs on the back of his neck.
"You were a child of the Comanche once. You used to run across the prairie all day, and I could never keep shoes on you. Embrace that today. Run, clear your head, and do what you must."
Soul opens his mouth to argue, but Stien shakes his head. "I don't know my niece, but no one should be by themselves in this kind of situation. You'd be more help there with her. Now go."
Stein mounts Soul's horse and spins away in a dusting of gravel.
Soul's hands drop to his sides to form clenched fists of tension, his fingernails biting into the flesh of his palms. The pain was good, it cleared his head a bit.
Stein was right, Maka needed him right now. With a growl he sped off, weaving in and out of alleys and dodgy-looking streets until he broke out of the buildings and back into open space. His strides lengthened and his heart kicked up a steady drumming as he raced across the land toward home.
The prairie grass seethed and roiled as it parted for him like he was the wind itself. He inhaled the smell of the grass, the earth, and the sweet scent of prairie flowers, and felt the sting of wind and tears on his face. His limbs burned, but he didn't feel the pull of exhaustion as the miles slipped by.
He felt alive, he felt like he was burning from the inside out. Like that strange tether Maka and he shared, that strange connection that felt like lightning. It made him want to scream, to howl like the wolf that had possibly claimed her life. He felt mad. Felt it churning in his blood like a war drum.
He let the feeling of the four winds and the earth carry him as he ran faster, praying to all the gods he knew. God of the whites, the natives, or some other entity who had no known name, it didn't matter. His heart pleaded the request over and over to whoever would listen.
Please. Please, save her.
It was deathly quiet in the house. His heart which had been thundering in his chest stilled to a painful stop in his ribcage. It shouldn't be this quiet.
If death had a sound it would be this.
Soul doesn't even stop to remove his boots at the door, instead taking the stairs two at a time. He absently registers that he isn't even wearing his boots anymore.
When did he take them off? Did he lose them out on the prairie?
He stops at her door and strains to hear over the rushing sound in his ears. He hears quiet weeping on the other side. With a shaky hand, he opens the door, not ready for what he's about to see, but needing to lay eyes on her nonetheless.
Tsubaki looks up with a gasp, her face tear streaked. She is sitting on the edge of the bed, pressing a bloodied rag into the weeping gash in Maka's arm.
"Oh thank God, Soul. I can't stop the bleeding." She chokes on a half sob.
Maka is still, her face pale and her eyelids shut. But she's breathing. And that is enough to kick his ass into gear.
"Tsubaki, would you bring me some clean cloth and water?" He asks gently, touching her trembling shoulder.
"Of course." She says, some of her resolve returning. She hurries out of the room and Soul busies himself with starting a fire in the small hearth in her room.
He doesn't want to look at her, to see her in this state, but keeping his eyes off her is like asking him not to breathe. He sits on the edge of the bed, careful that his weight doesn't disturb her. He runs his knuckles across her cheek, noticing her eyelids are dark and swollen looking. His heart twists for her, and it's almost unbearable knowing what he has to do to her now.
Tsubaki rushes in, her arms loaded down with white linen and a bowl and pitcher. He takes the burden from her and gives her a stern look.
"Go wait downstairs."
"I can help." She insists.
Tsubaki truly had the kindest of hearts, which is why he didn't want her here.
"Tsubaki, please wait downstairs. I don't want you to witness this." He says, his voice almost pleading.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to try and save her." He answers, giving her nothing more. The less she knew, the better.
Tsubaki's face grew pale, but she nods and leaves the room, only sparing Maka one last miserable glance before she quietly shuts the door behind her.
In the back of his mind, he is at war with the options.
What if she wasn't bit?
The way he'd been plunging her in and out of the water . . . The cut was ragged and deep. It could easily have been made by a submerged stick or a rock. Or teeth. He still has to stop the bleeding too.
He reaches for his knife and realizes it's still in the wolf's neck by the river.
Soul sets the back of his teeth. He didn't say out loud what he wanted to, which was that there wasn't a damn thing any doctor could do, whether the wolf had gotten to her or not.
He was desperate.
He found the knife he had lent her on her bedside table. He used a poke to open the door to the round iron stove and squatted on his haunches before it. He dumped more wood into its belly, then thrust the blade of his knife into the freshly fed flames.
Desperate enough to try anything.
Even an old native remedy that he didn't have a lot of faith in.
"Soul?" Her voice was quiet, but it caused every muscle in his body to quiver.
"I'm here darlin'."
"What are you doing?" She asks, her voice far away.
"There's an Indian cure I witnessed when I was younger," Soul says into a room so quiet he can hear her swallow breathing.
"They burn out the infected wound with a red-hot iron."
He looks over his shoulder. Maka sits in stillness on the bed. She might have just been resting there, out of the heat of the day, except for the faint line between her brows and a tautness in her jaw. Her wide-eyed gaze, deep and still, fastens onto him.
"I trust you," she says simply.
He swivels around and thrusts the knife deeper into the fire. His hand shaking. A moment passes. All is quiet except for the hiss and crackle of the burning wood.
"Do not tell me, Evans, that it won't hurt unbearably. That it'll only singe off the hair and a bit of hide, like branding a cow."
He shakes his head, unable to force any words past the tightness in his throat. He puts a tin cup brimming with whiskey into her hand.
"I thought a proper lady doesn't drink this devil's brew?" She jokes, the laughter not quite reaching her tired eyes.
"We've shared too much whiskey together for you to turn your nose up at it now, Kid." He says, forcing a tight laugh.
She takes a sip and crinkled her nose.
"Drink the whole thing, you're going to need it." He sits on the edge of her bed and her face grows serious.
"Tell me what to expect."
She's so damn brave and it breaks his heart.
"God, I'm sorry."
He lays his hand on the side of her face and tilts her head back. "I'm going to take a knife, darlin', a knife that will be hot enough to burn through leather, and I'm going to push it deep into that cut in your arm and hold it there while I count to ten and then count to ten again, and it's going to hurt much worse than any branding. Much worse than anything you could possibly imagine."
Her lips tremble, and her throat jerks as she swallows.
"There are times, like now, when I wish I'd never met you. But you've always been unfailingly honest with me. Don't ever stop." The smile she gives him is full of pain and tenderness.
He allows his fingers to trail down her face to her bare neck. "God, I wish sometimes you'd never come here too. Then all this wouldn't have happened." He hangs his head to hide his tears, but she lifts her good arm and runs her fingers through his hair.
"No matter what happens, I will always be glad that I met you."
Shivers wrack his body at her words and feather-like touch. He captures her hand in his and squeezes it.
"Same here, Kid." He croaks.
He holds her hand, his thumb stroking small comforting circles as she finishes all the whiskey in her cup.
"Ready?" He asks.
She nods her head and closes her eyes
"I'm going to make you hate me even more because I'll be tying down your arm before I burn it."
She swallows again, hard. "Oh. Yes, of course."
When he takes the knife from the fire, it's white and glowing. She watches him with eyes that are dark and heavy-lidded with whiskey and fear. And then he does just what he'd told her he would do. He presses the searing hot knife deep into the wound and holds it there while her flesh hisses and burns and her arm jerks against the bindings.
He holds his breath, waiting for her to scream, waiting for it with a scream choking his own throat, and yet no sound escapes her at all except for the breath sucking harshly in and out past her bruised lips.
It isn't until he's untying her arm that she faints, and by then he's shaking so hard himself that he can barely manage to undo the knots. It takes him a long time to bandage the wound, because he's still shaking, and because he keeps stopping to look at her pale, still face.
Her room smells of singed skin and copper, her bed sheets soaked crimson.
When he's done with her bandages, he lifts her into his arms and carries her into his bedroom.
He lays her on his own bed. He brushes away the drying wisps of hair that have caught in her pale lashes. Then he steps back and back until he is up against the wall.
The air hurts his skin. He can feel each separate stroke of his heart. He looks at her. At her hair spilling across the pillow like tangled sunbeams. The gentle curve of her cheek. Her soft, full lips parted slightly in sleep. The pale slope of her brow. Each part of her brings him pleasure.
Somewhere between the time at the river when he had touched her face and nearly kissed her mouth and now, standing with his back flattened against the wall unable, afraid, to breathe . . . somewhere deep inside him something has been shattered beyond repair.
Soul touches his hand to her temple, feeling the heat of her skin. She feels blessedly cool, no fever.
She stirs in her sleep, her lips forming a word, breathing it more than speaking it aloud. It sounds like "lightning," but he can't be sure.
Hours pass and the blue of early evening settles over the room. He tells himself he can leave now, that she's safe, but he stays.
He sits across the room from her, his heavy eyes closing every so often just to fly open from the sighing of the wind.
The shadows grow deeper as the moonlight spills into his room. He raises his eyes to check on her again and the sight causes his heart to stutter.
Her eyes, luminous in the half-light, rest on him a moment, then moved to the window.
She lays still for so long that he thinks she's dozed off again. He can still hear the steady sound of her breathing, even over the sound of his own heart's painfully loud thud.
The rising moon casts light through the window, glossing her face with silver. He feels something inside him tear, and it bleeds and hurts. Oh God, it hurts.
After an eternity she turns her head and spears him with her stardust gaze.
"Soul."
It's just one word, but it's enough to turn his world upside-down.
His legs nearly buckle beneath him as he crosses the room. He leans over her, and she reaches up and grabs his shirt, pulling him closer.
For a wild moment, he thinks she's going to kiss him, and he's convinced his heart has stopped. When it starts up again it beats in unsteady lurches. But she doesn't pull him any closer. She's staring into his eyes, searching for something.
Green colliding with crimson.
A listless expression flitters across her beautiful features as she finally speaks.
"How long does it take to die of rabies?"
His fingers hover over her cheek, desperate to touch her. Forbidden to touch her. He breathes in her name on a stab of anguish. "Maka . . ."
Her grip on his shirt tightens.
"How long?"
"I don't know. Days . . . a week, maybe."
Too long.
"That's not going to happen though. You're going to be fine." He tries not to grimace, as the anguish twists his guts.
She shakes her head, her eyes too big and too bright in the dark.
"If I go mad like the wolf, I want you to shoot me."
He draws in a sharp breath that clutches at his chest.
"Christ Jesus."
She shakes her head, hard.
"I don't want to die raving and foaming at the mouth."
His head sags into his hands, and his body starts shaking uncontrollably.
She reaches out with her good arm and tugs him into her embrace, holding him tightly to her chest. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and feels the bitter hot tears leaving his eyes.
Even in what should have been her worst moments she was ever kind, comforting him when it should have been the other way around.
"Promise me. Promise you'll do it. If you care even a little bit for me. Please." She whispers, and her voice sounds so calm it makes him want to scream.
"God, Maka. I can't." He croaks, his throat full of glass.
"Soul, please . . . Don't make me suffer."
She strokes her hand through his hair, waiting for his tears to slow, waiting for his answer.
"I promise." He whispers raggedly. And she sighs, a deep bone shuddering sigh that he feels down into his own bones.
He wraps his own arms around her, unable to hold back any longer.
With his promise now made, her eyes flutter shut, and she falls asleep, nestled safely in his arms.
He presses a kiss to her temple once he knows for sure she is asleep, and lets the torrent of grief fall from his eyes.
What she asked him to do was an impossible request.
But he would.
He promised her, and he would do anything for her, for his sweet Maka.
Because that's what you do, for someone you love.
You make impossible promises.