October 13th, xxxx
KAMIL WAKES UP TO a warm palm on his forehead that the flatline beeping makes no sense to him. A warm hand means the girl is alive. A warm hand means she's not dead.
He holds on to the Doc's arm pleading for her to do something instead of standing there reciting time of death.
"What're you doing? Save her. Press on her chest or something!"
He screams. He screams until throat becomes hoarse, until he's too tired to hold himself up, he lowers himself to the plastic chair helplessly watching as the girl is covered with a white cloth.
The Doc puts a hand on his shoulder, says something to him but he doesn't hear, doesn't even pretend to nod.
A glance over the Doc's shoulder to the other girl, her alabaster skin of bones bathing in the sunlight as if she's being urged to come into the light that when she blinks, at first he thinks the light is playing tricks on him but when empty swamp-green eyes meet his, he gasps and springs up, repeatedly hitting Doc's arm at a loss for words.
The eyes shut and the words stuck in his throat finally blurts out. "She... She opened her eyes. Doc, she opened her eyes!"
Leaping into action, Doc cross over and fuss about her—checking her eyes, vitals, temperature in less than three minutes, nods once and regards him.
"Her vitals are stable for now—"
"Then that means she'll wake soon, right? That is good news!"
"For now. But we'll have to prepare ourselves—"
"I saw her. She looked right at me! Doesn't that mean anything?"
"It means that she's not in the crosshairs. For now."
Guiding him back to the chair, she place both hands on his shoulders and tries to sooth him.
"I'm doing everything I can, Major. But I think you should pray to the Goddess. It'll give you something to hold onto. Hope."
Hope is the only thing he's holding onto. Just yesterday, he held one of the girl's hand but now she's gone. What if the other girl dies too? What then?
The Doc's exit becomes a revolving door of the soldiers coming in twos, threes, doves to pay their respect, wishing her a safe journey to the beyond, to the bosom of the Goddess neglecting to think that maybe she wanted to stay here in the bosom of life!
(Stiff, full of vapor and dirt, the ragdoll is dead. No white blood, no noise. Here now, gone the next. Where's the hope for her?)
Anduan sits with him awhile, squeezes his hand and wishes him well but he's not well. And now the girl's face in his mind is that of yarn, of wool, of cloth trampled on the ground.
The Alpha and his brother arrive. Kamil is unseeing but not unfeeling that when the Alpha lowers to carry the girl in his arms, he requests that they wait to send her off in case her friend wakes. In case her friend wants to say goodbye.
The Alpha accepts and off they go to cremate the girl that was once here, that was once alive, that was now dead.
Kamil doesn't know for how long he sits staring at the other girl, wishing, praying, hoping for a sign—a flicker of the eye, a jolt, a sound but it must've been long enough because when the Doc taps his shoulder, there's no sunlight streaming in anymore—just a dull existence of light.
The Doc urges him to move. Then begs him to eat something. He tells her what he told her before. That he's fine. That he isn't hungry. But the Doc doesn't believe him. She goes and bring re-enforcement.
The Alpha and a tray of food.
The Alpha sits on the vacant bed, lodged in place until he wipes the plate clean. In silence and in sorrow, they watch him pick at the food, pick up the spoon only to put it down.
"Kamil," in that soft voice the Alpha is known for speaks his name but Kamil doesn't like that he's using gentle voice on him as if he might crack.
"I know this is hard on you but you have to eat. Starving yourself solves nothing. Eat," when he doesn't move, the voice hardens, "Now."
The instruction works for a spell but it's broken after ten excruciatingly slow bites when he push away the tray and shakes his head.
"Hey, listen," a finger on his chin, the Alpha force their eyes to meet, "If you want to be there for her, you have to be strong. And to do that, you must eat. You have to be strong for her."
Kamil sees that the Alpha believes what he's inspiring and so he bites back the bitter remark on his tongue, digests it. He knows not how being strong will help the girl. Nothing he did helped the cremated one.
"I'm sorry. I know she reminds you of you. It must be horrible."
Tearing his eyes from the Alpha's pitiful gaze spat out, "This isn't about me. It's about a wolf that might die."