“Uh…Koda?”
Dakota whirls around. “What?”
“They’re bleeding pretty bad over here. What should I do?”
Koda thinks for a moment. “Pack snow in their wounds. It should slow the bleeding until we can get them under some kind of cover. I need to get my kit.”
“I’ll do it.”
“No. Stay with the injured. I’ll be right back.”
Knowing better than to argue with his cousin, Manny kneels in the snow and begins scooping handfuls of it onto the bleeding chests and bellies and limbs of his comrades, warning himself all the while not to look at their faces. As long as he doesn’t see their faces, he can pretend that they are simply strangers on a battlefield; strangers he will do his best to save.
Dakota makes her way back to the truck and retrieves her kit without much difficulty, but then becomes pinned down by furious gunfire. A man stumbles by, half of his face blown off, a smoking stump where his arm used to be. As she watches, he tumbles into the snow, and dies, open-eyed.
“Koda!”
Ripping her gaze away from the dead soldier, Dakota looks over to Manny, who is frantically compressing the chest of one of the women he’s dragged out of the line of fire. He is looking at Koda through eyes as wide as saucers.
“Hang on! I’ll be right there!”
She’s about to move when her attention is distracted. Looking on, she tracks a shoulder-launched missile as it flies across the gap that separates human from android, and explodes into the noticeably thinned android ranks. A huge fireball erupts, and Koda ducks down, covering her head with both arms as bits and pieces of androids rain down on her like a blazing summer storm. She slams back against the truck just in time to avoid being turned into a stain by a basketball sized lump of molten metal which lands in the snow not more than a foot away. It hisses violently, sending up clouds of vapor as it melts a hole in the snow several feet deep.
“Dakota!!”
Peering through the swirling, dissipating vapor, Koda watches as Manny takes a desperate step toward her position, only to be blown back by a bullet that pierces his arm and drops him to the ground.
“Manny! Hankashi!!! Shit.”
Grabbing her pack, she rushes across the space separating herself from her fallen cousin. Manny is already picking himself up as Koda reaches him. Aiding him to his feet, she looks into his eyes, her own flashing all kinds of warnings. “Damnit, Manny, this is no time to be playing John Wayne. How many times do I have to tell you? You’re no cowboy.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Like you’d just sit by and watch me get almost blown to bits, right?”
Scowling, Koda grabs his arm and turns it over. “You’re lucky. It’s just a graze.”
“Yeah, I know. Stings like fire, though.” He looks to his right. His face crumples. “Oh, holy damn,” he whispers, looking at the carnage lying around him. “Jesus, Koda, I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have protected them from the shrapnel.” She looks over at the dead bodies laying in pieces over the snow and closes her eyes tightly for a moment. When she opens them again, they are clear and resolute. “Let’s go find some people we can help.”
3
The sound of men and women screaming and moaning in pain within the close confines of the troop carrier seems to encompass the whole world, and it’s all Manny can do not to jab a knife through his eardrums just to stop the gut-churning noise.
Koda has set up a field hospital, of sorts, within the vehicle, and the most grievously injured patients lay on makeshift cots, bleeding their lives away while the harried vet tries frantically to save them.
The battle outside is slowly winding down. Shoulder fired rockets have done the trick, and the mission has been reduced to a simple mop-up, as if anything about this terrifying monstrosity can be considered as mundane as “simple”.
Unless the androids have buddies out there.
Somewhere.
Manny pushes down a chill that humps up his flesh as he rushes from injured woman to injured man, doing what he can to offer comfort while his cousin goes about the business of patching and stitching. He’s been through war, but it was never anything like this. A pilot sits above it all, like an armored god, dropping his cargo and speeding away, never seeing the damage and pain and misery he causes.
Manny’s reverie is broken by the man before him, lying on a cot and holding the glistening loops of his guts in his hands. His voice, a deep basso, spirals up and up into a castrato’s soprano as he holds a scream that pierces the veil of eternity.
His eyes, though, are dead already, staring through the young pilot as if staring into an infinity worthy of Poe’s worst nightmares.
The woman lying next to him covers her ears and adds a scream of her own. “Oh God, shut him up, please!! PLEASE SHUT HIM UP!!! SHUT HIM UP!!!!”
“Koda!”
Dakota looks up from her place by the side of a young woman whose puckered and twisted face is a horror film’s mask. The young woman is seizing, her body sunfishing and bucking mindlessly, her tongue black and protruding from the charred remains of her mouth. “Give him some Morphine!” the vet shouts over the din.
“I can’t! There isn’t any more!”
“Shit.” She turns to an airman pressed into service as a nurse. “Watch her. I’ll be right back.”
The soldier nods.
The man is still screaming as Koda approaches and looks down into what is left of his belly. His guts roil and twist like snakes in a cave, moving and tumbling over one another as his agonized body writhes on the cot.
“Can you do anything for him?” Manny asks, willing himself not to be sick.
Grabbing her medical kit, Dakota rummages through it, and comes out with a single glass Morphine cartridge. It’s empty, and she throws it down on the ground, where it shatters. Her eyes tell Manny everything he needs to know.
She startles a bit as a surprisingly strong hand, covered in blood and gore, grasps the front of her shirt and twists, pulling her forward slightly. She looks down into the pain-wracked face of the mortally injured soldier. His eyes are very bright, very clear, and almost supernaturally aware.
“Please.”
His strained voice is no more than a breath on the wind.
Dakota looks at the hand gripping her, then into the man’s open wound, a part of her in awe that he’s managed to last this long, then back to his too-bright, too aware eyes. “I can’t save you,” she says, gently as possible. “Your wound’s too severe.”
The man gives a solemn nod, no more than the barest twitch of the muscles in his neck.
“Please,” he breathes again.
Another airman, shot in the groin but currently stable, looks up. “You’re a vet, aren’t you?”
Koda nods.
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything, but would you let a dying dog suffer the way he is right now?”
Koda stiffens, then relaxes, knowing the man is right. “No. I wouldn’t.”
“Then pardon me if I don’t see the difference here.” The young man gives her a pointed look. “He’s begging you, man! Help him!”
“That’s enough, Roberts,” Manny snaps, chest puffing, shoulders straightening, fists clenching. Dakota’s sure she would smell the testosterone in the air if it wasn’t for the blood and death already polluting it. “Keep it zipped.”
The airman scowls, but holds his peace, slamming his head back down on the rolled uniform jacket he’s using in lieu of a pillow and glaring at the both of them.
Sure that the danger, what there was of it, has, for the moment, passed, Manny looks over to his cousin. Their gazes meet and meld in brief, silent communication. Manny nods, once, then looks away.