Walking the Ruins

Shots and black blood

The sight of Jan makes me shudder, and I hear Anna's gasp beside me.

"What's this?" he asks, his voice echoing in the hall. He and Robert are no more than fifty paces away from us. They start walking. Jan's hand moves to his chest, and I see the pistol that he is carrying there, in a holster.

Without further thought, I grab Anna's arm and drag her through the gap of the door behind us, out of the bunker. "Come!" I say.

Outside, the moon has painted the world in ghostly shades of gray. I release Anna's arm and step onto the trail towards the village. She does not move.

"Are you coming or not?" I hiss.

Anna looks towards the door, then back at me. After what feels like an eternity, she nods.

I turn and start running. I hear her steps behind me.

"Anna!" It's Jan's voice. He must be following us.

I look back without stopping. Anna is close behind. Then I hear the bark of the pistol and the whooshing hiss of a bullet passing.

"Into the forest!" I say and turn left. I enter the shadows of the trees.

A second shot, and Anna cries out. Gazing back, I see her silhouette, a black shape against a faint, silvery backdrop, frozen for a moment, then falling into the undergrowth.

"Anna!" I whisper and run back to the place where I saw her disappear. I find her on her knees, panting heavily.

"Are you hurt?" I ask.

"My arm," she answers. Her right hand is clasping her left upper arm.

From the trail, I hear the approaching steps of Jan and Robert. I look up. They will reach us in a few moments.

Without a further word, I grab Anna by her left arm, jerk her up, and drag her deeper into the cover of the trees. She moans, but she starts walking.

The noise of two more shots tears into the night. I wait for the pain, or for Anna's cry. But nothing happens. Slowly, I move on, pulling Anna with me.

The heavy shadows of the forest surround us completely. I welcome their protection.

When the forest's edge has dwindled into a small, silvery stripe, I stop again. "Can you go on?" I ask the darkness where Anna must be standing beside me.

"Yes," she answers, a whisper through clenched teeth, telling a tale of searing pain.

The voices of our pursuers carry through the night. They are distant, and I wonder if they dare enter the dark forest in the night.

We go on. The undergrowth is dense and the ground uneven with decaying wood. Branches and twigs reach out for us, stealthily in the cloak of the dark, catching our clothes and our hair.

After a while, we stop again. Everything is quiet now, the only sound being Anna's heavy panting. Her contours are barely visible.

"How are you?" I ask.

"I'm OK," she replies.

I know she's not OK. But I let the matter rest. I remember the electric torch that she carried. "Do you still have the torch?"

"No..." She hesitates. "I must have dropped it ... when he shot me."

I reach out for her left arm, the one that was shot. Her sleeve is wet with blood. She evades my touch.

"How bad is the bleeding?" I ask

"Not too bad."

Whatever that means. "Come, let's move," I say. I lay my hand on her back and lead her downwards, towards the river. The moon, which occasionally peeks through the canopy above is, is my compass.

Anna moves slowly. She keeps stumbling.

I remember the first time we walked through the forest together. She was my captive then. And even then, in broad daylight, it was hard for her to navigate the wild. And now she is hurt, and it is dark.

Later, I have lost track of time, we reach a small clearing bathed in the light of the moon. I inspect Anna's arm again.

She is reluctant to take her hand from the wound. When she does, I see a deep, ghastly groove that the bullet has torn through muscle. It's still bleeding. The blood on her arm is as black as ink.

How much blood can a human lose, I wonder. "Do you have a doctor?" I ask aloud. "In your bunker, I mean."

"Yes. Robert."

The guy with the bad breath who brought me the food and who was with Jan when they were chasing us into the night. "Will he help you?"

She takes a breath. "I don't know. Probably."

I put my hand on her back and feel her trembling.

"You should go back," I say, hating the truth of my words. "You need help. I can take you there."

For a moment she is silent, then she shakes her head. "No." Her voice is faint.

"Your wound needs looking after. Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure. I can't go back." Her voice is still faint, but firm. "And I don't want to go back."

The tears on her cheeks glisten in the light of the moon.