𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; band of brothers ✔

PART TWENTY FOUR

I patted down my body, swarmed by a foreign fear. Gladdened by the feeling of my own clothes - his clothes - I regarded the syringe in my forearm, the drip attached to it. Before I could do anything about it, my gaze latched onto a medic descending the aisles of beds, screaming at nurses in French. A shell caught onto the abbey, twilight seeping into the chamber as the ceiling exploded. The sudden destruction revived the adrenaline in my veins, and I crashed onto the floor.

"Kennedy?!" A long pause. "Kennedy?!"

Even if I wanted to speak, I couldn't. Pain rooted deep in my spine spread rapidly throughout my body. I crumpled.

"My God." He found me, tossing me over carelessly.

I examined Eugene's eyes, almost astounded by reality. Why wasn't I in Ohio? Where's my husband?

A fire had began to ravenge the chapel.

"It's okay, it's all right." He narrated the tears that I never even knew had fallen.

How was I still alive?

He ripped the needle out of my arm as delicately as he could.

"We've gotta get you out of here, all right, I'm going to carry you, all right?"

I nodded, hearing the words but not registering them. His arms reached beneath me, curling me around his shoulders. Anyone else, and I would've expected a struggle. Nevertheless, he began to jog, through to a back door behind the main altar, untouched by the flames. He kept talking, assuring, dodging the constant barrage. Then, I was put down, abandoned, left begging for the return of a familiar touch. He said why; I couldn't hear. Everything was infested with fire and dark smoke.

Acting on instinct, I wept as I fell onto my belly, working each arm after the other to crawl away from the war. I wasn't there, not really, rather above, watching my pathetic attempt to find salvation. Watching as my tears met the pavement, as the aircrafts in the night-time sky released more bombs. Each breath was plagued with a wheeze, unable to stabilise amongst the chaos. In front of me, buildings met countryside. I halted, sobbing and muttering and fighting each and every pain that brought me here. Wondering why I was still trying to survive, when clearly fate wanted me dead a long time ago.

Up ahead, there was another agricultural pipe, exactly like the one from Holland that I found shelter in. Back then, I was followed by crowds of German soldiers, picking each one off like target practice.

Why did I ever come back?

Why did I ever accept Erlander's preposition?

Why did I ever get in that jeep?

Why wasn't I - after everything - dead?

I neared the pipe, slithering across the dirt, not caring if this would be the place where I were to die. My mind didn't care anymore what happened, what could happen, but my body did. A foot or so away, my forehead smashed against the ground, my muscles spasming at the constant pressure. 

But fate, once again, had other ideas. My head lifted.

No. The tears fell. It can't be.

Like that, I was whole again, alive again, absorbed by shock.

The glow of the burning city behind us provided light to the side of his head. Covered in dried mud and blood, his chin leant against his shoulder, eyes shut. Regardless of the wounds that covered him head to toe, he was at peace.

I place a hand on his knee, first shaking lightly and then with all the vigor I had. His head inclined, eyelids heavy. As I shook him more, his eyes opened one after the other, fixing on me. Suddenly, he hadn't accepted his death anymore.