She took another prawn among the many adorning the huge cocktail, grabbing it with two fingers by the tail. After making sure no one was watching her, she reached for the huge glass bowl that contained the eggnog and dropped it inside. The shrimp sank with a loud noise and went to meet the rest her boredom's victims.
Selma's thesis presentation party went on, and she'd never been so bored in her life. She'd tried to sit still, walk, stay quiet, talk to random people, not touch food, eat, and not touch drink.
No way. She was dying of boredom, so she got behind the table of the huge, massive buffet provided by the University of Istanbul, and after making sure everyone had lost interest in herself - after all, it was her mother who kept calling attention - she took all the flat glasses of champagne, ordered them in a row and prepared to put into practice a trick that Zip had taught her some time ago. She carefully dipped her fingers in the champagne and then...
"What in the bloody hell are you doing?"
Anna turned, startled. Her father was next to her, staring at her - how handsome he looked in his black tuxedo! - and, if one noticed enough, one could even see the delicate transparent cable that arose from his ear and was lost through the back of his neck and the back of his jacket. His blue eyes flashed, then moved to the eggnog sea, planted with floating and sunken prawns.
"I'm bored." The girl sighed and opened her hands in a guilty gesture. "This punishment never ends."
Kurtis let out a long breath. On the stage a few meters away, beyond the crowd, the "punishment" continued. A radiant Selma Al-Jazeera grabbed a microphone with both hands and splashed anecdotes with her speech of homage and thanks. The court had given the highest score to her thesis and she felt floating in a bliss. The crowd, congratulating her, accompanied with laughter and polite murmurs.
"Pray that it remains a punishment." The ex-legionnaire said, looking around with irritation. "Maybe it's the best that can happen tonight."
"But there are no signs of that idiot." Anna rubbed one eye, forgetting that she had makeup and running the mascara in a very funny way. "Our plan goes to hell."
Her father seemed not to hear her, in fact, he kept looking around with a funeral expression. Then he muttered: "Where's your mother?"
"Near the stage, listening to Aunt Selma. She's fed up with guys surrounding her all night, like flies with honey." She regretted almost instantly saying that, but it was done. She tried to ignore her father's expression. "Huh... well..."
"I don't want you here alone. Go with her. You're good? Any alteration? Something like what we talked about?"
"No, no. But..."
"Then go with your mother. I need you to scare the flies away." Kurtis smiled sadly. "I'm sure the prawns will be grateful."
"Yes Dad." She said calmly, and slid through the crowd, towards the stage. He watched her walk away. She was becoming more slender, taller, more graceful. She was growing up in plain sight. A little more and more of her mother, at least physically. She'd always hated putting on dresses, so she was still wearing her usual jacket and pants suits.
Kurtis absently stared at the shrimp genocide, and then sighed. The event was getting very long, and the night had only just begun.
Show up, motherfucker. Show up.
There was nothing he wanted more. There was nothing he feared more.
(...)
There was someone who wasn't suffering, rather having the night of her life. Selma Al-Jazeera, triumphant, perhaps with some extra alcohol - although she knew how to carry on with charm - moved around the stage holding on to the microphone and talking about the hard work carried out for so many years in the Göreme valley, suspended and resumed and finally completed. Of course, there was who, among the public, considered that show - people in suits, buffet, drinks, microphone and even stage - somewhat unworthy of an academic post-presentation, but most people were having fun like never before and not even the cold outside managed to placate that joy.
For an hour, the shy Selma, now unleashed, turned to thanks to collaborators and ex-collaborators, brought up and talked to various colleagues, tried to do the same with Lara, only so that she smiled sinisterly and shook her head mechanically, despite to the cries of the people around her - "Lara Croft! Lara Croft!! LARA CROFT!! "- and some other scornful, derogatory yelling, which the British explorer preferred to ignore - "Grave robber!" "Go to your country, bitch!" "Looter!"-. In one corner of the stage, in the dim light, Marie Cornel watched the event, sitting comfortably in a chair and trying to calm the pain with her infusions. She was not asked to interact at any time- and if someone was curious to know who she was, that curiosity was solved in private, between murmurs.
They almost forgot that everyone was in mortal danger. Of course, the crowd ignored it - and Selma was the one who had most forgotten about it.
"I tell ya, boss, all this pain's worth just to see my princess so happy." Zip said, looking alternately at the more than ten monitors he'd before his eyes. "But I hate parties. My thing's to be here, in the gloom. Being the handsome guy in the suit? That's your call."
"Yeah, sure." He heard Kurtis sigh through the loudspeaker. "Very funny. Any hint of our man?"
"None. The tiger doesn't go hunting. I don't know if it's better or worse, boss. Hey Croft! How's your thing going?"
Lara's voice sounded tired through the other channel. "No news, Zip."
"Where's the lil' monster? Did she stop drowning prawns?"
"Now she's with me. Which prawns are you talking about?"
"Ask her." The hacker stifled a chuckle and returned to Kurtis' channel. "Your two girls are doing fine. I'd check your momma and my princess, but I see them from here. Let's see... third channel... Barbara?" It felt weird to address that woman - but he'd to, and it was best not to think about who she'd been and what she'd done to them. Duty obliged.
The warm and soft voice responded. "No news."
"Oops, oops, oops, everyone's sounding very grim tonight. Take an example of the princess and enjoy life."
(...)
Barbara couldn't enjoy the event if she'd wanted, although she didn't really want anything anymore. She felt out of place. It had nothing to do with her. It was like witnessing the triumph of her enemies, but could she still call them enemies? And who was she? She was confused, there was no right answer.
So, she focused on the facts. The first fact was her standing near the last rows, with a glass of champagne in her hand that she didn't taste and looking straight ahead at a show she didn't attend really. Of course, she couldn't get rid of unwanted followers. Upon entering there, whom was looking the people for was the famous Lara Croft, but once she'd kindly dismissed them, they turned around with miserable look... and then they found her. Barbara was tired of answering stupid questions.
"Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"
"Oh, are you an art dealer?"
"Ancient Persia! I love the period!" Without being clear which period they were referring to.
"What does a beautiful lady so alone here?"
"We know each other?"
"Your face's familiar to me."
"What happened to your ear? Shame!"
"Did you try the prawns? I didn't get to. Someone has thrown them in the eggnog."
"Will there be dancing?"
"If there's a dance, would you grant me that dance?"
"What are you doing here so alone?"
"I don't understand how you're not the centre of attention. You're ravishing."
"Waaaaay more beautiful than Lara Croft!"
Barbara just wanted them to leave her alone. She imagined throwing the glass of champagne in the face of more than one. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Every time a man approached her, she wanted to vomit. She wanted to hurt them. She wanted to put her fingers in their eye sockets and pull them out.
But she couldn't. Kurtis would be enraged if she spoiled the plan- and she feared the wrath of the Lux Veritatis more than anything else in the world.
Only he wouldn't hurt her. Croft, yes. But him? She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything.
(...)
"Fuck, here we go again."
Another man in a tuxedo had approached Lara and was chattering in her face. Lara was looking at him with an expression between indifferent and exhausted. She no longer bothered to pretend courtesy. Beside her, Anna looked at the suitor with wide eyes.
"Tell me he's not flirting with her."
"Huh, well..." Zip's voice faltered in his ear speaker. "Better not tell ya, boss."
Kurtis let out a growl and instinctively cracked his knuckles. "I'm so done with this shit."
"Whoa, calm down, boss. Nothing new under the sun! All dogs always come to sniff Croft. Y'know, she's a first-class girl. But none's worth a penny for her. None reaches your level, boss. Goddammit! She's spent her whole life scaring them away."
"At least that cunt could wait until my daughter's not present."
"Ugh, yeah, that's gross."
Suddenly, he noticed Anna coming forward and answering something quick and dry to the guy who, undoubtedly exceeding himself, had placed a hand on Lara's arm. The man blushed suddenly and pulled away, retiring in a hurry. Lara smiled and lightly stroked her daughter's hair.
Zip was choking with laughter.
"What did she say?" Kurtis wanted to know.
"Well... let's say she sent him to a very special place."
"Attagirl."
He would never admit it in front of Zip. In fact, he would never admit it to anyone, but it extremely mortified him to see the "flies" hover around Lara. He was really done. He wasn't jealous, no, or at least that was what he told himself. There was no need, since Lara waved them off one by one, as told before.
But he was increasingly tired of seeing it from a distance. Tired of having to hide. Tired of being not in the background - that honor belonged to Anna - but, in fact, further than that. Tired of having to remain aside, in the gloom, grinding his teeth and cracking his knuckles while the flies paraded one by one and she scared them one by one. He was tired of the low profile. He wanted to matter. He wanted to be seen. If he were by her side, not one of them would dare to approach.
But that had been agreed so many years ago. He worked better with a low profile. He hated the spotlight. He was bad at speaking in public. He didn't have the polite and aristocratic manners Lara knew so well. Anna had them too, but she used them only when she felt like it, and in any case, she was forgiven for being a child, although she didn't have much time left.
He was better in the shade.
Or so he had believed until that moment.
One serves. One fades away. One goes unnoticed. One...
It felt bad. He couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to be with them. He wanted to be seen next to Lara. Not for social approval, not that. He couldn't care less about what others thought of him. But being next to them, next to their daughter, next to their daughter's mother - so they stopped saying that she had no father. Let them stop muttering behind Lara's back, while trying to flirt with her in her face. Let them stop belittling them.
He hadn't even given his daughter a last name. But which one to give? Trent's, a fake, unworthy last name, a soldier's last name, a pawn's last name? Renner's, as false as the first, a surname for a murderer, for a mercenary, for a cutthroat? Or worse, that of Heissturm, which he hated so much, the last name of a knight, an ancient lineage, more noble than the noblest aristocratic blazons of England, but also a cursed surname, that of a condemned man, of a servant, of an oppressed.
Semper Te Ipsum. Always Be Yourself, the ancient Heissturm's motto. The irony, such a motto for a family of martyrs, of slaves, of sentenced to the worst of fates.
But who was he?
His last names were unworthy of his daughter, a girl who should grow up happy, a girl who should grow free. That was why she'd been called Croft. There was nothing he could give her - but Lara could give her everything. And so it had been.
He'd thought he could live with that. But now it hurt, it hurt a lot. Her love and loyalty were what made him endure it - but if that certainty failed...
Maybe that's why he'd proposed.
He wanted to matter.
I'm getting old, he thought exhausted. His head was filling with stupidities. Since when had he needed anyone's approval?
And yet, he didn't want to be there, on the other side of the room, hidden, in the gloom.
He wanted to be with them. That was his place.
(...)
"Now, enough of anecdotes." Selma said suddenly, passing the microphone from one hand to another. "I think we're all fed up with them and I've been just told that the prawns are gone." There was a chorus of laughter. Anna slipped discreetly behind her mother. "It's time to reveal tonight's big surprise." She clapped and a couple of colleagues took the stage pushing a cart with a large lump covered by a cloth. "I've been conspiring with Heritage and Göreme's City Council for some years." She revealed, very excited. "And we'll all agree that, without them, much of what this finding has meant wouldn't have even occurred."
Oh no, Kurtis thought for a moment, but it was too late.
Selma lifted the fabric with a spectacular pull – he'd to recognize in her certain talent as a master of ceremonies - to reveal the model of a monument, specifically, of an immense sculptural ensemble.
"Fuck my life." Kurtis muttered under his breath.
"That's your old man, boss!" Zip laughed in his ear.
There he was, cursed be him once and a hundred thousand times. Konstantin Heissturm, paladin of Good, hero of the Lux Veritatis and martyr of the Holy Order, who would fight his entire life for justice's sake against the Black Alchemist, and who had died of slow and painful death in the caverns of Tenebra, crucified like a Messiah liberating his own people; he was there, standing triumphant as the greatest statue in the whole set. It was him, no doubt, his face, his musculature, his stubborn and strenuous air, and next to him and below him, an additional group of bronze figures; men, women and children, raising their faces to the sky, some in prayer, others in a fierce attitude. Kurtis felt an additional chill when he realized that he recognized not one, but many faces.
"You're watching the prototype of what will be a huge memorial to the Lux Veritatis who died slaughtered in Tenebra, under our feet." Selma continued explaining, now with a calmer and more solemn voice. "One hundred and twenty people successfully identified thanks to the tituli that their murderers placed at their crosses, but also, thanks to the invaluable help of Marie Cornel, who has cooperated with us not only to identify, but also to provide descriptions of their faces and looks." She gestured towards Marie, who watched the prototype covering her mouth with her hands, although it was difficult to venture what that reaction meant on her. "Unfortunately, though naturally, Mrs. Cornel didn't know them all, nor remember them all, but those who've been able to be fully recreated are in this set that we owe to our famous local artist..."
Kurtis stopped listening. His ears buzzed. What a great joke. His father must have been barking with laughter from hell. If he'd learned to laugh there, since while alive...
"Boss take a deep breath." He heard Zip's voice again. "Or your cum will get sour."
"It's sour enough, thanks." He replied abruptly. "Hope Selma's amused with her circus."
Everything pointed to that conclusion.
"... and once the homage is over, the remains will be buried under the monument." Selma kept saying. "This act was necessary! They may not belong to our homeland. In fact, they came from everywhere, they were from different peoples, of different races, they even had different religions, or none of them. It didn't matter: their common cause was the fight against injustice, against a dark and murderous organization; and its agents. They died because they fought. And we live because they won, although it cost them their lives. This memorial is the least we can..."
And then, a sharp shriek tore the air and ended the tribute.
(...)
Lara was the first to notice, although she was almost the last. If she hadn't turned to look at her daughter, she probably wouldn't have noticed until it was too late.
It was almost too late, in any case.
Anna had been still and silent since Selma had started talking about the memorial. That was already quite rare, since it was usual for her to move as if she had ants in her pants, passing the weight from one foot to another, crossing and uncrossing her arms, letting out short snorts and implying how much that was boring her. But Lara almost forgot that she had her next to her when she saw the monument. She looked back and searched for Kurtis in the crowd, but of course, it was impossible to find him.
I'm sure he's having an attack, Lara thought. She knew him well and knew that he would hate with all his might that pompous tribute. Moreover, even she, who'd no part in the matter, found it distasteful. It was hard to say if Konstantin Heissturm would've approved it: she didn't get to meet him. But she did know that Kurtis' rules were silence, discretion and going unnoticed, and that those were some of many rules learned within the Order. The Lux Veritatis had lived and died in the shadows for centuries. That bombastic monument didn't seem worthy of them.
Honestly, seeing Kurtis enraged wouldn't have caused her any pleasure, but she surprised herself by enjoying Bathsheba's reaction. The woman, distinguished by her silver dress and the obligation of remaining in a visible place, watched the monument with a speechless and bewildered expression. Then she looked around awkwardly and stared back at the prototype, dumbfounded.
Let's see how that feels, freak, Lara thought, amused. Who would've guessed you'd live enough to see the tribute to your enemies? Enjoy it.
Unfortunately, there was not much time to enjoy that pyrrhic victory, because then she looked away at her daughter – and the blood froze in her veins.
(...)
Few things in that world could scare her, but when she saw Anna her legs almost doubled. The girl was a chilling spectacle, as she remained standing, stiff, motionless and without making the slightest sound, but she'd her mouth open and her jaw disengaged as if she were uttering a terrifying scream, although the only thing that came out of it was a thread of transparent saliva that slipped neck down. Her eyes were blank, although injected with blood.
Forgetting all discretion and delicacy, Lara grabbed her daughter by the shoulders and shook her hard, shouting: "Anna! ANNA! What's wrong? What do you see? ANSWER ME!!"
If she'd had a few seconds, she would've realized that Kurtis was already coming towards them, pushing people aside without regard, and that Bathsheba, forgetting what was happening on stage, looked at them with frightened expression. But she didn't have those seconds. Suddenly, Anna let out a bloodcurdling, high-pitched scream that silenced the entire crowd and made absolutely everyone turn to them.
She just shouted a word. The name of Selma.
And then everything blasted.
(...)
Upon hearing her name, the Turkish archaeologist dropped the mic and ran to the end of the stage. Not to the place where the shriek had come from, it made no sense. She knew it was Anna. No one else was old there to scream so high-pitched - and that Anna shouting could only mean the worst.
Selma could've done many things. She could've jumped off the stage and threw herself into the public to save her life, as any selfish person would've done in an instinct for conservation. Who'd have blamed her? But she was not wasn't selfish.
She could've, as a perfect stupid, tried to protect the prototype memorial and safeguard it, since the artist hadn't presented more than that final version. But she wasn't stupid, and the prototype was nothing more than an inanimate object. What's an inanimate object next to a human life?
She could, in short, have run towards Lara and Anna, but they were strong, capable and had resources. They didn't need her. Therefore, she turned to the only helpless person, the one who could barely move, the one who couldn't escape quickly enough.
She barely had five seconds. In those five seconds, Selma Al-Jazeera, archaeologist and newly Ph.D. summa cum laude, who was intelligent, skillful and hardworking, who loved her job and had given everything for it, but who, above all, was a good person, generous and of gentle heart; ran to Marie Cornel, who watched her petrified in terror, put both hands on her shoulders and pushed her back hard, just enough to see how the chair turned and both it and Marie fell from the stage to land in the middle of the audience, outside of the platform.
My God, thought Selma, feeling tremendously guilty, I hope she doesn't get hurt.
And then everything blasted.
(...)
The stage's surface bent as if it was a wave for a millisecond, then burst into splinters. The shock wave swept the first rows of attendees, throwing people against the ground, projecting them against the columns, walls and windows. The crystals burst into pieces, generating a sharp and lethal rain. A huge tongue of fire licked the surroundings of the stage.
Before a few seconds had passed, the room was mired in chaos and horror. No one knew what had happened. A thick, black smoke filled the air. Nothing could be seen except the glow of the orange flames licking the remains of the stage. Screams and shrieks were heard, people ran or crawled on the ground without order or control, and there were many, too many still bodies on the ground.
Kurtis, who'd been thrown back with the shock wave when he was almost next to Lara and Anna, and had landed on his back, after literally flying several meters back, on the buffet table, quickly stood up, between the food scraps and broken glass, and immediately assessed his wounds. He was almost unharmed, felt pain because of the impact, which would result in some bruises, and there were blood stains spreading on the hitherto clear white shirt; but they were superficial cuts produced by broken crystals. Apart from the intense ringing in the ears because of the blast, he felt no serious injury. So, he planted himself on the ground and tore off his jacket, pulling it aside. He acted as he always did: he detached from all feeling or sensation, ignored the screams, cries and shrieks, got rid of a bloody hand that grabbed his ankle and, bending so as not to inhale the smoke, he resumed what he was doing: reaching Lara and Anna.
There would be time to mourn, curse and reflect about what had gone wrong. Suddenly, it was clear that Schäffer had scored a bit quite loud. Now he had to meet his priorities.
Cold head, cold mind, he repeated himself, although he almost lost them when he reached the mass of piled bodies and distinguished one in particular.
Lara lay face down. At first, since she was wearing a dark dress, he didn't notice, but then he saw the bloodshed dripping down her arms and neck, and located the origin: a metallic piece, twisted and blackened, that was nailed to her back, to the height of the shoulder blade.
"Fucking hell." He muttered audibly, although due to the screams and howls of pain from the other attendees, he wasn't heard. Sliding his arms around her, Kurtis lifted Lara, who didn't react at all.
Under her was Anna, who started coughing as soon as she noticed the weight on her loosening. The girl sat up on her elbows and continued coughing loudly. Kurtis watched her: she was covered in a hodgepodge of dust, ashes and blood.
"Anna!" He shouted. "Anna, you alright?"
She nodded, blinking and clenching her eyes, which were full of dirt. "I'm fine!" She shouted, but her voice was piping, trembling. "Help Mom! She's fallen on me and doesn't move!"
She's protected her, Kurtis thought. Lara had not wasted time either. Her last conscious act had been to throw herself on her daughter and cover her with her body. As far as Kurtis knew, that piece of twisted metal, instead of burying itself in Lara's back, could have stuck perfectly in Anna's face, killing her instantly.
Kurtis felt like split in two; one part of him, barely conscious, thought Well done, m'lady, the other put his mouth to the woman's ear and shouted: "Lara! Lara!! Answer me please! LARA!"
He almost thanked the God he didn't believe in when he heard a hoarse growl and Lara began to move. Her face was also ashen and bloody. She opened her eyes, looked around and grabbed him with her blood sticky hands. "Kurtis..." She muttered. She sounded hoarse, as if she'd screamed for hours. Then she looked at her daughter and found that she was fine. "Anna... what's wrong with my back? It hurts..."
Gonna kill that son of a bitch. Gonna kill him. "A piece of metal stuck in your shoulder blade." Kurtis' voice was in her ear, next to her, but it wasn't necessary, for she felt his scent, his warmth, despite the stench of blood and burned metal.
Lara licked her lips full of ashes and said: "Pull it out." She already sounded more determined.
"Mom, if he takes it out, you're going to bleed a lot, and you've already bled a lot." Anna had knelt and helped her hold; Lara leaned on the floor and tried to get to her knees, but her hand slipped. She was slipping in her own blood.
"Pull it out." She repeated, addressing Kurtis, harder, more determined. "I can't move with that in there. My arm's paralyzed."
Gonna fucking kill that damn son of a bitch, the ex-legionary swore silently, and then grabbed the piece of metal, which was still hot. Lara winced. Anna looked down and silently began to do what she'd been taught to do: prepare bandages. She took off her jacket and, without more, tore the valuable fabric into strips.
Cold head, cold mind, Kurtis repeated as he pulled up with all his might. Lara let out a scream that drilled his ears, but the piece got out. Unconsciously, he put it in one of the vest pockets. Then, helped by Anna, who worked quickly and efficiently, he bandaged the wound tightly, passing the strips of cloth around Lara's torso, to stop, at least momentarily, the heavy bleeding. By then, the three were bloody.
"Dad..." Anna said, above the smell of blood and the ringing of his ears. "I'm sorry, Dad, it was my fault... I didn't have time to... I saw it too late..." She was about to cry, but anger overtook sadness. She felt more furious than scared.
He knew that feeling well. "It doesn't matter." He replied sharply. "It couldn't be helped. That bastard has scored. Now we must take the next step."
Lara, who was semi-unconscious, suddenly opened her eyes and put a dirty and trembling hand to her ear. Then Kurtis saw that she still had the communicator in her ear. His had been lost after being projected by the blast.
"He's there." Lara muttered between the blackened teeth. "Zip says he's there."
Kurtis looked up. He only saw smoke and flames, and report forms moving in the dark. But Lara's hand grabbed him tightly. "He is there! Go get him!" The relentless look of a bloody face pierced him. The woman he loved. "Go for him! Now! Don't miss out! Kill him! Kill him!"
At any other time, he would've protested. He hated to abandon them, and more when she was hurt. But she was right. Damn it, she was right.
"I take care of her, Dad." A little voice said, and he saw himself gently passing Lara's weight into Anna's arms, who was barely able to hold her. The British explorer let out a groan of pain and closed her eyes, leaning on her daughter. "Get him! Now!"
Cold head, cold mind. If he escaped, everything would be in vain.
"I will come back." He told them, as he got up and turned towards chaos.
"I know." Anna said, smiling. "You always come back."
(...)
But then there was no desire to smile. When her father got lost in the smoke and the flames, Anna noticed that her mother was moving in her arms. Then, to her stupefaction, Lara broke free and managed to get up on all fours.
"Mom," she said "stay still. You've bled a lot..."
Lara shook her head furiously. Her bun had been undone, her hair, dirty and bloody like all of her, hung in straight strands around her head. She licked her lips again and managed to squawk a word. "Selma."
Anna shivered. Aunt Selma. She didn't remember anything. She was with her mother, hearing the speech of the Turkish archaeologist, and suddenly everything had blasted. She'd heard someone screaming, yes, Selma's name, but who'd it been?
Lara crawled, two, three, steps. In doing so, she stepped over two motionless bodies. Anna tried not to look at them. She tried not to look at anything around her. Dead bodies, she thought. It's full of corpses. Some groaned, others moved slightly, screams of pain were heard. Others were motionless. I must not look, she told herself. As I did in Sri Lanka. "Mom, please..." She pleaded. Why couldn't she stay still?
Lara let out another groan and stretched her blackened arm. Anna looked where she pointed... and then saw her. "Oh no." She groaned. "Oh no, please."
It was her. Impossible to confuse her thick dark hair, her bronzed skin. She lay on her stomach, and her dress was burned. The cloth had disintegrated on her back and showed the burns. And she didn't move. She wasn't moving.
As in a dream, Anna saw her mother make a superhuman effort and crawl towards Selma. She grabbed the inert woman by one arm and began to push her but couldn't move her. Only then did the girl realize how weak Lara was. Lara, who could push huge blocks of stone without hardly sweating.
Embarrassed by her inaction and indecision, Anna stood up and went beside them - trying to ignore the bodies she couldn't help stepping on. On her knees next to Lara, she gave Selma's body a strong push and turned her face up. God, how she weighed.
The Turkish archaeologist was unconscious, her face covered with dirt. Even Anna, despite her inexperience, noted that she was not wasn't breathing.
Lara swatted the dirt from her face, clearing her nose and mouth, and then slapped her several times, with all the strength she was capable of. "Selma!" She shouted, in a broken voice. "Damn it! Wake up! SELMA!!" But, although the Turkish woman's face turned sharply to one side and another - even wounded, Lara's slaps were fearsome - there was no reaction. Selma's face had traces of blood - Lara's blood - when she, without delay, leaned over her and applied her mouth to her to breathe air.
Still dazed, noticing a ringing in her ears, Anna watched helplessly as her mother blew air into her friend's lungs and pressed her ribcage repeatedly, trying to resuscitate her stopped heart. It can't be, Anna told herself, just now she was smiling, and talking, and moving around the stage...
She'd been bored as hell, but that was terrifying. Worse, much worse than Sri Lanka, when she'd been injured. Now she was unharmed... but the world was sinking around her.
"Dammit." She heard her mother gasping, who stopped only to catch her breath. "Don't do this, Selma. Don't do this." And resumed the manoeuvre.
How many times had she tried already? After half an hour, it's useless, Anna remembered. How much time had passed? Impossible to say, but Lara refused to give up. She couldn't allow it. Selma... had been with them from almost the beginning. Selma had helped them. Selma had already suffered her fair share. It was unfair, very unfair. She couldn't die there, in her moment of glory, so absurd and fleeting. It was too unfair...
"Mom, stop. You have to stop." Anna's little hands landed on her shoulder. Lara noticed a trail of hot liquid from behind and a sting of pain. The wound had opened. The bandages were already soaked and would no longer stop the bleeding. She felt extreme exhaustion, she couldn't do it anymore. Even her sight began to blur. "Mom, stop, please!"
I can't, Lara thought. I can't let her die. She is... she... She bowed again and repeated the manoeuvre. Once again. Once again. She felt a wave of nausea. God, I'm gonna throw up on her. She was about to pass out.
"Mom!!" Anna pulled her away from Selma, but it was no longer necessary. Suddenly, the Turkish archaeologist suffered a spasm, bent up and began to cough. Instinctively, Anna laid her aside, while Selma was shaken by a violent access to cough. Then she opened her eyes and looked around, disoriented. "What?" She babbled between coughs. "How? What happened?" And then she saw Lara, blackened, bloody. "Oh my God, you're badly hurt!"
The British explorer only managed to shrug. I did it. Then, she collapsed unconscious on Selma, making her shriek in surprise.