CHAPTER SONG: "To Be Human" by Sia & Labrinth
Something dripping on her forehead, cold and liquid...
Blades of grass in between her fingers as the feeling came back to them. ...
The faint roaring of airplanes flying overhead rumbled in her subcranium...
Schofield knelt at the girl's side, keeping a virtuous distance away of about a foot since placing her down onto a cushioned patch of grass beyond the farmhouse porch steps.
Blake carefully poured a small stream of cooling water from his canteen upon her forehead, trying to rouse the girl back to the land of the living. The sound of planes overhead certainly had both men on alert, trying to keep themselves occupied with this fair, female stranger...
"Her foot's bleeding." Schofield removed his roll of gauze from a back pocket, which had been previously used to bandage his injured palm.
He winced to himself, recalling how that barbed wire stuck itself to his hand when it got caught. And then it being plunged no thanks to Blake into the unfortunately placed corpse of a rotting soldier...
With all the luck Schofield had in the world, he would most likely die of an infection-induced fever than a stray bullet or strategically situated bomb.
He concentrated further on wrapping up the girl's foot and looking close for any hidden shards of glass in her injury. From what he could see, it was only an inch long cut where he managed to quell the bleeding, licking the gauze before enfolding it around the dainty joint that felt especially fragile in his roughened, war-torn hands.
The small groan emitting from the girl as she began to stir made Schofield look up in intrigue that was misguided to the cynical part of his mind...
"She's coming 'round." Blake's face lit up with a tiny relieved smile. He was probably just excited to be around a woman again. He kneeled closer to her as he placed his canteen back into his pack. "Miss, it's alright. We're not gonna hurt you."
After securely fastening the crude bandage together around her foot, Schofield placed her foot back down onto the grass. If he knew anything, the female gender was more delicate and required careful handling when touched...
Her eyes finally opened up, blinking slowly to take in her surroundings. Her head turned from side to side as she wiped away the mixture of perspiration and canteen water on her forehead. She felt a coarse, uniformed arm slide underneath her back to help her in sitting up.
Another man, more youthful than the soldier she remembered back in the house, locked eyes with her. He was wearing the same uniform as the other one that had caught her as she fainted before him like a foolish ingénue from a melodramatic romance novel.
Back where she had lived before, in her own time, she had never been prone to suddenly fainting...
"Where...where am I?" She asked for the second time, trying to keep the fear out of her voice as the younger soldier in front of her brought out his canteen again for her to see. Her throat cracked as though the words wouldn't physically come out of her mouth. With trembling and aching hands, she reached for the canteen, praying there'd be water inside.
"I'm Lance Corporal Blake." His voice was soft, almost as if he still carried the virtues of boyhood within it. He was definitely not one to go out of his way to harm her. "We're in Flanders."
Blake looked up to Schofield, who had stood up from his kneeling position at her feet. The girl looked up when she saw the taller soldier ascend the porch steps, keeping his gaze focused on something she wasn't certain of.
She brought the canteen to her lips, not caring that the younger soldier Blake had most likely drunk from it. She gulped it down as though she hadn't had a drink in days. How long had she been unconscious in that farmhouse?
"That dashing prince over there brought you outside." Blake chuckled lightly as she removed the canteen from her lips, water dribbling down her chin in a quite unladylike fashion. She didn't care if she seemed like an uncivilized madwoman. Propriety and appearance were the last things on her mind.
She finally gained the gumption to speak again. "Is this really 1917, in the middle of World War One?"
Blake's brow furrowed as her mention of the number "1". His sky blue eyes looked down from her face at the dirt beneath his knees.
Before he could ask her any further about that, she handed him back the empty canteen. "I've never been here before. And...I have no idea how long I've been here."
She managed to blink back her oncoming tears of frustration and confusion as Blake held his hand out to her to assist in standing back on to her feet.
The girl took it, her heart rate calming in her sensing that if these two soldiers had wanted to hurt her, being isolated from any other signs of people or civilization, they certainly would have taken what they wanted by now.
Blake's hand was equally as gentle in its grip on hers as he helped her stand. "Be careful now, Scho bandaged your foot up. It was bleeding."
Holding her hand, he guided his other arm about her waist without actually touching her. He led her to sit on the porch steps where she was positioned on the top stair.
Pulling back the longer than necessary skirt of her improvised dress, she revealed her foot to be wrapped in gauze in a secure tie rounding its whole width, leaving it very unlikely to uncoil should she be able to walk on it.
The sound of creaking steps behind her alerted the girl to Schofield's presence. He moved around to where she was sitting on the stairs and kneeled down to set something at her feet.
"These might not fit you exactly, but they were the only ones I could find." Schofield looked up into her green eyes, his voice apologetic but sincere in his effort to make sure her basic needs were met.
He had managed to procure from the house wreckage a pair of Edwardian style women's shoes, black and worn, but sturdy to where they would be comfortable for her damaged foot. He took one of them in his hand and held it out to her.
"May I?" Schofield was on his knees, his uniform surely being caked with more dirt and grass.
She nodded, his calming aura washing away her trepidation, her wariness of being alone in the middle of nowhere in a strange country and different century with these two men. Being reminded of a certain childhood era fairytale, she slipped her bandaged foot into the shoe.
It wasn't quite a perfect fit, feeling loose at the back of her heel, but it was preferable to going around barefoot and risking future injury.
"Emmy Hunterson." She spoke to him for the first since she had passed out in her helpless and disoriented state. "That's my name, short for Emmanuelle."
Schofield listened and looked up at her face, deciphering if he had heard such a name before.
"Emmanuelle." He merely whispered it to himself, feeling an electric thrill up his spine as it rolled effortlessly off his tongue. "Emmy." Unusual but beautiful, Schofield thought to himself.
The young woman Emmy ran her hands through her tangled brunette hair as she stood up again, ignoring Schofield's waiting hand to help her up.
Blake remained quiet as he watched the two lock eyes. He had definitely been puzzled and amused when he had seen his comrade come out of the house with this woman in his arms, but he did understand why Schofield had taken such chivalrous action in saving her.
They were soldiers and gentlemen in equal measure of both types...
"Damn this dress." Her curt use of profanity took both Blake and Schofield aback, the older soldier especially found himself smiling at the corner of his mouth. This lost maiden was ahead of her time in more ways than one if her words were to be believed.
"I suppose that dress isn't yours. You look like you're drowning in it." Blake quipped with her, making her crack a smile for the first time since awakening on both recent occasions.
Emmy picked up the loose, heavy skirt of the dark blue dress, truly giving the visual that she was in an ocean being attacked by merciless waves. Schofield watched her carefully as she adjusted to the shoes, limping with her healing foot toward the water pump by the barn.
The distant sound of a cow mooing alerted the soldiers to another presence on this godforsaken property. Looking around for any other signs of human life, Schofield hoisted his rifle over shoulder, fastening its strap to secure along his chest. He walked toward the barn to get good sight if anything or anyone was inside.
It was certainly rundown but what caught his attention was the bucket of fresh milk sitting amongst the hay. Removing the bucket's lid with his foot, it certainly made the connection between that and the cow grazing without a clue in the grass.
He dipped his hand into the white liquid, relishing the cool sensation on his skin and brought it up to his parched lips. It had been so long since he had tasted such creamy sweetness...
The sound of splashing water a short distance behind Schofield, mixed with the voices of Blake and Miss Hunterson... Emmanuelle... broke him out of his reverie and he took the opportunity to pour the milk into his own canteen to save for later, at least for her well-being.
Had she eaten properly since they found her?
Blake and Emmy's voices faded away as everything fell silent except for the faint rumbling from above in the sky. They both came up behind Schofield to look up with him.
Three planes soared in the open cloudy, gunfire blazing from each one it seemed.
Emmy looked up in wonder, not believing that she was seeing something occur before her eyes that she had only read about in history books. The cool breeze caressed her freshly wet face, having just washed her face of sweat, feeling heavenly against her skin...
"Is it our friends again?" Blake asked Schofield, leaning against a railing of the barn.
Schofield walked out and into the open pasture to get an improved visual. "Looks like it. Dog fight."
Emmy cleared her throat to get Blake's attention. "Do either of you have first names since I already gave you mine? I feel it's only fair." She dared to cross her arms and arch her neck, showing that her confidence was gaining and her fear waning.
Blake looked to her, a blue spark of humor in his eyes in reaction to her spunk. "My name's nothing special, Miss Hunterson. It's Thomas, christened after my father like any other son."
She held out her hand for him to shake which he gratefully took, pleased to be formally introduced to her. "And what about Sir Strong-but-Silent over there?"
Blake laughed, hoping Schofield was too occupied watching the planes to hear their gentle prodding.
"Your knight in shining armor over there is William. If you ask him yourself, he may have you call him 'Will', depending on how much he's besotted with you." They both laughed together at his playful joke, feeling an ease and camaraderie with each other.
She could already pick up on the deep bond between these two brothers-in-arms.
Emmanuelle internally scolded herself. She had just met these men and she knew that she was far away from her home and literally a hundred years away from everything familiar to her.
And she needed to figure out how to get home, if there was a way...
"Who's winning?" Blake asked Schofield, breaking Emmanuelle out of her thoughts.
"Us, I think." Schofield responded, turning back to them. "Two against one." He walked back to them, locking eyes again with Emmanuelle again.
"We have food, Miss Hunterson. Do you recall the last time you've eaten anything?" He removed a compartmented pack from the side of his hip, holding it out for her to look inside. The aroma of bread and sweetened biscuits dipped in tea made her nearly melt with hunger, but she held her hands up.
"You helped me enough, Lance Corporal." Guilt washed over her. These two men were here for a reason and it wasn't just to rescue her. They were on a mission and they were wasting their time interacting with her, a nobody who was barely an acquaintance with them. "I can't possibly take your food."
"Yes, you can." Schofield responded to her protest with little space for argument. "Who would we be to allow a woman alone to starve?" She caught a teasing tone with his voice, staring into his unbroken gaze.
She reached into the bag, looking for the source of that sweet smell. Two buttered biscuits she had in her hands, bringing back past memories of making breakfast in the morning at home. She fought back another onslaught of tears, embarrassed with herself.
"Thank you. Very much, to the both of you." She swallowed a bit of biscuit, the irritation of her throat evident of nothing to wash it down.
Schofield stepped forward with his canteen. "This is yours as well. You'll need to pick your strength back up. You just had a shock and you've lost some blood."
She took it into her hands and she recognized immediately the whiff of freshly squeezed milk. Â Lifting the canteen to her lips, Emmy drank the milk almost as fast as she had the water, as though it were a sacred nectar from heaven meant to quench her ravenous thirst.
"Besides, we can't have you fainting on us again. We'd both have quite the exercise if we had to take turns carrying you to where we're going." Blake lightened the mood once again with touch of humor. "And I mean that in a flattering way. You're obviously a lovely... lady... for an American...and it'd be no trouble at all if we had to..."
The younger soldier stuttered, emitting a rare laugh from Schofield. Emmanuelle couldn't help but focus on the taller Lance Corporal, the way his eyes crinkled up in joy and the corners of his lips rising in dimples that made him seem more youthful.
A blush colored her cheeks as she screwed the lid back onto the canteen, keeping a tight hold on it with her hands. The weight of Blake's words suddenly sinking in.
Did they intend to take her with them wherever their destination was?
Before she could ask the men anything further, the rumbling of the planes they had forgotten about in their distraction of a conversation suddenly increased.
Schofield was on alert again, all traces of laughter disappeared from his eyes. Turning to Emmanuelle, he conveyed by looking into her eyes to stay where she stood as he and Blake walked out to the pasture to investigate. One of the planes in the dogfight had crashed, shot down and black smoke billowing from its tail end.
It vanished over the hill and out of their sight...
But only for a precious few seconds...
It emerged in plain view over the hill, charging like an enraged bull towards the barn.
"Run now!" Schofield yelled to both of them.
Picking up her lengthy skirt, Emmy bolted as fast as these cursed shoes would permit her. An arm enfolded around the waist from her left side. Schofield pushed her down onto the earthy ground, attempting to shield her from the impending debris on the plane shattering the barn. Blake ended up on their other side, removing his own helmet to cover her head from the impact.
The crash of the plane was deafening enough, then the collision of its engine being enflamed, engulfing the pilot.
Schofield was breathing hard against her, his nose pressing into the back of her head for the tiniest fraction of a second before gathering his wits together and turning to the destruction behind them. Emmanuelle felt his weight leave her body, suddenly feeling a chill from his absence. Refusing to consider the meaning of that, she turned toward the barn to see both Blake and Schofield struggling to help the pilot out of the inferno.
Realizing she was still wearing Blake's helmet, she removed it from her head and could only stare in a baffled state of clarity.
She was truly seeing the horrors of World War One before her very eyes, the images and sounds as clear to her as any other event she had witnessed in her life.
She couldn't quite decipher what the pilot was screaming as the soldiers finally got him out of the cockpit and were dragging his struggling form across the dirt. Whatever he was gasping out, it definitely wasn't English...
He was German...
Dread knotted into the pit of her stomach as she froze in her position, still clutching onto Blake's helmet.
Schofield and Blake dragged him a good distance away into a sole patch of dirt. They both locked eyes with her, as if they were ashamed she had to see this. The pilot continued to babble in panicked German, now lying released from the soldiers' grips.
"Stop!" Emmanuelle suddenly shouted to them moving toward the three men. "You're only making him scared. He won't listen to you if he's afraid."
Now she had to balance within her mind human decency and intelligent common sense. Both Blake and Schofield jerked up their heads at what she was saying gaping at her as if she had sprouted wings from her back. By just his German nationality, the pilot was a sworn enemy to the British, but he was a person just like anyone else.
"Emmanuelle, we need to put him out of his misery." Schofield insisted to her as she dropped to her knees beside the traumatized pilot. Blake helped him with restraining the German from moving his arms; his legs useless due to them being caught in the flames and possibly crushed from the crash.
"Let me try to calm him down." She didn't look at them to see how the two Englishmen would respond. She placed herself closer to the pilot so she could be within his line of sight. "I'm not going to stand here helpless by the sidelines."
"She's right, Scho!" Blake backed her up much to her surprise. "He needs water! Go get him some!" He pointed at Schofield.
The older Lance Corporal bit back his reply, prepared to berate them both, but time was of the essence. He lifted himself back onto his feet and ran towards the water pump.
Emmy did what she could think of to comfort the German while Blake reluctantly released his grip from the pilot's arms to give her space. Her hands were on his shoulders and she shushed him, keeping focus on his face so much that she failed to comprehend his next action
Suddenly, his gloved hands were around her throat, so quick she hardly had time to comprehend. She clawed at his fingers clutched about her neck, underestimating his strength overpowering hers as a trained combat pilot. However brief this strangulation attempt was, it would surely leave that area decorated with bruises.
Anger borne out of a protective instinct shone in his eyes as Blake grabbed at the pilot, pulling him off of Emmy by trapping him in a headlock...
Gasping for oxygen, she didn't have enough in her lungs yet to shout out to Blake in warning.
Until it was too late...
The knife was already embedded into his lower torso in reward for their efforts. And it was all her fault...
Blake's screams of pain echoed in her ears and she heard Schofield yell out, running from the water pump and dropping his helmet to the ground.
"No!" The older soldier cried out in defiance. He took out his rifle and shot the pilot dead with only a couple of hits. The blood splattered onto Emmanuelle's face as she covered her ears from the ringing those shots produced, being so near her.
Blake was only able to stand up for a few seconds as he unbuttoned his uniform, trying to see the amount of damage done. The blood began leaking out of him with little warning and his skin had already begun to lose color, fading out into a ghostly white.
Emmy clutched at her throat with gingerly touches, feeling the bruises begin to make their appearances, but those were the least of their issues. A comrade who had a hand in helping her was expiring before their eyes.
Shaking in the aftermath of what had just occurred; she took a step back until she could just feel the heat from the burning barn.
Schofield was turned away from her, holding onto Blake's body that was halfway in his lap. The younger soldier handed him some objects, some possessions from his uniform such as his dog tags and pictures of his family.
The tears finally fell from her eyes and she buried her face in her hands...
She sobbed for what felt like an eternity into her palms. She wanted to go home and get out of this hell-hole.
Now, she was alone in an unfamiliar place, but with a man who must surely hate her now for causing the death of his comrade.
The barn finally collapsed into a heap behind her, the impact rumbling in the ground beneath her defeated body. Maybe if she just walked into that inferno and let it burn her alive...
Before she could make it to her feet, she felt two much larger hands gently take a hold of her wrists, revealing to her blurred eyesight to be William Schofield. His helmet had been replaced back onto his head from where he had dropped it.
His eyes looked at her with no sign of animosity, just an exhausted sort of concern. Or perhaps he was just a master at hiding his real emotions...
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to witness all of that." Schofield apologized, trying to coax out of her a response as he knelt in front of her.
"No, William." She used his formal name, to hell with proper addressing of people. "It's my fault he's dead. I should've stepped aside and allowed you to follow your instinct. You ought to tell me to burn in Hell! Aren't you even angry with me?!" She nearly screamed in his face as he pulled her up to stand.
He only stared in a stoic manner behind her at the barn then back down into her tear-stained eyes. Considering his words carefully, he answered the tiny woman before him, moving his tender grip from her wrists to her dainty hands.
"In any other circumstance, I'd be angry. But I know that you're confused and alone." His hands encompassed the whole of hers, never ceasing in his attempt to soothe her. "If you come with me, I'll do what I can to protect you until you're safely home."
"But...but you just met me. How could you add me to your baggage when you already have enough to handle?" She couldn't help but ask him, the words on her tongue hanging of worthlessness. "I'll only slow you down."
Schofield let go of her hands and reached down to where Blake's helmet was on the ground. Reaching up, he placed it upon her head, adjusting the strap underneath her chin with care and precision, wincing when he noticed the fresh fingerprint shaped bruises splotched across the column of her throat. Then, he bent down and snatched up the canteen of milk, keeping in mind her need for nutrition.
"Because as of now you're considered to be under the protection of the British Army." Schofield answered enough, not wanting to get emotional about it. "I can't promise that all the danger is behind us, but I swear to the best of my ability to guard you on this journey."
She felt the sting of doubt in the back of her mind. No man would surely be that dedicated to her within such a short amount of time. Then again, she was in a different era...
"How do I know you won't leave me behind when it's more convenient, Will?" She dared to reach up and grab his jacket collar, spitting out his shortened name. Their eyes never leaving each other...
"A gentleman's word is unbreakable, Emmanuelle. Perhaps even more than a soldier's." The absolution in his voice, hard like steel, stabbed straight through the both of them with the ferocity of a double edged sword. "And I could tell Blake was fancying you."
The embers from the fire floated around them as their promises bound them together in this small piece of hostile serenity.
Come hell or high-water, Lance Corporal William Schofield would see this woman safely to her destination and Emmanuelle Hunterson would figure out why she was whisked away into this war and into this damned century.