CHAPTER SONG: "No Time to Die" by Billie Eilish
"Emmy!" A male voice called her name, beckoning her to open her eyes and to breathe. From what she could hear, the voice wasn't that of her gallant lance corporal William Schofield...
The fog clouding her mind continued to smother her as she struggled to take control of her consciousness. She felt as though she were floating, her skin frigid with shivers from the soaking water.
"Emmy!" The male voice called for her again, desperate to gain her attention.
Recognition collided with her awakening memory as she regained the knowledge of the man whom the voice belonged to...
"Tom!" She yelled out, but no sound emerged from her throat. Water trickled from her mouth as her lungs ached.
"Emmy, you need to wake up!" His face appeared to her, his once shining eyes dimmed with uncharacteristic weariness. "Scho needs you. You won't make it back home if you don't wake up."
Even though he was significantly shorter than Schofield, Blake was still able to somewhat tower over her slight frame, even if he was just an apparition in her unconscious dream state.
She opened her mouth to respond, but only silence resulted. Her chest began convulsing, a pressure pushing upon her chest. Water exploded from her mouth as Blake disappeared, his eyes closing.
"Go back to Scho. You'll find where you belong with him." Thomas Blake's voice began fading as the fog around Emmanuelle vanished and she was being pulled away into the depths of this mental purgatory. "I'll be watching over the both of you. You're the prettiest girl Joe will have seen since the war started."
She wanted to laugh at his joke, but was unable to as her convulsing and coughing combined and she fell downwards into blackness.
.
.
She was choking on the water, turning her head to the side to retch it all out. Her breathing began to even out with each instance of purging all that revolting liquid from her system.
A pair of large hands tenderly held back her hair as another coughing spasm racked through her recovering body. Her arms held her up she vomited out the last of the water, gasping to relax her breathing and calm down from the harrowing experience of drowning.
"Emmy." Schofield's voice graced her ears, the vocal personification of relief and concern. "Thank God!" His hands released her shoulders as she turned her head toward the worried soldier. "I thought you were lost to me."
"Will." She whispered his name, causing Schofield to sigh as if literal weight was pulled from his shoulders. She continued to surprise him with her strength...
He took her face in between his hands, studying to see if her condition was worse or better. Her eyes were slightly glazed over as she caught the last of her breaths. Her fair complexion barely began to regain color from the grey pallor of being near death when he laid her down on the pavement. The captain's coat no longer clothed her, only the tattered remains of her blue dress.
He himself was soaking wet from falling into the water, his helmet still attached to his head while hers was lost in the shallow depths of that damned swamp of a canal.
Her forehead pressed to his as they both took this moment to be relieved that they were both still alive.
Then, it all came flooding back to her.
The sniper...
Emmanuelle pulled away from Schofield, grasping onto his forearms. "How are we going to go any further with that sniper shooting at us?"
Her question came out in a rushed whisper as she looked up to the sky, deciphering the time of day. Orange sunset rays scattered across the dipping horizon. Nighttime would soon be upon them...
A gunshot shattered the calm between them, cracking into the stonewall staircase nearby. Schofield moved as fast as a lightning strike, pushing the petite woman behind him, keeping her out of the sniper's vantage point however in vain his attempt was...
He turned his head toward her, his face stern and etched with determined concentration. "No matter what, you stay behind me."
She nodded, shivers of fear threatening to paralyze her. Her hands grasped onto his leather pack clinging onto his upper back, no doubt carrying food and supplies. Schofield was just as vulnerable to a bullet as she was, unless by chance it was a headshot where his helmet would protect him.
But, if he was to be shot and killed, who would deliver that message?
If anything, he had to survive above her...
Another shot rang through her ears as she pressed her hands to them, not accustomed to the sound as Schofield was. He stood up, firing his own rifle above the stone wall, up at where the shooter was positioned at the highest window in the lockhouse.
Against her better judgment, she kept her eyes on the lance corporal as he continued to fire at least three more shots, making certain that the sniper couldn't retaliate.
She noticed that in between the shots fired from his gun, Schofield would crouch down to catch his breath. She grasped onto his shoulder, feeling him tremble with what she could guess was adrenaline. His eyes briefly locked with hers at the feel of her touch, his hands clenching onto the gun as though it were his own personal lifeline.
Taking another breath as he turned away from Emmanuelle, he rose up above the wall and braced himself to take another shot. The sniper hadn't made another attempt to hit him yet. If they were to make it across the town safely, nothing could be left up to chance...
He fired his gun again, aiming with precise success at the window frame where he'd seen the shooter. No other shot responded...
Emmy's shaking arms enfolded around his waist as he turned back to her, one hand holding the rifle and the other upon her pale cheek.
"I think I got him. But I need to check." Schofield assured her of what had to be done before they could move further.
She only nodded, placing her own hand upon his, gently removing it from her face so he could focus on the task ahead of them. Her other arm released his waist to free both of her hands, her breath uneven not only from the shots ringing in her head but in preparation for what she was about to do.
Her small hands took hold of Schofield's face, her eyes looking straight into his as he froze, his hands still grasping onto his rifle. Being a head taller than her, he began to bend down toward her level, his gaze flitting to her lips, her tongue wetting them with what limited hydration remained in her body.
Emmanuelle placed her awaiting mouth to Schofield's brow, his helmet preventing her from completely kissing his forehead.
She pulled away, adjusting his helmet properly onto his head. He kept his eyes on her, unfamiliar warmth flowing through his entire being despite his soaked uniform. Schofield was unable to form the words consisting of the question he wanted to ask her. Nevertheless, she answered him.
"For luck." Her voice was the sweetest music to his ears compared to the eardrum collapsing gunshots from just moments ago. "And to thank you for everything you've done for me."
Schofield battled with the tears threatening to show in his eyes. She didn't belong in this world, let alone didn't even ask to be placed in the middle of this godforsaken war.
He choked on the words he wanted to say to her in return, but knew nothing could be said further until later when they were out of danger.
One of his hands reached out toward her face, his fingers tracing along the left side of her jaw, his own silent gesture of wanting to convey a response to her kiss. His thumb skimmed across her rough and cracked lips, reminding him that when they had another chance to stop, they needed to replenish themselves with what food and drink was left.
Clutching onto his rifle with both hands, he turned to her again to whisper. "Don't get in front of me."
She nodded, placed one hand on the pack of supplies hanging from his back and the other upon his shoulder.
Schofield walked up the steps on the stone wall, Emmy following him and keeping in pace. Her chest began to ache and constrict with an oncoming coughing fit, but she managed to swallow it back down to a silent heaving, hoping the sharp soldier shielding her didn't hear.
The last thing he needed to worry for was her health. Lord knew what was in that water, if it hadn't already killed her then...
They advanced toward the demolished lockhouse, the all too potent smell of ash and smoke assaulting her nostrils. This town was decimated by every inch. Emmy felt her heart break for all the people that had surely suffered with this invasion.
The double doors of the lock house met their sight, Schofield pushing one open to allow them inside. Darkness with only slivers of evening light cracking through the ruined wood paneling gave them some idea into the interior structure of where this sniper was attacking them.
A staircase that led to the very top level gave Schofield an idea of where the perpetrator was. He went to the bottom where the banister railing began.
"Emmy, stay here until I come back." He pointed to her feet as she grasped onto the railing, emphasizing that he meant for her to not go anywhere alone. She had no argument to make there. Emmanuelle watched has he held up his rifle, bayonet glinting in the streaming rays of sunset, up towards the highest level, saying a silent prayer for Schofield to be safe in these moments he was out of her sight...
The thought of anything happening to that man, whom she had only known for mere hours, she reminded herself, made her want to scream and curse everything until her soul left her body just to keep her silent.
A shot rang out from above her just then, followed immediately by the sound of a body thudding to the wooden floor...
Emmanuelle froze, looking up to where Schofield had gone. If he had been shot...
She barreled up the steps, tripping a couple of times as she tried to make it up to the top level with the minimal lighting available for her sight. A source of sunset light coming from the window thankfully allowed her to be able to see as she came up the final level of staircase.
Something lying on the floor caught her eye, unmoving and splayed out.
"Will!" She gasped out, dropping down to her knees at his side. His helmet was knocked off his head, a pool of fresh blood pouring out from the base of his skull. His gun had dropped from his hands when he had fallen on one of the steps.
Her fingers reached down to his neck, feeling for his pulse. Her other hand placed above his nose, feeling for puffs of breath.
Her lance corporal lived!
Tears of relief flowed down her face at the confirmation of his still being alive. She bent down and placed a genuine kiss upon his forehead.
Another sound from above Emmy reminded her of the foreboding presence of the sniper. Something sounded like another body slumping down onto the floor.
With each moment it seemed, the sun dipped down lower into the horizon. Emmy managed to remove the bayonet from Schofield's rifle, using it as an improvised method to defend herself. She had to confirm the sniper was dead.
Creeping up the steps toward the tower room, she held the bayonet pointed toward the sniper's direction, bracing herself to plunge it into his body should he move. His body leaned under the windowsill where he had been perched while shooting at them. He made no movement in response to her presence. His head hung forward, his own rifle in his lap and a spot of fresh blood leaking from his chest, no doubt close enough to his heart to kill him.
A sigh of relief rushed though her lungs as she turned away from the dead sniper and went back to where Schofield lay prone on the base of the steps leading to that room.
She was back down to her knees, pulling out one of his uniformed packs to grab his knife, water canteen and some gauze. She had to stop the bleeding from his head. He was most likely already concussed from that fall.
She managed to turn him onto his side so she could gain access to the back of his head. Black blood leaked out from the area where impact had been and stuck in his brown hair. Taking one of his wrists into her hands, she double checked to make certain he had a pulse still and hadn't expired on her in those few moments she was away from his side.
Using Schofield's knife to cut more shreds out of her dress, she reached for the water canteen and soaked up the torn fabric into improvised rags to clean up the blood from the base of his skull. Not a minute to be wasted while she had so little light from outside left.
She did her best to keep focus on her task, dabbing Schofield's head and allowing the soaked rags to absorb the blood and cease the oncoming further bleeding. Her hands shook despite her taking deep breaths to calm herself.
When she was finished soaking up the blood from his head, she maneuvered him back to lay flat on the floor, his head and shoulders cradled in her lap so he wouldn't wake up on the hard floor in a pool of his own injuries.
Taking a roll of his gauze from its wrap, she tore off a piece and enfolded it as best as she could manage around his head. There was only so much of the material left in the roll, but she had to make sure he would recover from this, even though she had no nursing skills and was working with little resources.
So occupied was she on her work, she noticed too late that the sun had fully set outside. Her stomach began to growl much to her irritation.
Schofield began to stir in her lap, groaning with the pounding of his head. His eyes blinked open as he noticed his head was cushioned on a surface other than the hard wood floor. Dainty, gentle fingers wove through his hair.
Emmanuelle.
The green-eyed brunette woman skyrocketed like a firework through his subconscious as he recalled being knocked out. Where was she?
"William?" Her voice echoed in his ringing ears as he struggled to come awake. "Will."
A laugh escaped through her mouth as she looked down at him with happiness, however brief it would be for them. The tears emerged from her eyes again, trickling down her cheeks to land on his forehead. A sob of exhaustion worked its way up her throat, but she shoved it back down, not wanting him to think she was injured.
"Em...Emmanuelle." His hand reached up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear, calloused fingers grazing her cheek. "Are you hurt?"
She smiled down at him, his head still pillowed in her lap as she wiped away her delirious tears. "No, I was worried that you were gone. I found you at the bottom of these steps and bandaged you up as best I could after making sure the sniper was killed. We may not have any gauze left. And we lost daylight, the sun's gone down."
He sat up slowly as she talked, reaching behind his head to feel the back of it. The gauze stuck to his head to keep the bleeding from starting again. Looking around for his rifle and bayonet, he found both near the stairs where he had lain.
He turned to look with disbelief and astonishment at the woman clothed in a raggedy dress on her knees, splotched everywhere with dirt, ash and blood, the urge to thank her as she had him earlier overcoming him. They both stood mere feet from each other, Schofield closing the distance between them as he strapped his rifle over his shoulder.
Her words trailed off as she saw the look in his eyes, something she recognized but was uncertain of how to feel toward.
Schofield's large hands cradled her face, his thumb wiping away a stray tear from her eye. Her own hands placed upon his uniform vest, feeling for the way his breathing slowed in his chest. In the increasing darkness, she could only slightly make out the question of what he wanted to do within his gaze.
She nodded her head slowly in silent consent and closed her eyes as he bent down toward her.
His lips pressed to hers, the touch of them so feather light she wasn't certain she felt them until he pulled away a few seconds later, barely sampling the taste of her.
He pulled away from her, wanting to kiss her deeper, to show the full extent of how far his care for her was increasing with everything they were enduring...
"Emmy. I know you deserve better than what you've been through today." He breathed in a low voice to her, still holding her face as though the slightest grip of his hands could break her. "But nothing I can give you will be enough to repay for what you've done."
Her mind swirled in confliction, processing the kiss he had given, wanting to know what was truly going through that enigmatic mind of his.
"Will...why did you pull me from the water?" The question exited her mouth before common sense could stop her. "You easily could've made it through the town faster if I wasn't holding you back."
His blue eyes flared up at the audacity of her words. His hands released her face and went to grab hers within his strong but tender grasp.
"Emmanuelle, you will make it home safe to your family and loved ones. Soon you will be happy and not frightened for every second of your life." He seemed as if he wanted to continue with his proclamation, but he stopped himself, choking up with his words and his British-bred stiff upper lip preventing him from voicing what he was truly beginning to feel for this god-sent angel of a woman.
She opened her mouth to respond, but the unexpected sensation of light interrupted their moment. Through the lockhouse window, they witnessed a flare of fire up in the moonless sky to illuminate the town in an eerie otherworldly landscape.
Emmy gasped at the image burning through her eyesight as Schofield pulled her close to his chest, his arms enfolded around her shuddering frame. She turned away in fear from the display of deceiving beauty courtesy of the enemy, hiding her face in his uniform vest, wanting to pretend this was just another dying dream prior to waking up again.
Whatever dreams that had been experienced before; the nightmare of hell was just beginning for the determined soldier and the lost woman who was claiming a fragment of his heart with every minute passing...