A Reason to Fight | Schofield

9 | Conversations in the Dark

Sensing momentary safety, I set down the gun and surveyed the room. The darkness made it hard to see, but light from the fires outside seeped in through cracks in the wall to allow for some level of visibility. It was a small interior with various pieces of furniture skewed about the area. There was a furnace on the far wall, and a fire was ablaze in its center.

"Someone's been here," I observed, walking towards the fire and crouching down to look at the ground around it. A few blankets were scattered about the floor, and the area next to the fire was littered with stale crusts of bread and empty cans.

"Looks like they've gone," Schofield said blankly.

The two of us checked around the room to be sure no one was hiding in the shadows, but there were no signs of another presence. We were definitely alone.

"Sit down," I said to Schofield, gesturing towards a nearby armchair. "We need to take a look at your head."

"What? No, we don't have time," he replied, looking to me with furrowed brows.

"Well we can't go back out there right now, anyways," I reasoned. "That soldier left not even two minutes ago. We should wait a little bit. He might come back with more looking for us."

"Exactly, which is why we should get out of here while we still can!"

"This place is crawling with soldiers, and you're not in good shape as it is. I think we should stop and rest while we have a quiet place to hide!"

"I'm fine," Schofield insisted, his voice stern. "We need to keep moving." With that he dismissed the conflict and began gathering his things. He reached down to grab my gun and walked over to me, holding it out for me to take. I shook my head at him and pointed to the chair again.

"Sit down. I'm going to check your wound."

"Are you serious?" he scoffed, moving closer to me. His figure seemed to tower over me with his height. "We don't have time for this. We're leaving. Now."

"We need to rest," I insisted, remaining stubborn and glaring up at him.

"Don't you get it, Lynn?" Schofield cried, suddenly becoming emotional. I was taken aback at the sudden look of distress on his face. "I have to get this message to Colonel MacKenzie! If I don't, sixteen hundred men will be dead, and their blood will be on my hands. Do you not understand the weight of that?"

"Of course, I get it," I quickly defended. "But if we don't take care of ourselves now, we may never get to MacKenzie. We still have time!"

"I already lost one of the Blakes!" Schofield shouted down at me, and I worried someone outside could have heard. "I am not going to risk losing the other!"

Schofield's face was inches away. I could feel his heavy breath on my cheeks. His eyes, so close to mine, were reddened by the threat of tears spilling over. I wasn't touching him, but I could feel the tension all over his body. He was reaching a breaking point.

He suddenly relaxed, a moment of clarity washing over his face as he backed up and collapsed into the chair. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. . ."

A deep pain twisted in my chest as I watched him bury his face into his hands and let out a quiet sob. I kneeled on the ground next to his chair, outstretching my hand towards his. He took it, and our entwined hands lay resting in his lap.

"You don't need to apologize. I understand."

"No you don't," he resisted. "You have no idea what I've been through." A tear slipped down his left cheek. He stared blankly ahead.