A Reason to Fight | Schofield

5 | Like Me, a Little Older

Blake got to his feet and stumbled backwards, his hands clutching at the spot where the knife had pierced his abdomen. The bloodied blade was held in the pilot's hand, the red liquid making me sick to my stomach.

Then the pilot turned towards me.

Two quick shots from behind. The pilot slumped to the ground, dead in an instant.

I looked back at Schofield, who was lowering his rifle. As he processed what had happened, his face washed white with horror. I turned to Blake to see him staring down at his reddened hands, overcome with grief. He took a few steps back, staggering away from the pilot's body. Schofield rushed forward to help his friend, and I followed quickly on my feet.

"Bastard, bloody bastard," Blake cursed, gasping for air as he spoke.

"Blake," I tried to say as I reached him, outstretching my arms towards him. "Blake, relax-"

"Oh, God," he said in a mumble, his words nearly getting lost in the midst of his panic. "Oh, God no. Oh, God no."

Schofield and I stood still, shell-shocked, watching him. I felt I could hardly move. Beside me, Schofield's breath hitched. His face was white as a ghost.

Blake reached for his dressings to soak up the blood, but I knew already there was no stopping this kind of bleeding. The entire front side of his tunic was already sopped in blood. Blake dropped to his knees as he unwrapped his dressings. Schofield grabbed them from his hands and attempted to help him.

"Jesus, no," Blake cried, his breaths coming heavier. Tears were welling up in his eyes. He was laying on his back, now, on the ground. His eyes darted around wildly, searching for something to focus on. He looked down again at his wound, which was losing more and more blood by the second, and horror crossed his features all over again.

"Blake, you need to breathe," I told him, putting my hands on his shoulders and hovering over him, drawing his attention to my face and away from his bloodied tunic. "Look at me. Just breathe."

Blake looked back at me, tears sliding down his cheeks as he took deep breaths. I nodded, breathing with him and trying to calm him somewhat. It took everything inside of me not to break into tears as I looked into his eyes and knew he was going to die.

"We have to stop the bleeding," Schofield said sternly as he wadded up the dressing. I squeezed Blake's shoulders, knowing what was coming next. Schofield pressed the dressing into Blake's abdomen. He cried out with pain in response. I gripped him tighter, trying to hold him still.

"Stop! Stop it!" Blake screamed, his face contorting with pain. I clenched my teeth, hardly able to bear listening to him suffer. Heavy sobs lingered in the back of my throat and threatened to expel themselves. But I held steady, for Blake.

"It's alright," Schofield said soothingly, still holding his composure. I realized he hadn't accepted it yet, that Blake wouldn't live. He was still fighting for him.

I wished I could, too. But as I watched Schofield struggle to lift Blake to his feet, I knew it was over. Blake was buckling under his own weight.

"No! I can't, I can't!" Blake shouted. I covered my mouth with my hand as Blake and Schofield both crumpled to the ground. I couldn't hold it back anymore. I turned away as tears spilled down my face and tried to stifle my sobs, regain control. I didn't want Blake to see me cry as it would only send him into further panic.

"Lynn, please, I need your help," Schofield's voice forced me back into the situation. He spoke shakily, fearfully. I quickly wiped my face and turned back around, nodding. "We have to get him to an aid post," he said, looking at me desperate eyes.