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Take one more step. Turn your head before it hits the ground so you don’t break your nose. Stand up. Ignore the disgusting feeling of blood seeping through the neck of your shirt. Keep walking. There is little time and many things to do.
Ignore the wails around you and think of your current tunnel vision as a blessing. You will not be able to take another step forward. Reach out to the soldier on the corner. You need help. Remember to breathe.
Release your breath, scream if you will. Turn to the side when the flames envelop you, cover your face. Remember that to them you are no more than another dying soul. Another biological hazard. Accept your death. It hurts just as much as you expected.
Hold onto the arm that grabs you and pulls you away from the flames, through a doorway, into a darkness that smells like death.
When inside the empty, abandoned house, lean on the wall. Fall to the floor. Try not to scream at the pain on your seared arm. This will leave an ugly scar. Or would, if you survive the night. Be thankful it hurts less than the sores the illness has left on your skin.
Open your eyes and see, as he stands and walks to the sink in the kitchen, that your savior is Burakh. Who else? It’s not like the recent events haven’t been making you meet at the most opportune moments. Maybe too late.
Realise, as he is busy running the water over a piece of cloth, that you are not alone here. See the man (dirty, bandaged, as close to death as you) walk from the shadows and step close to Artemiy, a knife in their hand. Raise your hand, cock your revolver. Try to steady your arm. Accept that it's mpossible to aim when your sight is blurry like this.
Shoot.
Watch as the bullet burns the side of Burakh’s ear and hits the target. Let your arm fall to your side as the haruspex checks the looter’s vitals and, after making sure he’s dead, walks up to you.
“You just saved my life.”
“And you just saved mine a minute ago, so we are even.”
Do not shiver at the cold of the knife as he cuts the charred remains of your shirt. Do not flinch when he washes the fresh burns. Do not think about the fact that you are not feeling cold anymore, that the fever receding is not a good sign. Remember to breathe.
Pass out from the pain. Or just stare at the wall on the opposite side of the room. When this is over you will not care, or remember, but your arm is bandaged now, and Artemiy is checking your pulse. Open your eyes. He is wearing a cloth over his nose and mouth now. Try and fail to focus your sight as he checks the red veins spreading towards your iris. His own eyes are a pale shade of grey in this light.
Wonder if looking at the sky while drowning in the Gorkhon is anything like this.
“You’re dying, oynon.”
Laugh, try not to wheeze.
“Ironic, isn’t it? And you just wasted perfectly good bandages.”
When he pulls a bottle from his bag, try not to wince at the contents that swirl like coagulated blood. Listen, as he explains it is called Panacea, a possible cure. Stop listening when he explains what it is made of, for now, for your own sake.
With his hand under your chin, swallow the contents of the bottle, do not spit it out, do not throw up. Remember to breathe.
Rest your head against the wall and close your eyes. Forget your responsibilities, all you had to do, what does it matter anymore? You might not live until midnight.
Feel Burakh slump down next to you, welcome the warmth against your good arm. And if you don’t live to see the dawn, what does it matter? Maybe there is no world outside this empty, dead house. Maybe the whole town has been eradicated by now. Maybe in the morning, when the sun rises, weeds will cover the streets and the bodies that were left to rot, like yours. Like Artemy's.
Open your eyes, look up, find the haruspex looking down at you. Wonder if he was thinking the same. Wonder if a moment that lasts forever in the dark of an abandoned house is what truly beating death means. Try not to laugh. Try not to kiss him. You are sick, it’s ridiculous. Maybe in another time, in another place, where you did not meet at the end of the world.
But you might not live until morning, so what does it matter?
Reach with your good arm. Leave a kiss on the rough linen cloth over his mouth. Close your eyes.
Remember to breathe.