Work Text:
The glass shrieked as it was blown to pieces. The cannibals shrieked, too, as the bomber took others down along with it. The rubble thundered down, collapsing into a great mass of dust and debris.
Simon, of course, ducked and rolled away the moment he caught the slightest sizzle, moments before a would-be disaster.
Broken bits of flesh splattered around, Simon heard it, and, unsurprisingly, smelled it; the rotting flesh of walking… no, indeed, they were not men–but were they altogether so different, though? Physiologically speaking, they were practically the same. And, if Simon was being honest with himself, he didn’t blame them for trying to get a bite out of him–well, what man hasn’t wondered what he tastes like? However, Simon did, in fact, not wish to be killed. He shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts and looked up. Simon found himself sheltered by ruptured planks that had withheld the debris from harming him.
“A blessing–a miracle,” Père Pyotr would have likely called it. Such sayings from the man eluded Simon’s understanding and added to the number of reasons why Simon tended to elude the priest. Nothing regarding God or spirituality or anything of the sort particularly struck him in any way–they didn’t interest him at best and appalled him at worst.
The way the priest described God simply confused him. What kind of superior would die for His disobedient subordinates? That is not how superiors are supposed to act; good superiors bark orders, expect nothing short of compliance, and punish inefficiency and any oversight. Although Simon was new to the army, he of course knew this fact of life would remain. And Simon considered himself the least deserving of a miracle of this sort, anyway, considering his apathy towards this supposed superior. He simply strayed away from any thoughts concerning the matter–it was not as if they would serve him any good.
Simon saw a slight opening on the other end of the shelter, allowing him an escape. Crawling through on all fours, he processed the commotion as he emerged.
Simon soon recollected the events prior to the explosion: initially, he had only wanted more supplies. As of then, no one was hurt, but Simon’s bag was running low, and he had spotted a pile of corpses down the alley he could easily rummage through to perhaps find something. A new horde of cannibals would arrive–what if he needed to give someone medical assistance?
Bastien and the others were discussing their next plan of action: whether to keep pushing forward, or to rest with the few moments of relief they had. Simon, excitedly, figured this was the perfect opportunity to search the pile.
Truly, it was a juvenile mistake. Was he really so out of it? As Simon scampered over to the pile, he had completely ignored the faint sound of uneven footsteps behind him. Why did he not know better?
Simon, searching the bodies, had found the corpse of what once was a French surgeon–perfect! Grabbing the corpse by the collar, he pulled it out, and sacked its bag. There he found several bandages and some thread. Simon caught sight of a corpse whose head had been bashed open, and its brain was visible. He began to inspect the head intently.
When he had felt the sensation of claws digging through the skin on his lower back, his first instinct was to freeze up. But he immediately reminded himself of his surroundings, whipped around, and sliced through the cannibal’s torso with his sabre. Simon then noticed that the next horde of cannibals had arrived unexpectedly soon.
“Simon! Get over here!” Someone had shouted from the group, though Simon couldn’t tell to whom the voice belonged.
Ordinarily, Simon would have immediately listened, but he was too fascinated by the head to have followed the order at once.
“Ah! just give me a moment!” Simon had the idea of decapitating the head so he could simply bring it with him; he sliced through its neck with his sabre and reached for the head’s red ponytail.
However, before Simon could take it, a hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away.
“Leave it!”
Simon recognized the voice as Wilhelm’s.
Wilhelm led Simon by the hand through the progressively growing horde of cannibals and to the group, where barricades were already being built. The shots of gunfire rang in Simon’s ear and the hands reaching forth to maim and kill filled him with a familiar kind of dread, but it did not hinder his ability to hear the sound of the bomber. Perhaps all he needed was to “wake up” his hearing, so to speak. He pulled himself from Wilhelm’s grasp and ducked.
As Simon emerged from his shelter, he caught sight of an injured Wilhelm, pushing himself up from the ground. At least the bomber had killed all of the surrounding cannibals, otherwise Wilhelm would have been gutted already. Running towards him, Simon could clearly see a wound on Wilhelm’s leg, but nothing too serious.
Alexandre came to help Wilhelm and Simon followed them back to the group.
The infantrymen shot the last of the cannibals, which was followed by a minute of silence. Bastien was the one to break it:
“What was that?”
“What?” To a perceiving observer, one would have seen Simon flinch.
“‘Give me a moment’–a moment! Wilhelm almost got himself killed to get you out of there. I called you over because it was dangerous, yet you said ‘Just give me a moment’! Why didn’t you listen? What was so important?”
Simon lowered his eyes. “I wanted to inspect a body. I’m sorry. I won’t disobey you again.”
Bastien simply stared at him. Although Simon could tell he was upset, he was not sure to the extent of it. There was another prolonged silence for several moments. Simon hated it. He preferred, at the very least, the sound of gunfire or shouts from the others. He would have preferred it if Bastien had more to say. But the silence was terrifying. It was bleak, dark, engulfing. The noise, albeit disorienting and loud, was still bright and intense–he could at least see what was coming. But the silence only reminded him of-
“You are wounded. Get it checked out.” Bastien gestured to the blood seeping down Simon’s back.
“I can do it,” Simon replied.
It wasn’t like he couldn’t operate on himself. Sure, the wound was a bit deep, but nothing he couldn’t handle. After all, he’d had a lot of experience over the years. In any case, Alexandre was busy with Wilhelm and Henri was… well, Simon didn’t exactly trust his skills, to say the least. He didn’t even deserve someone to operate on him, anyway, after all that. Simon led himself into one of the buildings beside their bastion. He heard the sound of someone–he could not tell exactly who by their footsteps–starting to follow him, but after Simon closed the door behind himself, no one entered. It was for the best. He could at least think about what he should have done, instead.
Luckily, the wound was low enough for him to reach easily. Simon sat down on a bed and removed his upper garments. The blood that had begun to scab around the wound was ripped off and a searing pain shot through his back as the wound was reopened. It was good, though. It kept him awake, focused.
After having stopped most of the bleeding, Simon concluded that he wouldn’t need stitches, making this all the easier. He inhaled sharply before applying some alcohol on the wound as an antiseptic, but, again, appreciated the searing pain. He wrapped a bandage around his torso and simply sat still for an indeterminate amount of time, just staring at the bag on his lap.
At some point, Simon realized that he had been humming to himself. Well, it was not exactly to himself–he was hearing some of the group singing it outside. He didn’t recognize the song in particular, it was just one of the songs the group would sing during their long journeys, but it was a comforting tune nonetheless. Although the song was unfamiliar, it gave him a sense of… belonging (was that the word?) among the group. It gave him a sense that he could work with them to create something harmonious.
However, simply singing a tune and belonging with others are two very, very different things. There they were, outside singing together, while he was humming alone to himself. But, in the end, this seemed the most natural state of relationships for Simon. And it was okay. He would be okay. He would be safe.