Trepidation | Trepidation Trilogy | The Empty World Sequence

Twenty-Three

The horses stepped delicately over the mud, carrying ladies or supplies. All twelve Elders had been found, half a dozen Gaurdsmen and Madiens plus Arbiter, Healer, Leader, and Lady. Claudia was upon a horse but John led Darkling, boots stepping over the puddles and body parts as best he could. So many dead. "Should we do anything with the dead?" Miko asked. He was towing a small brown mare behind him, which Ceci rode. She claimed to be a Guardmaiden.

      "There are too many for us," John said, "try to find if there are any wounded, no matter which side they were on. This is no place to get well."

      "They burnt a hospital," Ceci said and they were moving away. John looked up ahead. More dead, more blood and strong stench of them. There were a few survivors, no longer fighting but agreeing to put down arms long enough to gathered dead and wounded. Morpheus already had an armful of uniforms.

      John turned to the group yet behind him, Claudia riding Cloud and Merideth beside her on Velven both looking so sad. "If it does not make you too queasy it would be OK to take gear from the dead. They can't use it and rations and first aid kits particularly will help any of their survivors."

      Elzbieta was just ahead, bent to check a body for pulse. She stood as John reached her, walking stick in her hand and long skirt in knots about her knees. John could not decide if she looked more ready to wade through the dead or part the sea of them. "I had to make myself go," she said, "Once I thought not of the horror of it, but just thought of them as people, I was no longer afraid. Disgusted, of course, but not afraid to walk among them. It is the only way to find if there are wounded survivors."

      "Yes. I know," John said.

      "We should all split up, walk with me, you have a horse." John only nodded at Elzbieta. He was not really concerned for the physical saftey of any of his tribe at the moment. He walked along slowly, Darkling dancing a little at his dislike for treding along dead bodies. There were a very few stray horses, the ones whinying from the ground would have to be shot, there was no means here of transporting them to vetrinary hospital without them struggling from pain and fear enough to kill themselves.

      John began to look for a pistol or small gun. It seemed the Spanish carried them and some Americans. He took a handgun carefully from the holster of a very dead American who had never drawn it. Elzbieta turned and regarded him as he looked over the guns make. He could fire single shots from the semi and it was loaded. He set its safty before tucking it in his belt. "Only for the horses," John explained, "I heard some crying."

      Elzbieta sounded relieved. "Of course."

      John found one of these few wounded animals lying on the ground. This one was still dying but would never live with the large bleeding wound in its gut. John set the gun and aimed for the head of the animal. He pulled the trigger and winced at the sound. The animal died quickly.

      "Wounded horse!" Elzbieta called out loudly and looking up John realized the gunshot had draw attention. Vague shouts of understanding.

      A voice called weakly from one side, "Por favor, Goth Chico, aqui."

      John looked down to his left. A arm in olive uniform waved. A Spanish soldier spoke to him. John knew no Spanish so he tried English. "Do you need help?"

      "Sí, help. Mi leg is broken. I only ask you to help me find my people. Mi Dios!" he tried to lift himself but was clearly in pain.

      "It will hurt you to move, but I can put you on my horse and take you to what is left of the EL armies."