FaultLine: A Call Of Duty Zombies Fanfiction

ELEVEN

As I stood at the edge of my nerves behind the door I contemplated, for I am a programmer and more than anything else, I'm an elder sister. I wanted keep Lily away from my works as far as possible, and now it seemed that regret was what I felt once I realized that she was all alone with all hell breaking loose. I clenched my jaws tight and held onto the door for dear life.

Sudden urgent marching of boots removed me away from my train of thoughts, I quickly ran outside and was shoved aside by a few unknown men as they carried in a man on a stretcher, Tank and the Doctor were the last to enter and I saw one of them close the door shut in a hurry. Their features were cautious and they were unarmed.

"Quick, lay him right zhere!" The Doctor was in a panic, about three men with heavy build laid down the body of a young soldier on the steel cot and I couldn't help but gasp as my eyes fell on the body...

'Dear god...he's alive.'

The state of the body was pitiful at the least and a fair face twisted in utter pain let out a painful whimper.

I saw it; it was a young German soldier, in his early twenties surrounded by his comrades who were apparently older than him checking on his vitals. A wooden stool and a small table were dragged near the cot with medical supplies hastily kept and prepared on. The Doctor was swift and with the hands of a specialist quickly started to prepare for a makeshift operation.

I looked into the eyes of the young man, sweat trickling down his forehead and teeth grinding in vain to endure the immense pain he was under. I was captured by his soft features and saw beauty even in his most painful moment. It was captivating...

'What the fuck is wrong with you, Anya?'

I could not muster why I found such in a sadistic view interesting, I gulped and stood rigid in the corner of the room as the Doctor waived away a few of the inmates and I heard the men swear in their native tongues. The scene was entrancing and powerful, the fact that I was witnessing it sent a wave of burning emotions...

'How can I say it's all not real—?

The young man coughed and blood spurted out his mouth, staining his pale cheekbones in a slow fashion. I stepped closer and took in his condition-

He was probably in his twenties with light brown hair drenched in sweat and fallen eyelids, movement underneath them promised begging wishes for a relief. His tousled hair was contrasting to his deathly pale skin and the bright crimson that painted his full lips, he growled again and I caught a glimpse of his bloody canines. I stared rudely at his being and saw Richtofen gracefully unbutton his drenched dark uniform to reveal a scene so pitiful and downright pathetic that I couldn't help but stare with eyes that begged for forgiveness that he didn't own me one.

The next happened in an atmosphere so thick that it could be sliced with a butter knife, paranoia hung like a noose that tightened around the injured as time passed. I noticed the stitches put into place around his raw skin and flesh and as the medicinal liquid seeped into the crevices that leaked like begging wide-open mouths. I wandered around him closely...

My eyes focused on the Doctor's fast hands and admitted how his state was, fragile, and how exposed his nature was, as if the tension was taking the most toll on him, but I must admit, never did his hands tremble no matter how bloodier they got. I stole a glance at his eyes and my breath hitched in my dry throat as he looked back, a confused and concerned expression masking his once stern features. For once he appeared to exhibit any emotions and I hopelessly denied the thought that maybe...just maybe, I was the only one who enjoyed and captured the display of someone's pain so lividly. My palms were cold and a faint pain lingered around my injured arm.

About some couple of minutes had passed and I stood in a corner, arms folded on my chest and contemplating the site that lay bare in front of me, unfurnished and pure, it was a pool of mixed emotions. The beating of the ravenous winds and the thunderous clapping of an upcoming storm deprecated the little haven of sunshine for a few minutes. All of the men, except the Doctor were out loading weapons and refurbishing their inventories as spell of reanimated corpses flooded the last horizon an eye could see. I quickly slipped into the private room of the Doctor and snatched away a map which I folded and stuffed into my back pocket. Even though I know that given that a contraption called a teleporter exists in this realm, you never know when you might need an earthly token to watch out your back.

As I saw the Doctor return, I quickly walked over to the steel cot with a pace of squirrel.

"So, uh, you feeling well?" My eyes glanced at the Doctor once or twice and words spilled out my mouth to frantically cover up my traces I had for the map.

The man, with pained blue eyes, turned his head to the nearest direction of the noise and exhaled, his breath coming out short.

"Ja..." His voice was deep for such an age but I kept my stare affixed on his eyes,

"It must hurt, no?" I tried not to look at his wounds; his bony chest was exposed, with bandages wrapped around the vulnerable areas that turned crimson.

"V-very..." Even in the time scraped off of the little conscious time he had, his eyes didn't seem to leave me.

"What's your name..." My question came out more like a statement and his features turned loose,

"Hans..." I didn't mind the attention I was getting from the Doctor as I calmly, almost sadly yet robotically laid my hand on top Hans', he looked confused and his glassy eyes searched for something in my own two eyes...