Edgar pauses, and I know I’ve got him.
Reason is the only thing that gets through Edgar’s enraged mind. Painfully slow, he lowers his weapon – and the threat of violence dissipates.
The Aurelian with the war-hammer lowers his own weapon, and I rush past him to the wounded Aurelian.
The alien who took the rifle shot to his chest is on his knees, and I worry that it’s already too late for him. He clenches his hand to the wound, but he can’t stop the green blood that’s surging from the gaping injury. I’m sick knowing that it’s his very life blood gushing from his veins. Edgar’s bullet hit the Aurelian on the right side of his chest, and I fear it punctured his lung.
Yet even as I use my nursing background to diagnose the extent of this alien’s injuries, my mind also races to answer the unexplained questions.
He’s bleeding… green?
I’ve never heard tales of Aurelians bleeding green instead of red blood – but that’s clearly the case here. From around the alien’s fingers, green liquid spurts out in rhythm with his heartbeat.
It’s ironic. All those glorious muscles – but they did nothing to stop a bullet.
The third Aurelian – the one clutching the two children – has an ugly scar beneath his cheek. Well, on anyone else it would be ugly. On this towering alien, it just looks dangerous. Dangerous, and somewhat beautiful.
I shake my head. I’m biased – not just because of the effect all Aurelians supposedly have on human women, but because this third alien has two of my helpless orphans wrapped protectively in his arms.
Seeing me staring at him, the alien slowly sets down Stacy and Tod, who run to me, their arms outstretched as they rush forward to embrace me.
I wrap the two little kids in my arms and squeeze them tight – breathing in their street-dirt scent and feeling their bony little bodies crushed in my arms. I never want to let them go again.
“I’ll keep you safe,” I promise – although right now, I doubt I can keep even myself safe.
I reluctantly break off the hug, pointing towards the far corner of the workshop – the corner farthest from the door.
“Hide under the table, okay?” I try to keep my voice calm, while still conveying urgency. Stacy and Tod nod, their little bodies quivering in terror. I’ll have to quiz them on where the other two orphans are the moment I’m done with the beast-like Aurelian in front of me.
As the two kids dive under the table, I turn to the alien. I’ve taken care of the orphans, and now I need to deal with the next problem in front of me.
“Keep the pressure on,” I bark at the towering Aurelian, not even sure he understands me. The alien must get the gist, through, because he crushes his hand to the wound to try and stem the flood of eerie, green blood.
I rush to the wall, opening that trusty med-kit for the second time today. I learned how to take care of humans in the Capital, but Aurelians are an unknown element. I know nothing of their physiology.
As I turn back to him, the wounded Aurelian barely even registers my voice. I suddenly fear he’s too far gone. Time feels like it’s moving in slow motion as I kneel down and take in the sight of my patient.
He’s huge – at least seven-feet-tall. While that doesn’t sound much more than a particularly tall human, it seems bigger; because this alien is built like a bull. I once saw a human man who was six-foot-eight, but he looked like a beanpole in comparison. This alien is broad. He must weigh at least twice as much as that man I once saw, and from a quick glance there doesn’t seem to be an ounce of fat contributing to that. The alien’s body is ridiculously chiseled – almost as if he has muscles on top of muscles, and they’re all covered in those intricate, tribal tattoos.
If I didn’t need to move quickly to save this alien’s life I’d feel shy and vulnerable in front of him. Instead, I breathe out slowly, composing myself as I grab the pliers.
That venomous, green blood continues to spurt from the gaping wound, and I know that every moment I waste lessens this Aurelian’s chances of survival.
The wounded alien’s eyes fix on the pliers, and for a second I think I almost see a flash of concern in them. As I approach the Aurelian, I wonder if he’ll use the last of his tremendous strength to reach forward and rip my throat out with the flick of his hand…
Yet despite being shot by my companion, somehow there seems to be trust in this alien’s otherworldly green eyes. He’s still as I hold the pliers out over his bleeding wound.
My hand is trembling as I prepare to treat him. The bright green blood that continues to spill out over the Aurelian’s impossibly-defined abs makes this creature seem even more alien – as though his very DNA is different than mine.
This is going to hurt like a bitch for him.
The trust might leave this alien’s grey-green eyes as soon as the pain hits, but if I have to hurt him, I have to hurt him.
The Aurelian’s eyes are like rocks, staring at me with cool, yet complex alien emotions. A curse leaves my lips as I gently try to pull his hand away, to finally look at his wound; wishing I could just use the sealant gun and stop the bleeding.
But Edgar can’t afford good bullets for his hand-constructed, single-shot rifle. If he could, this blast would have gone clean through to the other side of the muscled alien – and the only emergency I’d have to be dealing with would be stopping the hemorrhaging.
Instead, though, Edgar makes his own bullets out of scrap metal collected on the streets – and that means the jagged, uneven projectile has managed to get
