That would be difficult enough as it was – but I suddenly snap my head up as I hear commotion at the door.
Until then, everything had been moving in slow-motion. Now, suddenly, time snaps back to regular speed. The blood spurting from the Aurelian’s injury now seems to be gushing from between his fingers, and just a few feet away I hear the crashing and thumping as Scorp Warriors charge the doorway.
My hand freezes in terror an inch away from the alien’s spewing gunshot wound. I look up, to see a wave of those hideous, misshapen Scorp flood through the doorway.
For a moment I think we’re all dead – that I didn’t even have the chance to save this Aurelian’s life before he got himself killed again.
Then, however, the other two Aurelians leap into action. They move in practiced unison together – dancing forward into battle, one ducking and stabbing as the other swings that war-hammer of his in a brutal arc over the head of his brother-in-arms.
It’s as if the two of them share a single mind between two bodies; their movements pure poetry as they work together.
In just seconds, the first two Scorp fall to the ground in a heap, and the two Aurelians snarl victoriously as they step over the twitching, reptilian bodies and set up defensive positions at the choke point.
Focus, Tammy, focus!
Thanks to those two Aurelians we’re not dead – yet. But the alien kneeling in front of me will be soon, if I don’t continue treating him.
I return my eyes to him. The dying alien looks up at me, and drinks me in with his pained, grey-green eyes.
I know he can’t understand me, but I need this alien to trust me. I run my hand up against his cheek, and the creature looks deep into my soul with those soulful, slate-grey eyes.
I shudder as I realize that perhaps I just imagined the trust in those eyes. They’re like a statue’s eyes – so cold and emotionless. I can’t read anything in them. They’re blank slates; and that worries me that this beast could snap at any moment.
But I have no choice.
Concentrate.
I gently grab the alien’s wrist. At first he won’t budge it from the wound, and it’s futile to try and pull his hand away. It’s like trying to move a steel beam.
I pull back, scared of hurting him – but the moment I do, the alien seems to understand. He wets his lips with his tongue and grunts in pain, reluctantly pulling his hand from the bullet hole.
“Be brave,” I say, but I don’t know if the words are more for the benefit of this alien, or myself. It’s terrifying, knowing what I’ll have to do to save this Aurelian’s life; and also knowing that he’ll have to maintain superhuman control over himself to allow me to treat him.
It’s not even like I could ask Edgar to hold down this alien. As big as he was, Edgar would never be able to subdue this beast of a man if he bucked or twisted like an animal in pain. Even on the brink of death, this green-blooded Aurelian would be stronger than the both of us.
Nervously, I press the pliers into the wound. The alien stiffens and snarls in pain, and I know he must be in overwhelming agony. He reaches forward as if to strike me – tensing every muscle in his body as he does so…
…but then his hand suddenly stops an inch from mine. The alien has managed to control himself – barely. He flashes his gritted teeth and growls as he kneels there; forcing himself to remain still as I fish for the scraps of metal deep inside his bloody flesh.
I work as fast as I can, knowing that every second is agony for this huge alien. After what seems like an eternity of digging around, my pliers finally find something hard deep inside the wound and I struggle to pull it out.
Thank the Gods!
I’ve found the bullet – and, better than that, the homemade slug from Edgar’s rifle seems to be intact. As I pull it from the wound, it comes out in a single piece. A long spurt of blood follows, splattering my bare hand. The blood hisses against my skin, stinging and painful.
His blood is acidic? What kind of Aurelian is he?
Ignoring the discomfort, I move like lightning – dropping the slug to the ground and grabbing the sealant gun. I pray it has enough left in it to close the gaping wound and halt the bleeding.
I aim and pull. The black beam shoots forward and touches the wound. The Aurelian’s flesh pulls together over the jagged injury and the alien bellows in pain – writhing and twisting as I keep the beam centered on his wound.
The other two Aurelians pause from their battle to spare a glance over at us. I know it looks like I’m torturing their friend – and the alien with the scar, who’d saved Tod and Stacey, stares at me with open distrust.
They have the opportunity to stare now. Scorp bodies are piled so high at the doorway that no more of the foul creatures can enter. Despite that, the curly haired warrior with the war-hammer still stands at the ready.
I feel the heat of their eyes on me, and I know what this looks like. There seems to be something primitive about these mysterious Aurelians, and I have the instinctual understanding that they’re confused and suspicious about what would be considered standard medical treatment by any Aurelians we’re more used to encountering.
To these primitives, the situation is this: Their warrior companion, who somehow radiates an aura of leadership despite kneeling wounded on the ground, took a bullet to the chest. Then a woman – a stranger – used a jagged implement to pull metal from the wound. Finally she fired some sort of mysterious beam
