“Is... okay,” Tore says, his voice weak and husky. He is forcing words that should not come.
The others slip to the other side of the bed. We gather around the mortally wounded man and we watch, knowing what is coming. I heard them talking. He needs surgery. But there can be no surgery here.
“I don’t want you to die,” I whisper, hot tears running down my cheeks, dripping onto his skin, making a little rivulet of red run down the side of his face.
“We... all die,” he rasps. “Live first. Live... first.”
With those words, he slips back into unconsciousness. I start to sob, but nothing is bringing him back now. This beautiful, powerful, masterful man has been destroyed by the death I brought to this part of the world. This is my fault. This is...
“Trissa. Come over here. You need to eat.”
I refuse. I will not eat. I will not drink. I will not do anything until the inevitable happens. I will stay right here. I will be by his side as he passes. Because that is all I can do now, and I will damn well do it.
The day is long. The others try to cajole me away several times, but I will not move. I cling to Tore, watching every labored, shallow breath he takes until finally exhaustion draws me down.
* * *
The next day is verymuch the same. Tore is weak, and growing weaker. I overhear conversations nobody should ever have to hear, let alone have.
“...him out of his misery,” I hear Silver murmur to Alexios.
“No.” Alexios shakes his head. “He may recover.”
“He’s bleeding out,” Silver rumbles softly. “There’s the slow death and the quick one. I know which one I’d rather have.”
“He has her,” Alexios whispers, flicking his eyes to where I lie, cuddled up with Tore. “Let him have her as long as he can.”
That ends the conversation, or at least, what I can hear of it.
I am devoid of hope. I am numb with misery. I never wanted to be sold to these men, and now they have laid down their lives for me. Tore has me by his side, but Keanau, Cowboy, Zen, they died holding off the invaders. They died to keep me safe. I owe them a debt I will never, ever be able to repay.
Weak fingers curl around my hand. It’s Tore.
He looks into my eyes. I look into his, as best I can through the welling tears.
“I... was always... going to die,” he breathes. “But... I... had... you... first.”
“I am so sorry,” I sob, my hot tears making his pale skin all wet.
I see a spark of light blaze in those stunning blue eyes.
“Worth it.”
* * *
Those are the lastwords he ever says.
Another day dawns. I wake with a start, sensing in my sleep that I have missed something important. The body beside me is no longer taut with pain. Instead it is just heavy and hard.
“Tore?”
I reach out to touch him. My fingers brush his cheek. He is cold to the touch. Too cold for any living being. He is gone.
The cry that erupts from my throat is almost inhuman. It wakes the others from their slumbers and it begins the mourning of a man who deserved so much more than this.
I clutch Tore, wrap my arms around him and refuse to let go. In the end, Alexios and Pharaoh have to transfer my miserable grasp to Silver while they wrap Tore’s body in the blanket on which we laid, and move him to the very back of the shelter, where it is coolest. We will bury him later. We will bury him when we find the others and bury them.
It is strange, but there is some odd comfort in him being there. It is just his body, but we are less alone for it. That is twisted, I know, but when my father died, his body was taken by scavengers. I never said goodbye to him. I ran and I ran and when I returned there were just bones, scattered about. I buried them as best I could, alone in the desert. This time, I will not be alone.