The cold that scrapes and eats away

Into the snowy landscape, they followed their captain.

The cold air brushed against their small and broken bodies as they fell towards the frozen and chilled ground.

The impact for all of them was rough, with the snow not soft or cushiony but more akin to ice that was solid and hard.

Few were able to get up immediately, one of them being Flynn.

-

That…

Maybe he should've put more thought into it…

He stared at the grey sky that held no sun, blocking any warmth from touching his cold body.

He was aching.

More so than before he jumped.

Not to mention his body scraping itself against the hard ground and the numerous grain like pieces of snow, but the cold itself.

It was like it was slowly digging it's way through his wounds and deeper into his body.

It was causing aches and sharp pains and he felt as if he was being gnawed on like a bone in a bored dogs mouth.

The pain…

"…it's time to get up sir."

A voice brought him out of his thoughts, slapping him back to reality.

He turned his head, feeling the pain there too, and looked at the owner of the voice.

"of course it's you."

It's always you.

He didn't say that.

But knew the man was aware of his thoughts.

Flynn.

The man didn't say anything to his words, he simply, and wordlessly, came and picked up the unmoving captain, holding the injured man in his arms.

The two of them made their way back to where others had gathered.

Before they had been noticed, Bell stopped Flynn from moving any farther.

He looked at the man who had carried him this far.

The man looked back at him.

Without a word he put Bell down, slowly until he was sure he would not fall.

He wrapped one of Bells arms over his neck and used that to support him.

Together, they walked towards the others, a word not once said.

Soft clacks as their feet left and returned to the frozen snow.

-

He could barely keep his mind together.

He could barely keep his fingers from trembling.

He could barely keep his mouth from screaming out in frustration and fear.

He wanted to cry.

He wanted to give up.

He wanted to lay down and rest.

But he couldn't.

Not yet.

Not when others still needed him.

He was the only one that could keep them alive.

And he used that truth to support his wavering heart.

As the last medic of the company, it was his responsibility to care for the others and give them the best chance of surviving their wounds, even with the limited resources at his disposal.

And that's what he did.

He raced to and from various green men, going down a list, prioritizing others who needed more urgent care, keeping note of the various injuries that plagued each and every body.

He also kept tabs on their mental state.

This was regardless of the wounds that they had suffered.

And he noticed something.

Well, someone.

Well, maybe something and someone.

First…

Their morale was rock bottom and he could feel that everyone wanted to rest and sleep and ignore the various problems that they were currently facing.

He wanted to do that too.

He really did.

But he, just like the others, knew, they knew, now wasn't the time to close their eyes and accept the cold that will kill them.

No.

They were still willing to fight…

Albeit barely and with heavy reluctance.

Along with this, was the fact that…

There was someone who still held the desire to bite, stab and shoot the bastard Tans.

And it wasn't as if they weren't tired or injured like the rest.

No.

It was more so, even.

When he had seen the man, he was on his back, staring blankly above, emotion non-apparent to those unaware.

He flipped his body over for a closer look.

And found a back that was like a pitted road.

Numerous injuries…

More than enough to kill someone.

Yet he was still alive.

And when he was flipped onto his back once more, their eyes met and he instantly could tell.

He wasn't done yet.

There was still more to do.

And this further motivated him to do his work.

To ensure that that man could do what he needed to do.

It was Pelk's duty as the last medic of the company, after all.

-

Once they arrived, they found almost everyone silent, keeping their pain to themselves.

If Flynn hadn't said anything, they would have wordlessly acknowledged their arrival and simply kept to themselves.

Even the other two Lieutenants.

Miller was keeping an eye on the distant window shaped hole in the attic, while Ostrander had his eyes closed and seemed to be resting.

Seeing this, Bell knew he needed to give them a sense of direction before they became lost amongst this cold.

With some help from Flynn, he sat down on the cold snow, and asked for everyone's attention.

All but the medic turned their heads towards him, as they were treating the wounded.

"we need a headcount. start off with the lieutenant's."

His voice was weak and akin to a raspy whisper but, he was heard nonetheless.

"Ostrander, present."

His voice sounded tired and immediately afterwards, he could be seen closing his eyes as if he had exerted himself.

"Miller… present."

Each word pained him, and he seemed impatient to get this ordeal out of the way.

Finished with his words, he turned back away and continued facing towards the attic.

"Flynn, present."

He wasn't even looking at Bell as he started testing how far his knife would go into the ground.

"now, onto the others…"

Flynn only managed a small divot by the time everyone was accounted for.

-

"seventeen… including us, twenty-one, what can we do…"

A little ways away, Bell held a discussion between between him and the Lieutenants.

A strategic meeting.

"First… thing we… do… is get the… fuck out of… here kugh!

Miller tried but he couldn't help but cough.

His chest injury made it far more difficult to speak.

It was a wonder how he even managed a sentence.

Everyone patiently waited until the man managed to stop coughing, where he continued.

"Too dangerous… the chance of… attack… retaliation… far too likely… in no… condition to… fight them off."

This time, he managed to hold off and fight against the urge, but it was apparent the effort was a physical exertion.

Next to speak was Ostrander, who spoke little.

"I agree with Miller."

It wasn't hard to spot the defeat in his voice.

The man was ready to give up and die.

Next was… Flynn.

He was busy stabbing his knife into the ground.

"I'd love to leave but… too many wounded, we wouldn't even be able to go far with them."

Everyone else was also aware of this fact.

But none spoke about that implication, they simply wanted to leave the area and escape.

None spoke, letting the man voice his opinion uninterrupted.

He kept digging into the snow with his knife, eyes fixed on it, it seemed as if he was bored.

"We need to go somewhere, and honestly I don't happen to know where that place would be, so, I figure…"

He went silent.

Everyone continued to watch as he carved the snow with his knife.

Eventually, he seemed to have dug out a small amount of snow, managing to put his fist in the hole he made.

Satisfied, he stabbed his knife into the ground, the handle facing towards the sky.

He looked up from what he was doing and caught the eyes of all that watched him.

"… why not make that place ourselves."

Everyone looked at one another, each seeing the same realization in the others eyes.

Why not indeed.