The Glader

Chuck

 The cry ripped at my heart as Chuck fell to the ground.

Blood bubbled from his mouth, and his body was shaking.

No. Not Chuck. Not Chuck. Chuck is only thirteen years old- how can he die?

Not Chuck.

Not Chuck.

Please not Chuck.

"Chuck!" Tommy screamed, his voice ripping through the air, "Chuck!"

Please...

I couldn't move, only watch, as Thomas fell numbly to the floor next to his friend, tears pouring down his cheeks.

"Chuck..."

My own eyes were blurring.

How could they do this?

How could the Creators be so heartless?

Chuck was only a kid...

Chuck's eyes opened a crack. "Thom...mas?" he asked, his vice weak.

"Hang on, Chuck. Don't die- fight it." Thomas said, his voice shaking, "Someone get help!"

There was no help coming.

It was too late.

There was nothing...

I touched my face to find it wet.

Not Chuck.

"Thomas," Chuck moaned. Then he coughed, a horrible wracking cough.

I flinched when red flecked the air.

It was too late.

Too late.

For all my time as a med-jack, I knew.

Once someone started coughing blood, they weren't going to live long.

Not Chuck.

"Find... my mom." Chuck coughed again, then continued, "Tell her..."

Then he stopped, growing still.

Horribly still.

I pressed a hand to my mouth to muffle a sob.

We had lost so many.

So many.

But this was the worst.

Chuck had never done anything wrong in his life. He had been a kid. A bloody kid.

It couldn't be him, lying there with a knife in his chest, it couldn't be.

Tears splattered the floor, and they weren't just mine.