Contracts

Not Peace, But Trouble

"Okay Gerard, we're on Wall Street, now what?" I asked, running beside Orin as we passed through the business-centered district. I gulped as I saw that the vast majority of the buildings were in shambles. Large-scale, roaring fires raged inside the crumbled buildings, various other Holy Hunters, paramedics, firefighters and first-responders were scattered around the scene, treating for shock, wounds and searching for survivors. The odd civilian was lying around here and there, a flock of medical professionals swarmed near each one.

"The area's been blocked off, so don't worry about the surrounding area," Gerard responded. "But there are still victims and other non-combative personnel nearby, so be careful."

I hummed in response, continuing to scan the area around me. I heard a scream. I snapped my head in the direction of the cry. A young woman, looking to be no older than fifteen, was trapped underneath a pile of rubble. A large slab of concrete had her pinned to the ground. Everything from her midriff down was covered by the debris. She had her teeth gritted in agony, a small skein of blood trailing down her jaw. She had bruises littering her face, her torn, black hoodie bloody and streaked with dirt. I gasped as the girl raised her head to us. Her matted, sweat-soaked, raven hair stuck to her face, her bright, lavender eyes wide with fear and pain.

Violet Graham.

"Hang on!" I shouted without thinking. My feet surged forward on their own. I felt Orin's hand lock itself around my wrist. I pulled free with ease. I knelt before Violet, she whimpered in pain, her breathing ragged and quick. She was shaking uncontrollably, clawing at the ground in a desperate attempt to live. I looked down, her small hands were smeared with blood. Her fingertips scraped raw from her struggling.  "Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" she gasped, it sounded like she couldn't breathe. She clutched at my sleeve, tears pricking at her round eyes. "Help me, please, please. I'm begging you, help me."

She didn't have to tell me more than once. I placed my hands on the ground, splaying my fingers apart on the concrete. I took a deep breath in, lowering my body temperature. I felt a chill run through my body, my blood akin to ice. I exhaled, my breath leaving my lips in a frigid puff despite the warm climate. Two pillars of ice formed beside Violet, both of them slowly lifting the stone and metal from her. I pressed my palms into the ground, straining to remove the debris from the girl. I winced, feeling the slight burn of frostbite gnaw at the pads of my fingers. I let out one last burst of energy, the ice fully elevating the concrete. Violet took in gulps of air, gasping and coughing. I gently flipped her onto her back, she groaned in discomfort as I did so. I placed my hands under her arms, dragging her away from the destruction. I laid her back down on the ground when I felt that she was at a safe distance. She placed an arm over her abdomen, wailing in pain.

"My name is Angela, am I allowed to help you?" I asked. Violet looked up at me, panicked and terrified.

"Yes, yes dear God," she shuddered. "Just don't let me die, I can't die yet."

"I won't, you're going to be okay, alright?" I reassured. I unclipped the medical kit from my utility belt, taking out rolls of gauze, sutures, tweezers, antiseptic, water and anesthesia. "Your name's Violet, right?"

"Yeah," she muttered through gritted teeth.

"Okay, Violet, you're going to be okay," I said in a calm voice. "Can you tell me where you're injured?"

"My stomach," she wheezed. I looked down at her abdomen, where blood had long been seeping through the tattered shreds of black fabric that hung from her body. "My stomach hurts so much."

I gently moved Violet's arm from her torso, peeling the ripped hoodie up and away from the injured area. A large gash, the size of my forearm, was sliced across the midsection of her abdomen. The wound pulsed and gushed blood. Red pouring down Violet's sides, the metallic liquid pooling around her. I pulled out multiple rolls of gauze, tearing off large strips. I pressed them against the wound, applying as much pressure as possible. A strangled scream escaping her lips. She clawed and clutched at my arm.