RED: Itachi Uchiha

два - dvah - 2

The Red Cross insignia on Danica’s arm was as bright as the dawn. Vibrant vermillion. The colour red followed her everywhere she went. On the band of her medic insignia, the scarlet painted on her lips…the blood on her hands.

“I need a tourniquet and some forceps!” The doctor called, his voice had an eerie calm to it. He had seen this all before, as had Danica. The injured man writhed like a coiling snake; nearby nurses held him down as they attempted to administer a shot of morphine. He wasn’t a huge man, more a boy. His cries echoed around the hospital room, bouncing of the newly washed tiles.

“He’s bleeding out, I need them forceps please nurse.” The doctor pressed down on the young man’s thigh where pools of blood continued to spurt out. Danica looped the tourniquet around the top of the man’s thigh and pulled – hard.

“Yamero!” Stop! The young man cried, the nurses pushed back, pinning him to the bed. Danica glanced at the crying male, the blood still pooling around her hands, the fabric of his torn pants gulping the escaping red liquid. The doctor cursed, his own hands slick and incarnadine; the forceps were slippery in his fingers, one false move and the man would die, a part of him wanted to fumble, to let the bastard die.

“Will one of you hold this Harbour-Bomber still, before I cut his fucking leg off!” The doctor cursed, his grip on the man’s leg momentarily faltering. Danica bristled, her brow furrowing together.

“I think you need to leave Doctor Pavlov.” Danica ordered, beside her, the nurses watched wide-eyed, they still restraining the young man. “Now.” Danica reiterated, her tone icy verging on venomous. Doctor Pavlov’s nostrils flared like a raging bull; he was a good doctor, the War simply hindered his Hippocratic oath. Pavlov stormed off, a cloud of colourful language storming overhead. Danica stared at the remaining nurses, her hand still holding onto the tourniquet in an iron vice grip. Like mice they scuttled off after the fuming doctor.

“Dangan.” Bullet. Danica motioned to the crying man’s thigh; he was barely twenty. Alone, scared. He had every right to cry out. He just didn’t deserve the type of shit that Doctor Pavlov tried to pull. They held each other’s gaze; despite the language barrier the young man seemed to understand Danica’s broken Japanese. Sweat drenched and pallid the young man nodded in understanding; grabbing the bars of the bed the man prepared himself for the pain that was to ensue.

Danica worked quickly and efficiently; it didn’t take her long to suture up the bleeding artery and extract the offending bullet. He was lucky. Although pale, the young man was no longer on death’s door, no reaper lurked behind the cubicle curtain and no priest was needed to give the poor man his last rights. Instead he lay drifting in and out of morphine dreams, high and unaware of how close he came­ to feeling death’s eternal touch. It would have been the last touch he felt.

Twelve hours in and Danica was waning. Her shoulders ached, and her back was as stiff as a board; her skin was glowing with sweat and the bags beneath her eyes were deeper than usual. Footsteps made her stop what she was doing.

“Dani? Are you ok?” A light, lilting voice called from behind her. Immediately the scent of patchouli drifted by her nostrils; clean, crisp. Klara Lebedeva. Simply put, Klara was beautiful. Tall, elegant. She was a ballerina before the War started; she had traded her tutus and pointe shoes for gauze and overalls. Danica turned and smiled; stray curls sprouted from beneath her nurse’s cap, she looked more mad-woman than medic.

Klara on the other hand. The blonde was radiant. Waves of honey-blonde hair peeked from beneath her nurse’s cap, coiffed curls that remained immaculate throughout all of her shifts. Witchcraft if you asked Danica.

“Klara,” Danica’s smiled widened, it was hard not to around Klara; she was a ray of sunshine. Sometimes people had to avert their eyes as she was too bright, too intimidating. Others basked in her warmth, she could make anyone feel wanted or special. She cared. She genuinely wanted to make a difference in this hell-hole. “I'm fine, I just need to keep away from Doctor Pavlov before I ram a pair of forceps up his arse. Svolach.”

“I heard what went on - how's the patient doing? Marvellous if your handiwork is anything to go by.” Klara grinned, catching the attention of nearby soldiers who whispered in hushed tones amongst themselves. “Has he said much?” Klara eyed the sleeping man with feline precision, her hazel orbs never missing a single detail.

Danica shook her head and sat up from her chair; the sturdy stool made her back ache even more and gave her crying legs no reprieve. “Aside from asking us to stop earlier, not a peep out of him. I managed to say he had a bullet in his leg and from there it was smooth sailing.”

“Speaking of smooth sailing, I think you should have a break before you end up in the bed beside him. I'll cover for you. You can't fight Doctor Pavlov, running on empty.” Klara offered, the bags beneath Danica’s eyes felt as heavy as her legs did. Sleep sounded wonderful. Even the word made her stomach flip and toes curl.

“Klara, if I've not told you before, I love you and you're an angel.”

“Oh, I know.”

***

Danica was surrounded by green. Rich, vibrant foliage that sang out to her; it called to the blood in her veins and the dust of her bones. The song of the wild had choruses of tall fir trees, their roots winding deep into the bass of the earth. The canopy was thick and luscious. Neighbouring trees mingled together, their branches reaching towards one another, like lovers leaning into an embrace.

The song was interrupted by screaming. The sound was hoarse, as if the creature making the sound had been doing it for a while. Danica searched the woods, her eyes darting about frantically. The shadows in between tree trunks eddied and swirled in retaliation. This was not their doing. She began to run towards the screams; they crescendoed, arcing in pitch and desperation.

Then they stopped.

Danica halted, the mud piling around her boots. The woods became silent, unnaturally so. Then she heard it. Low, visceral. Danica held her breath. She was standing upwind when the scent of tangy copper drifted by on the breeze. Fresh blood.

Then a sudden jolt had her waking up.

“Dani! We need help!” Klara called, her tone was urgent. Scared. Klara was never scared. “Dani now!”

Disorientated, Danica assessed the room she was in. The same hospital room she had fell asleep in. Her chest pounded and a fine sweat laced her skin, more than she had accumulated on her shift. Whatever evil lurked in the woods, it was near.

It had come to the hospital.