Page 15 of Beast in the Badlands
Each wire I touch sends a jolt through me, a reminder of my own frayed edges. Kairon’s voice echoes in my mind, heavy with authority.Loyalty means waiting, not fighting.At the time, I scoffed at that notion. I believed action defined loyalty—charging into the fray for those you cared about, teeth bared and claws ready.
But now, as I sit here piecing together a transmitter that might save both of us, the weight of his words settles around me like armor. Waiting feels more treacherous than any battle. It breeds uncertainty; it gnaws at my insides like acid.
I pause mid-task and glance toward the empty chair where Emry usually sleeps. The fabric is rumpled and worn—remnants of her presence linger in the air. A growl slips from my throat, low and primal, as frustration boils beneath the surface.
I miss her. And I fucking hate it.
Her fierce spirit should fill this room, reminding me that life continues even amid ruin. But without her here, shadows stretch long and suffocating around me. I can almost picture her leaning back in that chair with her arms crossed, a smirk dancing on herlips as she’d call me out for wasting time moving around instead of resting.
“Stop staring at it like it’s going to bite you,” she’d say with that sharp wit of hers.
With a deep breath, I return to the task at hand. Fingers fumble but move with renewed purpose; each connection a promise to myself and to Emry—that I won’t give up.
The silence wraps around me again, heavier than before. I close my eyes for a moment and remember Kairon during one of our many raids—the chaos swirling around us as we tore through enemy lines under blaring alarms and smoke-filled skies.
Kairon stood tall amid the storm, commanding presence slicing through confusion like a knife through flesh. He caught my gaze then—his eyes unwavering—and reminded me again that sometimes we must endure pain instead of charging forward into blind aggression.
A memory sparks; him turning back to face me just before diving headlong into battle:“Patience is strength.”I thought he was wrong then—too cautious for a Reaper's heart—but now? Now those words sink deep within me.
I’m learning to wait—to fight when it counts—but every second spent here without Emry twists something inside me tighter than any battlefield ever could.
CHAPTER 12
EMRY
The moment I step back into the Coalition med zone, a wave of familiar chaos washes over me. The air smells of antiseptic and despair, a mixture that sticks to my skin like oil. Eyes lift from makeshift cots—some relieved to see me, others narrow with suspicion.
I nod to them, feigning confidence. “I was out scouting for supplies.” Technically true. Just not the whole truth.
As I cross the threshold into the triage area, the chaos consumes me. A young woman screams, cradling her arm—twisted at an unnatural angle—while a man nearby mutters incoherently about shadows chasing him. Burn victims lie on stretchers, their skin mottled and blistered, each breath they take more labored than the last.
“Emry!” A voice breaks through the din; it’s Kira, her eyes frantic as she rushes toward me. “We need help over here!”
I spring into action without hesitation, pushing aside thoughts of Renn and our time together in that dilapidated med outpost. That momentary calm feels like a lifetime away now. My hands work deftly as I assess the injuries: bandaging wounds, providing comfort to those suffering both physically and mentally.
But it hits harder now. The pain etched on their faces pulls at something deep inside me—a raw ache that claws its way up my throat. I’ve seen quiet with Renn, moments when nothing existed but his presence and our shared breaths in a world turned to ash. Here? Here it’s loud; here is where I feel the weight of existence pressing down like a leaden blanket.
I patch up a burn victim—his skin raw and red—and something shifts in me as he meets my gaze with gratitude that lingers longer than expected. Being thrown back into this chaos after being with Renn changes everything.
I glance around at the people waiting for care—their eyes filled with hope and desperation—and realize how much I've taken on in this role as medic. It’s not just about saving lives anymore; it’s about being seen amidst the wreckage.
“Next!” I call out sharply, but even I hear the tremor beneath my voice as I turn away from that boy's grateful smile. There’s an urgency now—not just for these people but for myself—to fight against apathy, against surrendering to despair.
I keep my head down, hands moving, but the whispers thread through the chaos around me like a dark current. The war is getting worse. Coalition lines are collapsing. The chance of evacuation? Slim to none. Each word weighs heavier than the last, and I force myself to focus on the patient in front of me, even as my heart sinks with every passing moment.
Kira slips in beside me, her brow furrowed in concentration as she helps restrain a soldier flailing on a cot. He thrashes, pain twisting his features into a mask of agony.
“Where’ve you been all this time?” she asks between gritted teeth, trying to keep him still while I work on cleaning his wounds.
“Scouting.” I force the word out, my voice clipped. “Crashed ship.”
She shoots me a look that demands more explanation, but I don’t give it. I can’t afford to think about what Renn might be doing right now or how far away he feels.
“It was picked over by the time I got there,” I add quickly, trying to shift the focus back to him instead of the emptiness that fills me.
Kira huffs as she shifts her grip on the soldier’s arm, meeting my eyes with that fierce determination I admire. She’s a civilian—a regular girl who somehow fell into this life and took to it like a duck to water after some rough training sessions with me.
“We could’ve used you here,” she snaps as she holds him steady. “I had no idea how much blood this guy lost before you showed up.”
