Chapter Thirty-Three Chloe
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chloe
Chloe saw Aletta’s eyes widen, and she slowly looked down at her own middle.
She’d known it was bad when her body had been hit with such a burning, intense pain, but this .
. . she swallowed, surprised when the pain lifted somewhat.
It still hurt, but the pain was no longer searing like it had been.
When she’d fallen, it had been all consuming, stopping her from being able to take another step, but now it was only a dull thud, even though she still couldn’t move.
She placed her hands to her stomach, knowing from her friend’s pained, desperate reaction, that her not feeling it as acutely as she had wasn’t indicative of the wound not being so bad.
Because the bullet had ricocheted straight into her torso, and she knew there was no way anyone could survive a shot like that.
I’m dying.
Tears pricked her eyes and she closed them, trying to accept what she knew to be true.
Aletta dropped to her knees before her and opened her arms, cradling Chloe to her chest as she cried, her hands pressing against Chloe’s, trying to stem the blood flow.
Her hands felt slippery from her own blood, and she found she had to focus on every breath now, on the pull and push of every movement of her chest.
‘We’re so close, Chloe.’
She looked up and saw Emma. The woman who’d become like a mother to her. Her friend. Her confidante. Her eyes were glistening with tears.
Emma knew that she didn’t have long.
‘Just hold on, Chloe. You just need to hold on,’ Aletta begged.
But Chloe knew that she couldn’t fight it, that no matter how hard she wanted to stop what was happening, she couldn’t.
Her body was too cold. It was as if she’d been plunged into winter; icy fingers danced across her skin and left her shivering, her breath coming in little pants now.
But she couldn’t feel the pain, not now.
All she could feel was Aletta’s panic, listening to her frantic sobs as her chest rose and then fell; all she could see was the sadness in Emma’s gaze; all she could hear were the shouts and cries of others, of the other women who were supposed to be safe.
She could still hear the gunshots echoing in her mind, even though she knew the planes were gone, and she closed her eyes tightly now, not wanting to imagine how many other women had been shot.
We were supposed to be safe. We were finally supposed to be safe from harm.
‘Chloe, you listen to me, you need to hold on until we can get help.’
‘I can’t,’ she whispered, as Aletta’s hold on her tightened, as her own fingers slipped from her middle. ‘You need—’
‘No!’ Aletta cried. ‘Don’t say that! You can, you have to hold on. Please, Chloe, please.’ Her friend’s voice broke then as emotion bubbled into her words, as her tears seemed to choke her.
‘Aletta, you need to––’ She gasped and forced in a breath. ‘You need to live for the both of us.’
She heard Aletta’s fresh sob, but she felt so cold that she could barely swallow now, let alone reach out to her. It took everything she had to try to form fresh words, to make her tongue move and her voice obey her as Aletta folded her body over hers.
‘You can’t leave me, Chloe. Please, stay with us.
You have to stay with us,’ Aletta begged.
‘I can carry you to safety, we can get help, we can . . .’ Aletta’s voice drifted to silence and Chloe wished she could comfort her.
That she could wrap her own arms around Aletta and hold her close, that she could say something to make these last moments easier.
Emma was on her knees now, tucked in beside them, her fingers gentle as they stroked Chloe’s hair, smoothing it from her forehead.
It was a mother’s touch, and one she craved.
Emma’s warm gaze, laced with sorrow, told her that she knew this was the end, that there was nothing anyone could do to save her.
It didn’t matter how hard Chloe wanted to fight; she couldn’t. Death was already reaching out to her with its ice-cold touch, calling to her.
‘Don’t ever let them forget,’ Chloe rasped, as her hands fell to her sides, while Aletta frantically grabbed for her and pressed both their hands on her wound, as if she could single-handedly force her to stay alive, to keep fighting.
‘You find your Harry. Do you hear me?’ she coughed, the words almost impossible to expel.
‘You don’t stop until you find your Harry. And the papers . . .’
She heard Aletta gasp; she heard the pained cries of the two people who’d loved her so much, who’d cared for her and pulled her through her darkest times; her little camp family.
She felt their hands on her skin, felt Emma’s lips press against her forehead, felt the warmth of Aletta’s breath as she collapsed over her again and begged her not to go.
She felt every wave of their pain as her own shuddered through her.
And as she drifted away, as her pain eased completely and warmth finally surrounded her, she knew that she could face her maker with an open heart, knowing that she’d done everything she could to save the people she loved.
Knowing that she’d lived her life with love and compassion, with as much sense of duty as had been within her power.
She’d saved her brother, had given herself to protect him, and now she’d saved Aletta, too. And she’d do it all over again, in a heartbeat.
Perhaps this was what she’d been placed on this earth to do: save the lives of those she loved.