Blood stung as a line of it whipped across my face. The Hierarch's headless body toppled backwards like a bowling pin. It landed on the floor with a heavy, meaty thump.

I slowly lowered my shard, then placed it carefully on the ground.

After a moment of blank staring, I stood up and stepped over the Hierarch, picking my way back to the living room.

Once there, I stood quietly in the doorway and observed the carnage spread out before me. My eyes were drawn to the Singer, or what was left of it. My strafing had been eminently effective; the intestines I'd seen through its skin were now fully revealed — spread across the floor in elegant, loopy patterns. Sparks travelled along the organs as though they were live wires, flickering in the puddles of black, oily blood on the floor.

The three Hierarchs Jake had killed were still crumpled in the positions they'd fallen — like discarded dolls. All the dust and debris we'd unsettled in the fight was slowly drifting to the floor, the tiny particles lit up gold by the red sunset outside. It was strangely beautiful, settling over the bodies and broken furniture like a blanket being softly placed over the whole mess, covering it up.

It felt like there was a thick, still barrier between me and reality of the carnage before me. It was nice, that barrier — like being suspended in a bubble.

I stepped forward, and winced slightly as something jagged and sharp bit into my foot, piercing through the numbness surrounding me.

I looked down.

It was one of Jake's shards — I could tell because even being this close to it made me feel uncomfortable, repelled.

Why was the shard separate from Jake? That seemed wrong somehow.

Jake.

I snapped out of my shock, like someone had thrown a glass of cold water over my face, or vomited on my shoes.

Jake.

I hurried over to his side. He was dead white, and completely still — several of his limbs at strange angles to his body. I quickly felt for his pulse.

I could feel it — weak and erratic, but there. I put my hand over his lips and nearly passed out with relief when I felt his breath against my skin.

I studied the way he was crumpled on the floor. The amount of times he'd been thrown into the wall by the Hierarch, he could easily have a spinal injury. In the real world, I wouldn't risk moving him — I'd call an ambulance — but this wasn't the real world, and piercing even the thick emotional fog surrounding me was the sharp fear that more Hierarchs would arrive at any moment. They'd had radios, hadn't they? Surely a military force would radio for help, or at least notify someone of their co-ordinates before walking into a fight. I had to get us out of here, and Jake had to be conscious for that — because he was the only one who could open the door back home.

I touched his face tentatively. "Jake? Jake?" His eyes didn't flicker. I had a brief and ugly urge to smack him — like they do in old movies — but I was pretty much one hundred per cent certain that slapping was something that the medical profession strongly disapproved of nowadays.

I considered dragging him, but where? Back to the room with brains spattered all over the walls?

There had to be first aid supplies somewhere. A solution finally struck me and I jumped to my feet, refusing to think about it too much before I knelt down next to the Hierarch whose neck Jake had broken and patting him down — half afraid that he would suddenly sit up and get mad about the theft.

I finally found a flat box tucked into a compartment of his shiny black breastplate, and pulled it out — my heart in my mouth. I studied it in the fading light, and saw that it was white, with a large red cross emblazoned on the front. It seemed some symbols transcended cultures, or alternate dimensions, or whatever this was.

I attempted to open it with fumbling fingers, frantically trying to remember my Saint John's Ambulance training. I had a certificate in First Aid, dammit — but no one had ever told me how to deal with massive trauma injuries inflicted by alien magic guns.

I finally got the catch open, and froze in shock when I saw that it was entirely empty, except for what looked a lot like a metallic, futuristic EpiPen. Trust me to pick the soldier with allergies.

Swearing quietly and continuously, I dropped the kit, and made my way over to the female Hierarch, finding her first aid box tucked away in the front of her armour, too. The kit was identical to her male counterpart's, except much bloodier. Strangely, the sensation of her still-warm blackish blood on my skin didn't provoke any reaction in me except for a comforting sense of distance. 

I cracked the box open and found its contents to be identical to the first: that is to say, empty — except for a metallic, cylindrical object a bit smaller than the length of my outstretched hand.

It seemed the Hierarchs didn't see the need for anything as useful as bandages or painkillers; not that I could see bandages or painkillers having much of an effect on Jake in his current-crushed-half-to-death state. For all I knew, he could be internally bleeding to death as I crouched there, staring stupidly at the object in my hands.

I had two options: try to splint Jake's injuries with bits of furniture and rags torn from my deeply inappropriate lace dress — the pain of which would probably put him into shock — and hope he gained consciousness (and didn't die) before the Hierarchs arrived to finish us off; or use the mysterious alien medicine which may be nothing but a jolt of adrenalin, or painkillers — or something entirely unknown.

It wasn't much of a choice, though I'm sure medical professionals would disagree with my somewhat blasé attitude towards unidentified substances.

Lily is very, very allergic to peanuts. I've known how to handle an EpiPen since I was ten. This wasn't that different.

I flicked the safety catch off the end, gripped the metal tightly, and plunged the blunt end of the pen down against Jake's thigh. I felt the pen shiver in my fist as the needle inside deployed, and held it tightly for ten seconds — counting under my breath. One elephant. Two elephants. Three elephants...

Of course, I didn't know if this really was an EpiPen, but when in doubt, cling to familiar routines, that's what I always say — and it seemed to be working. Jake's eyes jolted open and he convulsed, all his limbs seeming to snap back into place.

He glared at me. "What are you saying about elephants?"

I hunched forward in relief. "Oh, bloody hell."

He kept glaring at me, and seemed to be taking the elephant question quite seriously, so I felt obliged to answer him.

"I was counting. For the injection."

I helped him sit up, though he shrugged off my help as soon as he was moderately vertical, leaning limply against the wall.

He looked down at the pen still sticking out of his leg, and pulled it out, studying it. I did too, interested. Unlike a normal EpiPen, the needle didn't retract within the casing once used — it was still sticking out. Very unhygienic, in my opinion.

All of a sudden, Jake grabbed my hair close to the scalp, jerked my head down so I was off balance, and lined the still-bloody point of the needle up with my eye.

"You're a Hound, aren't you?" he hissed. "A new type of Scout."

On impulse, I punched him in the stomach, and jerked my head away in a feat of dexterity I hadn't know I was capable of, twisting so the needle seared a thin line of pain across my cheekbone, but didn't take my eye out.

He let me go and started wheezing, doubling up. Since I hadn't punched him that hard, he must have still been quite severely battered from the fight. Maybe I should have felt bad about that. But I didn't. At all.

I scrabbled backwards, thumping into a dead Hierarch and clutching my cheek.

"What are you doing, you maniac!? I've saved your life at least three fricking times tonight — you ungrateful psychopathic piece of crap!"

He stared at me, still wheezing, and I continued my diatribe. "Do you have blood-borne diseases? You've probably infected me!" The cut on my cheek stung. I glared at him. "What the hell!"

I brought my hand away from my cheek — trying to see if I was bleeding from the needle attack — but my hands were already so bloodstained that I honestly couldn't tell.

I stared at my red fingers and palms for a few moments, and felt the calm bubble that Jake had (literally and figuratively) punctured with his sudden assault deflating at a dizzying rate. Suddenly, I could smell the room — blood, metal, smoke — and death.

It became difficult to breathe.

^^^

Author's Note:

Thank you everyone for reading! Let me know how you found the chapter, please vote or comment if you enjoyed! :)

For more Anna check out the tumblr (there's fan art there now?!): http://annawakes.tumblr.com/

Or the (super awesome) soundtracks: http://8tracks.com/annawakes