Bring her along

You kick the dying man with your boot. He gurgles once and tries to grab your ankle then goes still, eyes fixed on the ceiling. You don’t waste a second thought on him.

“Get up,” you tell the girl. “We’re leaving.”

She nods fast while clutching her torn blouse together. You point to the bar counter. “Clothes back there bartender’s storeroom find something that fits.”

While she disappears behind the counter, you strip the dead.

First soldier with his AK47 with two spare magazines, a Tokarev pistol and one F1 grenade. Second soldier the same rifle, three magazines, no pistol and two grenades. The third only a pistol left with half a magazine and one grenade taped to his belt like he was proud of it.

You take everything. Magazines go in pockets, grenades on your belt and pistols tucked away. The rifles you sling crossed over your back. Heavy, but you’ll manage.

The girl comes back wearing an oversized waiter’s shirt and a pair of cook’s trousers cinched tight with a belt made from a tablecloth. The sleeves hang past her hands. She looks ridiculous and alive.

She stops in front of you, eyes on the floor. “Thank you,” she says, voice small but steady. “They were… they were going to…” She can’t finish she doesn’t need to.

You grunt, already moving toward the door. “Stay close. Don’t talk unless I tell you.”

Outside, the street is still burning, fires crackling in the distance. You check the sky. East is starting to pale. Dawn soon. The cathedral is six blocks away, its broken tower visible above the rooftops.

You adjust the rifles on your shoulders, feel the comforting weight of the grenades, and start walking.

The girl falls in step behind you, barefoot but silent.

Next stop, the old cathedral.