Raising the squeeze-bottle to her eyes, she inspected the colourless liquid; it was clear and without contaminants.
Popping off the nozzle revealed that it was still sealed, too; how fortunate.
Casting aside the sealant, Ruth tested the water content on her palm.
'The salt concentration is high.'
That fact brought its own problems, but Ruth could not care; she just needed her wound cleaned.
Ruth pulled on her wound gently, opening the saltwater, pus, and blood-filled slit with a wince.
Commenting bluntly, "definitely infected..." before pointing the bottle's nozzle into the wound and squeezing.
Ruth's torso was punctured by broken glass, so there were undoubtedly a few tiny shards embedded within her flesh.
But that required 'finesse', precision and tools Ruth did not have, nor was it an ordeal she could bother herself with.
Pain radiated from the wound as the slurry was flushed from the slit; Ruth used one of the cloths to clean the expelled liquids.
With another cloth, doused in the remaining saline water, Ruth packed the wound.
A groan left her lips as she leaned back, tired, limp against the matted cushion.
"Overseer..."
With a soft plop, a few blankets were laid beside Ruth.
Rene had returned with little else, but he also brought along a pillow.
"I'm glad that so many things remain here. I figured that Pandemonium might've salvaged all that this town had..."
"They'd have little use for pillows and blankets, let alone rudimentary medication and whatnot."
"I know, but still... We're quite fortunate."
As Ruth draped herself with another blanket, she raised a brow at Rene, joking grimly.
"Your standard of fortune is terribly low, Captain Rene.
"Then... would it be wrong to say we're lucky to be still alive?"
Ruth undressed, tossing her white coat and blouse into Rene's arms.
"Lucky, huh..." She quietly echoed, looking at Rene with a conflicted gaze, "Don't put all your pride and sentiments on something like 'luck', Captain Rene."
Wrapping herself in another blanket, Ruth splayed herself on the couch, shivering lightly, wincing as she lay her head on the pillow Rene brought.
"I've... already contacted Headquarters about our situation, but I've also initiated Seclusion Protocol, so don't expect any further words from Headquarters hereafter. If you hear anything suspicious from the communicator, don't reply...
"I'm resting now... If I'm not awake by sunrise... Leave me, hide... and await reinforcements..."
"Will reinforcements actually come?"
"They must..."
Ruth muttered, letting fatigue lull her into sleep.
Rene sighed.
He rose from the matted cushions before departing from the room.
...
Gurgle.
Bubbles rose from the deep abyss, bursting and spreading into the air.
A crimson hue falls onto the sea, revealing a small figure—two figures, upon closer inspection—breaching the surface.
One gasped for air, wretching a mixture of seawater from her lungs, as well as a few flicks of red.
"Over—...Seer!"
Rene called out, sputtering water out of his mouth.
He grabbed for a piece of floating debris, hauling the woman onto something solid.
"Captain..." Ruth called out, peeling hair off her face as she gazed at the sight of crimson flames and groaning metal vessels.
Their iron tongue sang a deafening tune.
"Sear—... —vors!"
The world drowned her voice, but Rene could understand the meaning regardless.
But he hesitated.
He gazed at the five pillars of crimson flames, outstretched like a dying hand reaching to the heavens.
But he relented; he could not defy orders.
Rene left Ruth clinging to the debris while he swam back to the wrecks.
...
Rene sat on the edge of the medical centre's rooftop.
It wasn't a particularly tall building, but it gave him more than enough height to see the imperceptible horizon.
The winds were gentle, and they breathed with quiet grace, rich with the scent of earth and vegetation.
Petrichor, he vividly remembered this smell.
Though the starless night concealed the storm clouds, it could not withhold the earthy tones flowing from afar.
It was a distinct smell that he was very familiar with.
Part of the reason was due to instinct.
When deployed on long expeditions, he always had to keep track of the weather.
But Rene had another reason, too...
His gaze was lost to the horizon, the dark and empty horizon, towards the east and the sea from which he washed ashore.
'Lucky...' He chuckled, 'What a joke.'
He felt the first droplets of water already beginning to fall from the skies.
Slapping a hand to his face, rubbing his brow against his palm as he recited his optimism—his beautiful lie—'lucky', over and over in his mind.
He covered his eyes. He covered his sight.
Rene could see the crimson on the horizon, the outstretched hand and rising smoke; Rene could hear the groans of metal and roaring of flame; he could feel the heat of the flames and he could taste smoke on his tongue.
Rene could not smell the petrichor or the scent of blood...
"I hope... that you're all out there."
He wished quietly, voice drifting with the winds.
Rain and mist embraced his form, further drenching his already soaked black coat and shrouding the world in delusion.
"We'll find you... I'm sure of it."
It was a promise spoken to himself.
Removing his hand from his face, Rene opened his eyes, thus returning his gaze to the world.
Even as the pita-pat of rain surrounded him, Rene did not move, but as a quiet sigh seemed to float into his mind—a memory—Rene looked down.
'...' He pondered silently about the woman within the beneath this rooftop.
'She should be safe here. I don't see anything within a hundred meters... I don't think anything would be around, anyways...'
But Rene shook his head at that thought.
'I'll just take a look around; there is still a few hours till sunrise.'
Leaping down, Rene poked one last glance into the medical centre.
Ruth was sound asleep, and her quiet breaths could still be heard.
'Just a few minutes...' He repeated to himself.
Masked by the pita-pat of the rain, Rene left without a noise.