Rain drops crawled out of her eyes, slithering down her hair, her cheeks.

She's beautiful, he thought, even like this. She lay in a growing, swirling pool of blood and water, her grey skin stretched taut against her bones, like elastic stretched, impatient to pop. The rusty scar that barely peeked out of her hair line was a cherry contrast to the rest of her frail, death-succumbing body. She looked so cold…

He wrapped his arms around her, unwilling to leave her. She would not face the soldiers alone, not again.

Collin touched his frayed shirt sleeve lightly. "We need to go." The others waited a short distance away, watching and worrying.

They were going to die, too, he realized; if he didn't get them out of there, as far away as possible. He glanced down at her expressionless face and felt his own go numb as well. He murmured something about promises, and placed her down gently. They sloshed back to the others through the bloody rain puddles.

He glanced behind once.

She laid there still, no will left in her. There was no time to burn the body. It was raining anyway. She had loved the rain. The others were fidgeting and shuffling nervously as the priceless seconds slipped away. He turned his face to the sky, illuminated by the neon lightning threading together the clouds in electric spikes. He motioned to the others with a finger. One by one they began to run.

She opened her eyes.