The eight Americans travelling were now travelling in silence, the only sound being faint gunfire and their boots squishing in the mud. When they had first set out into the occupied zone, the group was more fired up, joking to relieve the nerves that were building. Vincent, a gunner from New York, had been doing impressions of famous actors in movies they were missing. Josh, Vincent’s closest friend and practical shadow, would help him out by whistling along music scores. It was almost easy enough to forget that they were headed into enemy ground. They had been sent to rendezvous with a Partisan group three miles out of Bordeaux, a french city along a river bank. Allied forces had been caught out by a group of Germans, and they were the reinforcements. Everyone’s pack was heavier then normal, carrying supplies for the others. Rose had wanted to question what the group had been even doing, but she had learned her lesson about questioning her Sergeant. Where healthy skepticism was good in the medical field, it had no place on the battleground. The groups hearty laughter and joking soon petered out the further they got away from base until a heavy silence took over. 

The man leading point, Connor, held his hand up to freeze the group. They were losing the cover of the forest as they neared the outskirts of the city. Rose could feel her heartbeat in her ears as her grip on her rifle grew tighter, her knuckles whitening. She let out her breath she didn’t realize she had been holding when Connor waved them forward. Rose had been near the fighting before, but this was an entirely new beast. This was a lot more covert than she had been trained for. Walking in enemy territory meant that every twig snapped, every footstep out of place was a threat. A threat that sooner or later had to be dealt with. 

Once again, the group stopped at Connor’s command as he tapped his ear pointing to the south. Rose strained to listen, soon hearing what sounded like a mix between wheezing and grunting. The group exchanged confused looks as they veered off course to find the source. If someone knew they were there, they had to ensure they couldn’t warn anyone else. 

Rose spotted the woman first. Crumbled up against the base of a large tree, a woman in muddy and tattered clothes was visibly shaking with each haggard breath. Her long knotted brown hair hung in front of her face as he hands scraped the dirt beside her. Eight rifles shot up, all aimed at the woman as they began closing rank. “Madame, êtes-vous blessé?” Rose called out in the little french she knew, her light southern twang butchering any resemblance to the french accent. “Mam, are you hurt?” she repeated in english this time as she moved closer to the woman.

“Rose get the fuck back. Fall in,” Connor barked at her.

“She’s obviously hurt and unarmed, Sir. Please let me see if I can at least help her,” Rose asked, her rifle already lowering.

“No, even if you could help her, no one can know we’re here. She’s obviously dying,” he said squaring up his shot.

“What the hell is wrong with you,” Rose yelled back, moving to stand in front of his line of sight. “So what you’re just going to shoot a woman for no fucking reason?” The woman let out a painful groan, not moving from her spot.

“It’s her now, or possibly all of us in an hour. You really want to fucking risk everyone’s life here because you feel bad for her. Fall back in line now Private Lehman. Or as soon as we get back I’ll slap you with a court martial so fast you’d wish it were a bullet.”

“You can report me to whoever the hell you want, I’m checking her out,” Rose said, exchanging her rifle for her medic’s bag as she approached the woman, ignoring the cursing behind her. She had promised herself when she found out she was first being deployed that she wasn’t going to lose herself over here. War was hell, and she was sure she’d be forever changed by the time she made it back, but she would never forget who she was first and foremost- a healer. If she wasn’t helping to save lives, then there was no reason for her to be here. 

“Madame, parlez-vous anglais? English?” she asked, kneeling down in front of the woman. The first thing she noticed was the smell. Up close it smelled like a putrid mix of death and rotting burnt flesh. It was a smell Rose was afraid she’d never get out of her memory again. Rose reached out a hand to sweep the hair away from the woman’s face so she could start assessing whatever wound it was radiating from. But just as she was doing so, the woman let out an inhuman howl that sounded more like a caged animal than a cry of pain. She pounced on Rose, her hands clenched tightly around her upper arm, nails digging deeply into her skin. Her face was twisted in a gruesome manner, and she foamed at the mouth like a rabid dog. 

Two shots rang out above Rose who was pinned underneath the woman who was impossibly strong. As one connected, the woman let out another howl before charging at Vincent, one of the other gunners. More shots rang out as Rose curled herself into a ball, waiting to feel the sting of a bullet. Behind her, Vincent let out a garbled scream. Rose peaked out from underneath her arms just as another round of fire came from the group. It was too late though, Vincent was clawing at his neck, failing to hold in the blood pouring out. The rabid woman laid crumpled on the ground, her mouth red with blood. [I] Did she...she chewed his fucking neck open…[/i]. 

Without thinking, Rose ran forward, trying to help Vincent keep pressure on the open neck, but it was too late. No matter how much she pressed his neck, blood kept slipping around her hand. “Come on...not now...I got you…” she begged the dead man as tears began to fall. Her hands were too slick with the crimson liquid, the wound was too deep. 

“You fucking bitch! That should have been you. You were the one who broke fucking orders!” Josh was closing in on her, his eyes shooting daggers at her, but Rose paid no mind. She was too busy trying to save what was already lost. He was right, it was her fault. She shouldn’t have approached the woman after no response. Josh grabbed at Rose’s arm, trying to pull her up so he could fight her properly, but Samson quickly pushed him back, trying to diffuse the situation. Rose continued in vain to close the wound, while the others helped pull Josh away to cool off.

“Yo Sarge, you going to do something?” Samson asked over his shoulder. The group fell quiet when they saw what Connor was looking at so intently. He had moved the woman’s hair out of her face with the barrel of his rifle. Connor was ghost white at he looked at the woman. It wasn’t a woman though, or at least not anymore. Her left eye was completely missing behind a mass of large oozing boils. Her teeth, still shining with Vincent’s blood, were three times their normal length and as sharp as nails. It looked more like a shark’s mouth than a human’s. Her fingers were bony and had three knuckles instead of two, also much longer than normal. Besides the multiple gunshot wounds, her skin was an ashy dead color despite having only been killed minutes ago.

“What in the hell is that thing?” one of the other members of the group asked with disgust. 

“Is that a mask?” 

---
It wasn’t long before the group was almost at the rendezvous point. Josh was still glaring daggers at Rose, his best friend’s dog tags and a letter for his girlfriend stuffed beside his own now. Samson kept between the two, just in case he had any funny ideas. But Rose felt numb to it all, part of her hoping he would punch her. She deserved it. She should have listened to Connor. It should have been her, covered in some leaves until the group could return to take back to base camp. But she was here, and he wasn’t. It’s not like Rose hadn’t killed anyone before or seen death. Every doctor lost patients. Most took solace in knowing they helped more than any damage they had done. But this was different. This wasn’t a patient. He was perfectly healthy man, laughing only hours ago. Rose had killed him with her insubordination and misplaced sense of right and wrong. Her mistake was fatal and was going to haunt her for the rest of her life. 

The Americans were the first to the point, a small farmhouse whose windows had been covered with old newspaper. They cleared the rooms, before settling in, happy to put down their heavy packs. While the others pulled out water and sat down for a short reprieve while they waited, Rose just leaned against the far wall, staring at the knots in the floorboards. She kept replaying the scene over and over in her head of the woman lunging at her and then at Vincent. She kept trying to pinpoint the exact moment she should have done something to stop her.