Biochemist v. Biomedical Scientist

Feeling guilt and professional obligation, the Biochemist lugs the corpse of the Biologist to the two cairns by the creek. Sneezing, coughing, and suspiciously warm, she loses grip of the Biologist's jacket every ten paces or so. She falls often, hands and face now filthy, hair matted, soaked from top to bottom.

At some point while piling stones - the Biologist now half buried - she becomes feverish, delusional. Her footing becomes confused. On a trip further downstream for larger rocks she trips and plunges into the current, hands outstretched. She hits stone beneath the water. Her left wrist cracks clean in the bend of an unseen souse hole. She lashes in pain, screams, grasps for dull roots in the spring rain.

On the bank, panting, groaning, she collapses.

Several hours pass.

The Biomedical Scientist pokes her on the bottom with the Bhikkhuni's staff. She wakes, startled. Then moans, sputtering.

I thought you were dead, says the Biomedical Scientist. After an hour of waiting I started poking everything.

You gave me hyacinths first a year ago, she murmurs. They called me the hyacinth girl....

Are you okay?

No answer.

The Biomedical Student deduces that she's not okay. Gently, he takes her by the crook of the arm and lifts. She reaches out to push, wailing when pressure's put on her left hand. Shocked, he drops her. She rolls on the ground. He waits, then attempts again. She pushes with her right hand and rises. Arm over his shoulder, they walk back to the oak. Her face is marked with scrapes from the struggle. A bruise rises from her forehead.

At the oak, all attempts by the Biomedical Scientist to comfort her go unwanted. She repeatedly crawls toward the table and the pistols. Finally ceding, he helps her up, takes her to the table. She choses a pistol. He takes the other. They walk to the field. She - amazingly - manages to stand, however shakily, on her own. He walks ten paces away.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.