Part 6: Dead Man Walking

???: I suppose you're Charon, right?
Charon: Yes.
Wilhelm: Major Braun said you found a photo—a woman holding a bouquet of cornflowers?
Charon: Indeed. Is it yours?
Wilhelm: No, it belongs to my friend, Fabien.
Charon: ... Fabien?
Charon opens his notebook and takes the photo tucked inside.
Charon: Then this woman ...
Wilhelm: That's Anna, Fabien's wife.
A narrow silver streak stretches across the sky.
Charon: Anna is real. Fabien isn't delusional.
Wilhelm: Of course. I only just found out Fabien's in the hospital.
Charon: His condition is weak, his will lost. He simply waits for death to take him.
The soldier before him points to the photo in his hand.
Wilhelm: Give him the photo. Tell him Anna's waiting for him at home.
The soldier gives a confident smile.
Wilhelm: That kid knocked out two thugs at fifteen for that girl, knocked on her door with a broken hand ...
Wilhelm: Then stood there, black and blue, and told her no one would ever lay a hand on her again.
Charon: Understood. This must be delivered to him.
Just as Charon prepares to leave, a distant shout draws his attention.
Through the swirling fog, he makes out the shapes of soldiers rushing his way.
Soldier I: Charon! Charon!
Soldier I: Quick, can you go and get Franz?
Soldier II: S**t, Charon's slow to react—what would he do if he ran into the enemy out there?
Soldier II: Maybe we should just wait for Franz to find his own way back ...
Soldier I: He's been gone a day and a half! That's long enough to count him missing!
Charon: Where has he gone?
Soldier I: He heard the photo belonged to someone named Fabien, one of the boys who went missing in the southwest woods a week ago.
Wilhelm: That's right—Fabien disappeared around there.
Soldier II: Franz went looking for him. Said he wanted to see if he could find any clues.
Soldier II: He's heading home on leave tomorrow—that's why he's gone rushing off.
Soldier II: That place is hot as anything. Enemy scouts moved in a few days ago—we've already had a few skirmishes there.
Soldier II: Damn rats dug in deep. We haven't been able to flush them out.
Charon: I will go.
Soldier II: Really? You mean it?
Soldier I: Why do you think we call him Charon? He walks the front every day burying the dead and hasn't suffered so much as a scratch.
Soldier II: Makes sense. It's not like the ferryman of the dead should be able to die himself.
Charon: I will try to bring him back.

Charon traces a fresh path. The silence feels heavy, as though something is about to pounce.
The acrid air reeks of gunpowder, and the trampled brush before him speaks of a chase—or a fight.
But Charon is not afraid. He walks on, the rustling leaves the only sound amid the stillness.
Step by step, he moves forward until he reaches a charred oak—
A pair of arms hooks his shoulders and drags him hard behind a tree.
Franz: Shhh! It's me!
His voice is low, but his anger is unmistakable.
Franz: Verdammt! You want a bullet through your skull?! We're pulling out tomorrow—I'm not bagging up what's left of you before I go!
Charon: It would be a great misery burying you too, Franz.
Charon: The owner of the photograph has been found. It's time to return.
Franz: You think I'm out here for the scenery? These woods are crawling with scouts.
A bullet scrapes bark and tears through the edge of Charon's coat.
Franz: Hmph.
Charon: We should have remained silent.
Franz: They tracked you, waiting for you to flush me out for them. What happened—have you forgotten how to duck or something?
Charon: Finding you was most important.
Charon: Allow me to get you out of here—
A single bullet is all it takes to expose the extent of human fragility.
Charon can't comprehend it. Shouldn't Franz's first instinct be to duck and hide when staring death in the face?
Franz: Charon!
A bullet comes from the flank, heading straight for Charon.
Franz sees it instantaneously. He tackles Charon into the brush, then rolls clear.
Charon: Franz?
Franz: Urgh! Verdammt nochmal!
Blood splashes onto the grass. Charon presses his palms against the wound on Franz's back.
Charon: You're hurt, Franz.
Why risk your life for a soldier who is no longer a soldier?
Franz ignores his wound, instead shouting in a language not his own.
Franz: Priest! This man is a priest! Don't shoot—he's innocent!
The only answer is another bullet. It misses, but barely.
Franz: S**t!
Charon: Allow me.
Franz: What the hell are you talking about?
Ignoring Franz, Charon stands and takes the bullet.
Franz stares wide-eyed as it hits the tree behind them.
He turns to Charon to find a clean bullet hole torn through his coat. The bullet went right through him.
Franz: What ... what are you?
A hollow. The soldier realizes—beneath all that fabric lies nothing but emptiness.
Their priest is not even of flesh and blood.
Franz: Charon—you!
Charon has already spotted the enemy hidden among the trees.
Caught between disbelief and dread, the enemy falters.
He fires again and again, but all that comes of it are more holes in a coat.
Charon: Leave. You cannot kill what is not alive.
After a beat of silence, the enemy turns and flees.
Charon reaches for the bandages in his coat, but Franz stands and steps back.
Franz: You can't die ... can you?
His voice is colder than ever.
Charon: No, neither living nor dead, this vessel endures without pain, but it can be destroyed.
Franz: That's not what I mean. Mein Gott, your sluggishness makes my skin crawl.
Charon: Apologies, Franz, for the injury.
Franz: Charon, we've been through enough in this damned hell together, haven't we?
Franz: I respected you, so I didn't ask why you wrapped yourself up like some madman.
Franz: Why the hell didn't you say something? You wanted me to die for nothing? Or just to laugh at me for trying to save you?
Charon: No. That was not my intention.
Charon: It is difficult for ... me ... to understand what I have become.
Franz: Understand what you've become? You read too many books, or just lost your mind?
Franz: What does "understanding yourself" have to do with any of this?
Franz: I trusted you, Charon. I thought we were brothers-in-arms!
Charon: Franz—
Franz: ENOUGH!
Franz: I have nothing else to say to you.
Thankfully, the bullet barely scraped Franz. He lifts his rifle and walks away alone.
Charon stands in the undergrowth, his hand slowly dropping from his pocket.