The impact of the explosion hurled Isabeau back against the nearest wall. Her head cracked against the wall with enough force that it probably would have killed a human, and everything faded out for a moment. Her ears rang with the impact.

She blinked, the world sliding in and out of focus.

Something heavy lay across her legs, and she shoved it away before realising what it was.

The charred corpse that had once been a worker.

The reek of burned flesh filled the air, along with the stink of chemicals, and Isabeau staggered to her feet, leaning against the wall for support.

Room 42 had been devastated.

The only thing that had saved other parts of the factory was that it had been built in isolated sections, like huts, and protected by sandbags so that any potential explosions would be confined to one place.

That hadn't helped the girls and women in Room 42.

Debris and bodies lay everywhere, some little more than bloodied, blasted shells, others faintly groaning. Steam pipes had burst open, fires had broken out, and scalding water mingled with the blood pooling across the floor.

Isabeau swiped a hand across her eyes, trying to clear away the dust and grit.

For a split-second she had thought the explosion was the result of an air raid attack, a Zeppelin, like Esther had feared. It was unclear what had actually caused the explosion, but the ruins of the room were still filled with volatile materials, which means that more explosions could occur at any time.

People were still alive in there.

Isabeau had to help them.

She stumbled forward, but a hand held her back. Isabeau swung around, blinking, and found a man standing behind her, his face twisted with horror.

"Are you hurt?" he said.

Isabeau vaguely recognised him – he was a mechanic at the factory – and she was sure she knew his name, but she couldn't seem to get her brain in order.

Her head ached where it had struck the wall, and warm wetness was soaking the back of her head covering.

But she could stand, and as long as she could stand, she could help.

"Are you hurt?" he said again, urgently, holding onto her.

William, that was his name.

Isabeau shook her head. "I'm fine. We have to help the others."

"You stay here," he said, looking at the wreckage of the ruin where Isabeau had worked.

Isabeau shook off his hand. "I can help. Don't argue with me, we don't have time."

He didn't look happy about it, but there really wasn't time. People were dying.

William rushed into the wreckage, Isabeau following close behind. Blood and water puddled around her clogs, and the smell of death was everywhere, thick and cloying, pressing down on her like a physical force.

Where was she supposed to start?

Over a hundred and fifty women had been in here when the explosion occurred.

Bodies were everywhere.

So many people had died, but so many were still alive, but injured and calling for help, and she didn't know where to start, and panic threatened to overwhelm her.

Her mind flashed back more than a century, to the night that a revolutionary mob in France had burned down the home that Celeste and Renee had been living in, killing Celeste instantly, and leaving Renee a horribly charred husk who'd died shortly after, with Isabeau by her side.

Then William rushed past her, carrying a bloodied, moaning girl in his arms, and Isabeau snapped out of the memory.

She had failed to save her friends all those long years ago.

She would save as many lives as she could now.

The structure of the factory had stopped the explosion from devastating other sections, but the entire place had felt and heard it happen.

Despite the danger of further explosions in the room, other workers soon rushed to help. William personally carried at least eleven injured girls to safety.

Isabeau's vampire strength had helped her throughout her whole stint in the factory, giving her the ability to operate the heavy machinery and lift the shells without risking personal injury the way the other women did, and it was more useful than ever now.

Like she had done in the ruins of Celeste's house so long ago, Isabeau sifted through the rubble, heaving debris out of the way to get to trapped workers beneath, and lifting them to safety when she found them.

The injuries were awful – gaping wounds, crushed or missing limbs, raw burns. Some of the girls were screaming as Isabeau carefully freed them from beneath the wreckage. Some of them were so badly hurt they couldn't manage more than hoarse groans. Too many of them were dead by the time she got to them.

Isabeau's dog tags felt impossibly heavy around her neck. So many of the dead workers would have to be identified by their own tags because their bodies were damaged beyond recognition. She'd always known that this was why they wore them, but this was the first time she'd seen why, and the carnage seared itself into her brain.

The awful groaning of the injured was something she would hear in her nightmares for a long time.

Beyond the shell of the room, other factory workers were tending to the wounded. The entire factory seemed to have ground to a halt as everyone pitched in to help with the disaster, but even so, there was the sense that everyone had to move quickly because production couldn't stop for long.

The need for munitions wouldn't stop because of one explosion, regardless of how many lives it had claimed.

When the injured workers had been carried to safety, it was time to focus on the dead. They couldn't be helped now, but their bodies still had to be moved, and Isabeau took charge of that. Twice, she caught herself on twisted pieces of machinery, protruding from the rest of the wreckage, and the sharp edges ripped through her skin, but Isabeau ignored the wounds. She could heal. Other people who wanted to help, couldn't heal the same way.

She didn't know how long it took to clear the room.

It felt like an eternity, like this one night was longer than her entire life so far.

She lost count of the dead, and didn't even try to count the injured.

At one point, she lost her footing on the damaged floor and almost fell, but Esther caught her. The other vampire's expression was grim, and she didn't say anything, just helped Isabeau search the room once more, making sure that all the bodies had been taken out.

"How many dead?" Isabeau asked, leaning on Esther for support.

Her wounds were still bleeding, and her head was a throbbing ball of pain, but it wasn't life-threatening – not to her, anyway. She did need blood, though, as soon as possible.

"We're not sure yet. At least thirty, maybe more," Esther replied.

Tears spilled over before Isabeau could stop them, and she pressed a palm to her face, trying to hold in the sobs.

Esther put an arm around her. "More would have died if you and William hadn't acted so quickly."

That didn't make Isabeau feel better.

At least thirty people had died in here.

She had no idea how bad the injuries were, how many women would be affected for the rest of their lives, how many might be too badly hurt to return to work, how many would probably die of their injuries before the night was over.

She was tired.

"Let's get out of here," Esther said, guiding her away from what was left of Room 42.

She took Isabeau away from the factory itself, to the gates that led onto the area of land, and Isabeau clung to her the whole time, desperately needing the support of the only friend she had in the world.

When she'd first met Esther, almost eighty years ago, she had been desperately lonely. Now she was lonely again, and Esther had come back to her, but it wouldn't be like it was. When Esther needed support, she would turn to the woman she loved, Sarah. Isabeau couldn't bear the thought of intruding on the happiness that they had found together.

Instead, she clung to her old friend while she could, taking comfort in Esther's presence while she sobbed out the pain and trauma of what had just happened.

When this war was over, she had the sinking feeling that she and Esther would go their separate ways again, and who knew how long it would be until they met again – if they ever did.

But for now, Isabeau was desperately grateful that Esther was here.

Everything had happened so fast, and even though she was sobbing like she hadn't done in a long time, she suspected the full weight of the tragedy hadn't fully hit her yet.

Maybe when it did, she would collapse under the stress of it.

But at least, for now, if she did fall, she had a friend there to catch her. 

2/2

Author's Note: This story was inspired by true events. The explosion at Barnbow Munitions factory was a very real tragedy during WW1, and William Parkin was a real mechanic who risked himself to save victims of the explosion. The incident was censored at the time, and William's heroism went mostly unrecognised, but in years since, a bridge in Leeds has been named after him, complete with a plaque in his honour, commemorating the role he played all those years ago.