Friday, April 23, 1937.

2030 Hours.

Casa de Juntas.

One of the perks of writing my memoirs like this is the fact that I can revision the story in order to give you more context.

The events that happened after we left the tunnels felt rather disconnected and dissonant at the time. I could probably tell you everything I felt in those moments in a paragraph or two, but I will try to explain everything as simple and concise as I can. 

We were all fuelled by adrenaline at that moment, enough to make us forget about our injuries. Camarada was positively dancing at his survival while howling mad. Torito had a fake smile that didn't quite translate to the rest of his face, all the while watching the brick wall that had given us passage only a few seconds ago. 

As for me, I took some time to calm my breath as I heard the drumming behind the wall become fainter and fainter. But not before I was thrown a curveball to remind me that we shouldn't take our small victory as being completely safe. 

"Te cauteriza, te cauteriza..."

I didn't bother to pay attention to where I was until the sound was gone. I had never been on that building, and we didn't realize where I was until we left, but we were at the Casa de Juntas, a former church that served as a town hall. 

It was rather small for a town hall. While the architecture itself still held some of the Neoclassical style that made come alive a couple hundred years prior, most of the furniture that originally comprised it had been taken out to be furnished for the assembly. What did pop out were several stained glasses adorning the walls. 

A particularly grand one showed a black tree in the middle, with roots raining down and a golden halo around it.

Every move we took made the room come alive in echoes, which were mostly Camarada's as he didn't stop howling. I must admit that I felt good, if a bit sad at the realization that each monster was a townsfolk, with family, friends, and loved ones. A life lost, forever. 

The waiting was the worst part.

And Tuerto. Sweet Tuerto. He didn't deserve that. Nobody deserved that, yet, there he was. Behind that wall. Being one with the beast. Being loved, and understood, and never alone. 

The waiting was the worst part.

I was jealous of him.

I knew the beast was bad news. He was death, and pestilence, and the death of self. But, is being yourself really worth it? I would kill to be part of something bigger than me, to be not alone. And that was the monster--an opportunity not to feel alone. Not to feel alienated. To breach the gap in my heart. 

Waiting to be one with the beast was the worst part. 

I wanted that, and I still do. I never really connected with anyone, and I doubt that I ever will. Love, sex, friendship, those are all just useless artifacts we use to try and come together and feel less alone. But it's a ruse. We never come together, not really. There will always be a breach we cannot cross. 

But not with the beast. The beast breaches all gaps. Makes us whole. 

I couldn't think of it too much, as those feelings of relieve and envy were washed away by immediate concerns as I saw Lula's limp body sprawled on the floor.

"Lula!" I yelled. And the halls yelled back at me. 

"Oh shit," yelled Torito with no regards to the hallowed ground he stood on. It was his job to keep her safe, yet there she was, bleeding on the ground. 

He placed a finger under her nose and another on her neck. "She's breathing, but barely. Her pulse is also weak."

We didn't talk, at least not with words. Our eyes were good enough to communicate that we needed to take her to a medic, and fast. Torito grabbed her by an arm, with me taking the other, and so we managed to carry him between the two with her feet dragging across the floor. 

We left the main meeting hall in a hurry, reaching the exit after a few seconds. Of course, it was locked, being the dead of night and all. Not that it was going to stop Camarada who tried to body-slam the door a few times, to no avail. It was a thick wooden door with brass hinges. It wasn't going to budge. 

"Damn it," mutter Camarada before slamming it again. "Open up, now!" 

The door wasn't in any bargaining mood, and it remained closed, which only made Camarada angrier. 

"Hold on," said Torito, leaving Lula in my care as both of them pounded at the door. They tried in tandem, at the same time, and every conceivable way, but the door wouldn't budge. The only thing that met them was the echoes as if mocking them. 

Lula was losing color as well as her warmth. It is an ugly feeling, watching a person lose their life in your hands. You feel small and worthless, which I was.

Which I am. 

But fate wasn't going to claim Lula that day. After an eternity of pounding and building fear, the doors gave in. Not because of their efforts, or at least not directly, but because a Nun from a nearby convent heard the ruckus and decided to investigate. 

Poor sister. What were her thoughts when, after opening the door, the first thing that greeted was a couple of bruised and cut soldiers dragging a half-dead girl through the halls of an otherwise forbidden place? 

All I remember is her muttering "God help us," as she hurriedly helped us outside. 

I could see the trunk of the Guernica tree sitting in the yard of the Casa de Juntas, reminding us once again of the roots that saved us, and the monsters that lay beneath. 

The drumming intensified. 

We must have looked like apparitions because nobody dared to help us. 

Under normal circumstances, one would take twenty minutes to reach the barracks--and the nearest hospital--from the Casa de Juntas. That was under normal circumstances. Carrying a body, and hurt all over, it took us almost double. 

It's not like we were alone. I could see faces peeking from behind barricaded homes, watching our sluggish trek to safety. They knew we were hurt and in need of help. 

Yet, they shunned us. 

We risked our lives to protect them every day, give them food, shelter, and peace. And they repay us with fear and indifference. They deserved to die, the lot of them. At least that's what I thought at the moment. You probably know how this tale ends, so you can find my words a bit crass, but I will not shield you from my thoughts. 

We left a trail of blood behind us, some from our wounds, and some from Lula. She was white as milk, and her lips had turned as blue as night.

And yet, they didn't help. They stood there as death roamed the streets of Guernica. 

It wasn't until we hit the first checkpoint before the barracks that someone managed to flag down a passing patrol. They helped carry Lula, reaching the barracks in record time. Well, just me and Torito. Without adrenaline fueling him Camarada succumbed to his wounds. He fell to the ground with a grin, even after the soldiers carried him to the barracks. He was fine, but his cuts had to be dressed. 

Lula wasn't as lucky. 

"We will need to amputate," said the doctor in a nonchalant way. He couldn't have been older than me with a clean-shaven face and some baby fat still on his cheeks. I doubt he was even a doctor. Back then, medicine was a scarce practice on the battlefields, instead making some loosely trained nurses perform surgeries. 

Only a kid would say such horrible words lightly. 

"What? Why would you amputate her leg?" 

The kid looked down on me as he rubbed the back of his hair. "Look, the bullet shattered the bone below the knee. There bone fragments inside, all breeding grounds for sepsis. When that happens, and I'm sure it will, it will poison what little blood she has. Which reminds me..."

He grabbed a metal case from behind a desk. Inside was a blood transfusion kit standard for every field office. Blood transfusions were relatively new back then, and it was a painful apparatus to use. It had a central glass jar with a pump attached to the top, with two rubber tubes connected to a couple of needles. 

"She has lost a considerable amount of blood. For this operation, I will need a few pints of blood from both of you."

Torito and I looked at each other. There had to be a better way. Lula didn't deserve that. Nobody did. Yet, I cursed her with a bullet, to live a half-life. From a bullet I shot. Me. My fault. 

Torito wasn't as hesitant as me, putting his arm forward to be the first one to draw blood.

"No," I muttered, over and over again. "You need to save her leg. You need to save her. I won't allow you to do it!"

The kid looked nervous, almost hesitant. "Sir, if I don't do this now, she will die. I am not asking you for permission, nor do I need it. If you won't help, please remove yourself from my hospital."

What a joke of a hospital, using a wooden door as a stretch to perform an operation. It was more of a hospital tent with dirt underneath us. I could only close my fist in anger as Torito pumped his blood out. 

"Fuck me," he muttered as the blood dripped into the central jar. It filled it at least by half. 

The kid took the needle out, cleaning it with a cloth before plunging it in my expecting arm. That confirmed the fact that he had no idea what he was doing. The fact that I didn't get an infection from that was a miracle in itself. Thank God he remembered to change the jar and didn't let the blood mix. 

After he had taken enough blood, he cleaned the syringe once again, this time taking some of his blood, if considerably less than us. 

"Now," said the doctor, "I will need your help, so please stay."

"I thought two pints was enough help," said Torito. His charms were considerably reduced as he could barely maintain his balance. 

The man grabbed a rusty saw and a small syringe. He injected a murky yellow liquid in Lula's leg, followed by another syringe on her arm, this time for the blood transfusion. Both of them were enough to make her regain conscience, if dizzy. 

"W-what?" she stammered as her whole body shivered. I placed a hand on her forehead and she was cold as wood.

"You're okay now," I said. "We left the tunnels. We are alive." 

"And Camarada?"

"Alive as well," I answered. "Because of you."

"I'm glad," she said. "It hurts, Sebas, and I'm cold." 

"I know, I know. Don't be afraid."

"What do you need us for, doctor?" asked Torito. "'Because I prefer to be laying down, please." 

The doctor placed a small book between Lula's legs on the wooden door. He leaned in closer to the book as if his eyesight was failing, which apparently it was. I took a peek at it, and it was a diagram of the human body, with loose instructions on where to cut.

"Oh good, you're awake," said the doctor when he saw Lula's eyes open. "We are going to perform an amputation right now. Your leg is beyond repair."

"What? No, please," she muttered, but there was no fight in her voice.

"It's okay," said the doctor. "And to answer your question, I need you to hold her down. I need you to hold her waist and legs down. Sir," he said to me, "hold her down from her chest. She might swipe at you, but I need you to keep her steady."

"Why? Aren't you going to drug her first?" I asked.

"We are not equipped to handle these types of surgeries, so we don't any anesthetic." 

He took a piece of leather our of his pocket and placed it inside Lula's mouth after forcibly opening it. 

"You can't do this!" I yelled. 

"It's either this, or she dies," said the kid. "Your call."

Lula was too weak to spit the leather out, but her eyes were begging me not to let this go through. There were panic and sadness in them. 

But also death. Unless I helped. 

"It's for your own good," I whispered as I pinned her down by the shoulders. 

Her eyes shot open in panic as she realizes what was about to do. I looked at Torito, hoping to find understanding and forgiveness in him, but all I found was shame as he held her legs with his whole body weight. 

It was happening. We were going to amputate her leg. It all seemed very silly and foreign, like something not happening to us. It felt like I was expecting something from beyond the tent. 

The kid began to hack the leg away with the bone saw as Lula squirmed under me.

Waiting for the operation to end was the worst part.