Chapter 85 Were They Dead?
Matilda suddenly heard a series of sounds—at first, she thought the base was setting off fireworks, but listening more carefully, it sounded more like gunfire from TV shows!
She'd never imagined she'd hear actual gunshots in real life.
After the shock came fear. She didn't dare peek out anymore, only curled up behind the hillside, pressing tight against the cold dirt slope, not daring to move.
How was Wentworth? Would he be in danger all alone?
Several times she wanted to rush out and check, but she was afraid she'd only burden him.
She remembered watching TV dramas as a child—those so-called "saint" characters who knew there was a hail of bullets outside but still rushed out to save a puppy or child, resulting in more deaths. She absolutely couldn't become that kind of person.
The only thing she could do was listen to Wentworth and stay hidden here.
After about half an hour, the gunshots stopped. Even the wind seemed to quiet down. Outside was deathly silent.
She cautiously poked her head out.
In the darkness, rolling hills stood like silent ghosts. She didn't dare shout or make any sound, just slowly moved her body forward.
After crawling about fifty feet, a cold wind blew by and she suddenly caught a nauseating smell of blood. In that moment, her legs felt drained of strength and tears poured uncontrollably from her eyes.
A fierce gunfight had just taken place here. People might be dead!
Thinking Wentworth might be hurt, her heart felt squeezed tight and her breathing became labored.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to keep crawling forward. The metallic smell grew stronger, and her palm suddenly touched something sticky and still warm—blood!
Her legs completely gave out. Tears fell like broken pearls as she couldn't help but whimper.
Just then, she heard footsteps approaching. The person wore boots and walked with steady, urgent steps, soon passing by her location.
She held her breath, not daring to make a sound.
After another moment, she finally heard a familiar voice—
"Matty, are you there?"
It was Wentworth!
In that instant, her heart felt like it had been released from a vice. The feeling of getting him back made her nearly cry with relief.
"Wentworth, I'm here!" she called out trembling.
Wentworth immediately ran to her side. Seeing her curled in a ball, he didn't hesitate to gather her in his arms.
He carried her down the mountain to level ground, set her down, then used water and cloth to clean the blood from her hands.
In the darkness, his movements were steady and sure, as if he could see every detail clearly.
"It's over now, it's over," his voice was low and soothing.
Matilda asked in a shaky voice, "You... you're not hurt, are you?"
"No."
"Then this blood..."
"Someone else's." He paused. "A group of armed border crossers tried to breach our perimeter. They were provoking us."
She was still frightened, so he picked her up again.
Soon, the sound of military truck engines rumbled in the distance—Danny and the others had arrived. Wentworth had Danny stay to handle the scene while he took Matilda back to the clinic in town first.
In the headlights' glare, she saw several bodies lying by the roadside—people Wentworth had obviously killed.
...
When they reached the clinic, Matilda's legs were still weak. Wentworth carried her directly from the car and all the way to her room.
The moment she sat down, her stomach churned and she rushed to the bathroom to vomit.
As a medical school graduate, she'd seen corpses and dealt with blood before, but tonight's scene was different—it was killing, living beings disappearing in an instant.
Of course, those people were criminals, and eliminating them was Wentworth's duty. But she still felt violently nauseous.
After throwing up, she washed herself with disinfectant and stripped off her bloodstained clothes before slowly returning to the bed.
The metallic smell seemed to still linger in the air, making her underlying fear impossible to shake.
"Matty, are you okay?" Wentworth came over and asked.
Though she felt somewhat better now, she was still afraid, so she didn't refuse his embrace and even gripped his sleeve tightly.
He held her like that all night until she fell asleep.
...
The next morning, Matilda was awakened by the bang of fireworks going off.
She opened her eyes to see Wentworth right beside her—she was lying in bed while he sat leaning against the edge, sleeping fully clothed.
Her fear had faded, replaced by the warmth of having survived a crisis.
She studied his face—his straight nose, thick eyebrows, and that protective posture gave her an enormous sense of security.
Perhaps sensing her gaze, he slowly opened his eyes.
This was the first time they'd woken up from the same bed.
Their eyes met, seeming to hold a thousand words, yet neither spoke.
Finally, he asked, "Feeling better?"
She nodded. "Better."
They sat side by side on the bed.
"Wentworth, happy Boxing Day!" she said.
"Happy Boxing Day to you too," his tone was gentle.
"Thank you for bringing me back last night. I never imagined we'd encounter something like that."
"The probability of that happening is very low. You don't need to worry," he reassured her.
"Those people... are they all dead?"
"Yes."
"Do you... often face that kind of danger?"
"No, last night was the first time."
She felt he was lying—based on his reaction speed, this definitely wasn't his first time. But she didn't press further, just changed the subject. "First day of Holiday Season—want some pancakes? We can call it breakfast."
He immediately agreed. "Sure."
Matilda had to go to the kitchen to make pancakes. She fried them in butter, drizzled them with maple syrup, plated two servings, and handed one to Wentworth.
She was hungry too and ate slowly, her heart full of complex emotions—relief that he was safe, and gratitude they could share this breakfast together.
If they were in Phoenix City, would he come home for Christmas? She thought of the Gonzaga family. Even if he did come back, he'd spend the holiday with his mother and brother at the Gonzaga family estate. He probably wouldn't be alone with her.
Thinking of this, she let out a soft sigh.
After finishing his pancakes, Wentworth got a call from Danny—clearly last night's incident still needed his attention back at base.
He stood up. "I need to get back to the unit. If anything comes up, call me."
She nodded.
Wentworth walked to the door but then stopped and turned back to look at her. "That thing you've been considering—have you figured it out yet?"