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The gunshots rang out, clearer that the church bells that had rung less than ten minutes before. Yet, that felt like a lifetime ago. Bullets slammed into the boards next to Enjolras, inches from her head. She jerked away, fumbling for ammunition. To her right, Courfeyrac was already shooting back, aiming and firing wildly at the opposing soldiers, before ducking back down beneath a splintered chair protruding from the inner part of the barricade. Silence stilled the air, the smell of gunpowder hanging on the barricade. Enjolras sat still, clutching her rifle, waiting for more shots. But there were none. The fight had lulled, if for a few minutes. Courfeyrac pushed her bangs away from her eyes as she turned to Enjolras. “Where is Gavroche? We’ll need more ammunition if it keeps up.” Much of Courfeyrac’s dark hair had escaped its usual tidy braid, sticking to her neck with sweat and a little bit of blood. Enjolras had not seen Gavroche since-well, she wasn't sure when she had seen her last. The last hours had been such a repetition of loading, firing, reloading, and firing again that Enjolras had completely lost track of where the little girl had gone. She searched the corners, evaluating the situation behind the barricade. Combeferre was crouched behind a pile of cobblestones, attaching a bayonet to her rifle. Marius was huddled in the doorway of the cafe, reading a letter. She was seemingly unaware of the wet splotches of red that dotted her sleeves. The girl that had left the blood behind was lying further inside, seeping blood onto the floorboards and through the sheet that covered her. Feuilly was helping Joly and the few remaining volunteers stack rubble and reinforce their defenses, searching the ground for stray bullets. Enjolras checked her gun, as well as the table that held their ammunition. Courfeyrac was right. There might be calm for now, but if the national guardsmen attacked again, the women behind the barricade could easily run out of bullets, never mind being overrun. Enjolras rose from her place, brushing gunpowder off her jacket, leaving grey streaks like smoke against the red fabric. She pulled her golden hair back from her face. “Courfeyrac-” she started, but stopped when she saw the her friend. “What’s wrong?” Courfeyrac’s face was white, her brown eyes wide with fear. She was staring out at the no-man’s land between the barricade and the guardsmen. Smoke covered it like a fog, curling upwards towards the rooftops. Through the thick haze, Enjolras could barely make out a little figure crawling through the debris, a basket clutched between its teeth. “Gavroche!” Courfeyrac hissed frantically. Gavroche turned her head, waved, and continued along. “Gavroche!” A little louder now. The sound caught the attention of the others, who came to see. “What’s she doing?” Joly whispered, as if speaking too loud would make the soldiers see the little girl. Gavroche reached a dead soldier, rummaged through their clothes, and deposited a couple small boxes into her basket. “Gathering ammunition.” Enjolras murmured. The girl must have heard her and Courfeyrac talking. Gavroche wiggled along the ground, searching soldier after soldier, but getting further and further away from the barricade.
Courfeyrac was tense beside Enjolras, holding herself back from leaping after the urchin. “Courf, it’s fine. The smoke is too thick, they can’t see her.” Enjolras was reassuring herself as much as her friend. It was dangerous to be out there, but going out might reveal the girl, and endanger the lives of two people. Gavroche still had a chance of coming back safely, and with more cartridges. The smoke dissipated a little, revealing Gavroche out in the open, pulling a soldier’s body closer. Feuilly leaned towards Enjolras, concern creased across her face. “Wait, if we can see her clearly, can they-” A shot rang out, interrupting the fan maker. A bullet splintered a stray door, but nowhere near Gavroche. The sound made Enjolras start, but it had an even stronger effect on Courfeyrac. She lunged forwards, making to go over the barricade. “Gavroche! Come back!” Combeferre caught her, dragging her backwards, and Enjolras latched on too. Gavroche stood up, faced the direction of the National Guardsmen, and her small voice floated up from the smoke. “Little people know, when little people fight...” Courfeyrac began to struggle against her friends, flailing. “Gavroche, what are you doing? Come back!” she yelled, her panicked voice catching on the edges of the barricade. “So never kick a dog, because it’s just a pup-” Another shot, but instead of splintering wood, there came a grunt of pain. “Gavroche!” Courfeyrac wasn't the only one yelling now, and Enjolras was surprised to find herself shouting back at the soldiers. ”Gavroche, come back here!” Gavroche was a good citizen, too young to die for her country. “Cover her!” She yelled, and Marius grabbed a rifle, but was shaking so badly there was no chance in heaven she could hit anything, even if the gun smoke had not obscured their foes. Enjolras started around the corner. Perhaps she could reach the girl before the soldiers did. She was knocked to the ground as Courfeyrac broke free and sprinted past, almost making it around the barricade before being tackled to the cobbles by Feuilly and Combeferre. “Gavroche! Come back! Come back!” Courfeyrac screamed, struggling to reach. Gavroche struggled up, gasping for breath. Her voice was weak, but wavered up defiantly. “So you’d better run for cover... when the pup... grows-” A final shot, and Gavroche crumpled to the ground. Courfeyrac screamed as if she was the one who had been shot, raw and agonized.
Enjolras was in shock. Gavroche could not be dead. Yet here was Courfeyrac, weeping like the world had ended, her dark hair and face soaked with tears. Gavroche could not be dead, and yet the little urchin's eyes were blank, with bullet wounds, blood in the corner of her mouth. The captain of the guardsman was calling something, but the ringing in Enjolras’s ears drowned everything out. How dare they kill this girl. How dare they! Flames of anger leapt up inside her, licking her bones. They would pay. They would pay with blood. Her friends were looking at her. The captain was waiting for an answer. There was little ammunition, and even little chance of holding out. Enjolras gripped her rifle tightly, knuckles white and hands shaking. Her hands never shook. She did not allow that tremor, whether of anger or fear, to creep to her voice. “Let us die, facing our foes. Make them bleed while we can.” “Make them pay through the nose.” Combeferre's voice was shaking, too but with decided anger anger. “Make them pay for every man!” Courfeyrac was a ragged mess, still clutching Gavroche's body, her eyes nearly as dead as the little girl’s. Enjolras took a deep breath, and shouted to the guards, to Paris, to all of France. “Let others rise to take our place, until the earth is free!” Her friends cheered, except for Marius, who clutched her letter, and Courfeyrac, who sobbed. "I am sorry” Enjolras whispered, turning and readying her rifle.
As the drums rattled the start of the next (final) attack, Enjolras stilled her shaking hands. For my friends. She thought. For Patria.