Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
"Morning," he says cheerfully, holding a mercury thermometer to a child's mouth. "Phyllis and John aren't coming in today."
"They're not?"
"Flu," he says, grimacing as he takes the thermometer out and gives it a hard shake. "And Alma's feeling under the weather, too."
Well, shit. "Looks like it's you and me today, then." I move to the nearest cot, pressing my fingers to a woman's forehead. She's cool, which is a good sign, and I check her over quickly before moving on to the next person. We have a night-shift now, with Alma spearheading it, but they've been hit pretty hard. I suspect we're all going to get the flu before it finishes its run through Fort Dallas. "I'll tell the soldiers we'll need a grunt to fetch water for us this afternoon, and we need some laundry changes."
"Sounds good," Gary says cheerfully. I wish I could be as chipper as he is. I feel the weight of it all in my bones today. I'm tired of taking care of everyone. I'm tired of runny noses and sickness. I'm tired of being the one responsible for the well-being of Fort Dallas. I never set out to run a clinic. I just did it because no one else was stepping up when anyone was ill, and it was a way to get away from the man I was with at the time. I've just continued doing it. And continued. And continued.
And today I just want to crawl back into bed and rest.
But I don't. I press my fingers to another person's brow—cool, too—and continue moving toward the door. I open it and a blast of chilly air hits me in the face. I shiver, displeased. I used to love the winter—a Texas winter, anyhow—because it was a welcome, brief respite to the unrelenting heat. Now, though, it just means more flu cases and I'm tired enough as it is. I offer a small smile to the soldiers guarding the doors, because they're there, day in and day out per Azar's orders. It doesn't matter if the two of us are no longer together. He's still protecting me.
It…muddies how I feel about him sometimes, when I'm feeling weak.
"Good morning," I say. "When you bring lunch around, can you make sure the cook has a big pot of chicken soup for our patients? And I'd love some hot tea, as well. And we're going to need someone to help out today with changing laundry and hauling water, since we're short staffed."
One of the soldiers has a red nose and sniffs loudly. "Of course, my lady. We're on it."
Uh oh. "Are you sick?" I ask, worried. "Do you need to come in?"
"I'm fine, Lady Melina," he reassures me. "It's just a sniffle."
Yeah. Everyone here in the clinic said the same thing to me. But he looks pretty strong and healthy. "When you come back, come see me specifically," I say. "I have one last round of meds and some vitamin C I've been saving. I want you to take them both."
He shakes his head. "You save those for the kids that come in," he tells me. "They might need it more than I do."
He's not wrong, but it's kind of him to offer. I smile, thank him, and step back inside to tend to my patients.
Chapter
Thirty
AZAR
The fort is blossoming under my leadership. Is it arrogant to congratulate myself? Perhaps. But I'm still pleased at how far it's come along in the last few months. More people are coming to reside here, the militia is growing, and my control extends by the day. We've been able to organize groups for long-range scavenging, and we're expanding the gardens in anticipation for spring. Food stores are stocked fully despite the fact that we have more mouths to feed, and I'm confident our settlement can continue to grow and prosper under my command.
It's the only thing that seems to be going right lately.
Well, that's not entirely true. Gwen's son Tunjozefren has the loudest mental voice I have heard yet. Rachel has given birth to a daughter, Malliope, and even the distasteful Jenny has birthed a strong son, Arthromathan. Two other females are pregnant, and I have felt the flick of minds from far away, suggesting that others are bearing drakoni children. The mind-silence that has been present since I arrived in this world is now filled with young voices. Young voices that declare their hunger, declare that they are tired, or thirsty, or want a blanket. They speak all the time, keeping me up at night and making it impossible to doze for more than an hour at a time. In a way it is good. They are my army against the darkness, and they grow stronger by the day.
But they are wearing me down. Their minds are linked so brightly and sear through mine with such abandon that I cannot have a moment to myself. I cannot lock them out, because I want them to be open and eager to communicate with me. So, I listen as one babbles nonsensically while three others cry about being dirty or hungry. This goes on all hours of the day and night.