The Lumis War

by Lisa Jade

  I stop in my tracks and glare, but she shrugs it off and laughs. The sound is cruel, mirthless, and it sets me on edge.

  "God, I'm kidding!" she chuckles, "learn to take a joke, newbie."

  With that she turns and marches away, leaving me standing like an idiot, my arms raised in front of me, mid-sign. I feel a pang of irritation and scowl - but Max just grins.

  "Don't take Minni too seriously," he tells me, "she's not a bad person, I promise. You just have to learn to take her with a pinch of salt."

  I nod, but it still bothers me. I've always had to fight to be heard, striving to be seen as an equal in an otherwise uncaring place. Now I've finally achieved that, and I find myself in a new place where nobody is willing to take even a moment to listen.

  Chapter Nine

  Max guides me into one of the buildings. It's not so colourful in here; the walls are scorched black and some of the interior walls are crumbling. The moment the door swings shut behind us silence presses on my ears, the steady hustle and bustle of the street blocked out almost entirely, leaving behind a peculiar quiet.

  "I won't put too much pressure on you today," he tells me, "it can be pretty confusing here at times. I don't expect you to know everyone here straight away, or to get involved until you feel better. For now, we'll strap you up, I'll bring you some food and you can just rest."

  I nod obediently, but the idea doesn't appeal to me. I'd rather not have time alone to reflect on what I've done. I can already feel it. The tension in my chest, the dryness in my throat. The moment I have a chance, I'm going to cry. It's going to be ugly, too. Not being able to wail when you cry means you develop other habits - mostly of the snotty, dribbly type. I don't want anyone to see that.

  I'm also painfully aware that I'm the first person from Fairground that Max and his team have met. Because of this, I have to be a shining example. Easier said than done when you were found on the floor in a terrified mess, but even so. Adam has always said that strangers in the ruins are just enemies we haven't crossed yet. To show further weakness would be stupid.

  Max crouches down and grabs a dusty box from under a table. It's faded and grey: I wonder if any of their medical supplies are still okay to use. I reach out and gently take the box from him, clicking it open and digging around. Once I'm finished, I heave a sigh. They have nothing.

  "Don't pull that face," he tells me, "I know it's not much but it's all we've got."

  I gape. This group has got to be twenty, thirty people strong. How do they have so little in the way of aid?

  Max sees my face and shrugs.

  "I know, I know. We need more. We need more of everything though... So unfortunately this stuff gets pushed back for more important things, like food and water."

  He looks down at the ground, and for a moment I feel a pang of pity. Life in Fairground isn't exactly luxurious, but we get by. If someone needs something it's there, available with little to no effort.

  I reach out and pick up my pack, which Max has put on the floor. I pull it open and start dragging out the contents, covering a nearby table with bandages, syringes, painkillers, antiseptics and any number of other things. He stares at me, eyes wide.

  "Where did you get all this?" he stammers, "there's so much here! Do you all carry this much?"

  I shake my head, and he takes a moment to think. I can almost see the wheels turning as he tries to figure it out.

  Then he looks at me and mutters.

  "So, uh. You're like... A doctor?"

  His voice is quiet, unsure, like he's not quite convinced. It would make sense, but how could it be true? He looks me up and down, slowly, his gaze holding my face. I resist the urge to smirk. I get it. I'm not the best choice to be a doctor. Too small, too quiet. Doctors need to be like Dr Newton. Strong enough to hold you down, smart enough to know why, and kind enough to make up for it afterwards. Idly, my hand reaches up to my face and I gingerly touch the part of my cheek where Brick struck me. It doesn't hurt anymore; it barely even feels tender. I wonder how much easier the whole thing would have been if I has been strong enough to pin him properly - or if I could have explained myself to the others.

  Max tilts his head and I find myself nodding. He briefly covers his mouth with one hand, and then runs it through his dirty blonde locks.

  "A doctor, huh. That's pretty amazing…"

  He clears his throat loudly and passes me a roll of bandage from the table. I set to work cleaning and binding my arm, but he continues to talk.

  "We had a doctor here up until recently. Hubert. Great guy. Even without supplies, he was usually able to do something. But there was a sickness bug a few months back, and he dedicated himself to helping the affected. Of course it was only a matter of time until he caught it himself, and well…"

  He trails off, his eyes focusing on my hands as I work.

  "I don't think I need to tell you the rest."

  I pause for a moment, and then lower my hands. A few months? For months now, these people have been living without any medical care or supplies. I don’t see how they've survived so long. I try to imagine what Fairground would be like without Dr Newton's constant intelligence, reassurance and leadership; but I can't. There's still a long way to go until I can even start to fill his shoes.

  I finish wrapping up my arm and pin the bandage in place. Max stares for a moment, marvelling at my handiwork.

  "That's a hell of a lot neater than anything the rest of us could do," he mutters, "but I've got to ask. If you're a doctor, why were you out in the city in the first place?"

  I don't know how to answer that - and my discomfort must show on my face, because he gives a small wave and averts his eyes.

  "Sorry. Don't answer that. It's not my place."

  My throat aches. If it's anyone's place to demand these things, it's him. I wish I could tell him. I wonder if I could write a message, try and explain everything in a way that doesn't sound quite so contrived…

  But then he stands up, brushes himself down, and beckons for me to follow him. I pack my bag with the remaining supplies - never know when they might be useful. He leads me into a small room on the second floor, which is lined with blankets and pillows resting on the hard concrete floor. At the end of the room is a small, shadowy figure curled up under a blanket.

  "This is the hospital," he says, "it's usually not so quiet in here, but patients are tough. They go where they want and do what they want, even if you beg them not to. So I guess that for now, this is going to be your room. Watch out, though - at sunset they'll pile back in here and it'll be chaos."

  He sees me staring, follows my gaze to the concrete floor and chuckles.

  "Hey, I didn't say it was luxurious, did I? But it's all we've got. The rest of us sleep in the open. At least in here it's dry."

  He motions for me to sit down and I obey, crossing my legs against the icy floor. Idly, I wonder if there used to be carpets in here, but I shake the thought away. It doesn't matter now.

  "You take some time and rest. I'll be back in a few hours to check on you."

  I nod, though I don't know how I'm going to relax in here. It's so different from the bunkers. Where are the soft, worn pillows, and the sound of a dozen or so other people sleeping nearby? This is so cold and dark and empty that I don't want to be here for a moment longer than I have to be.

  Max leaves, and I try to follow his orders. For a brief moment, I feel my muscles relaxing. I feel the cuts and bruises on my body and face beginning to ease, and I feel my own slow, steady breathing. The building is dark and quiet and oddly peaceful. I lie back, rest my head on one of the flat, yellow pillows, and close my eyes.

  It takes about thirty seconds before I sit up again, my heart pounding. That sense of dread and upset that was in my gut is starting to grow now, pushing out and filling my chest, my head, my throat. I try to push it down; but there's nobody else around, nobody to see me if I let it out. I feel it against my eyes, that hot, prickly feeling, that perfect mix of sadness and shame.
I swallow hard and lift a shaking hand to my face before my resolve breaks.

  Once the tears start, they don't stop. Hot, salty water streams from my eyes, drenching my cheeks and trickling down my chin. My hands find my head and grasp it, my fingers entangling themselves in my hair and pulling at the longer pieces. Blood rushes to my face and I sob, so hard and silent that I feel I might choke.

  Where am I? How did I end up here? How is it that I went from being accepted by Adam to being totally stranded, all alone with a group of strangers? I had finally achieved all I had dreamed of; and in one fell swoop I lost everything. Faces flash by in my head - Dr Newton, Bree… I imagine their faces when the Scouts return and are forced to explain to them. Bree probably thinks it's the end of the world. Nobody else ever bothered to listen to her, so without me around she'll just fade into the background. I can't claim to have helped her much, but at least she wasn't alone. Dr Newton is probably angry. Angry that I went out when I clearly wasn't capable, angry at the Scouts for not protecting me, angry that he's lost the only other person in Fairground who could take over to let him retire in the future…

  And Adam. He's going to hate me now. He's acting all worried at the minute because he doesn't want everyone to think he failed, or made a bad decision by letting me leave with them. He's probably scared he'll be punished, or have his leadership taken away. It's not a totally baseless fear - Scout leaders are selected carefully, chosen by both their teammates and the Council. If one of them is deemed to be unfit, it's perfectly acceptable to remove that title from them and force them to retrain from the ground up. How could I have done this?

  I bury my face in the pillow and cry hard for a few minutes. Then, a small voice in my head calls out. It wasn't your fault. It could have happened to anyone. I silence it and cry harder. But it didn't happen to just anyone. It happened to me. Typical.

  I lie on the ground in the cold, sobbing until the world begins to grow dark around me. My tired eyes are red and puffy from crying, and my body is calling out for some slight relief from the pain and exhaustion of the past two days. I don't want to fall asleep; I want to go sprinting back out into the city, forcing my way past the wall and finding my way back to Fairground. I don't care how long it takes me. I don't care if I die on the way. I just… want to go home.

  I dream of bots. I'm running through the city with the others, their dark, smoky figures sprinting ahead with ease. I try to keep up, but my feet are heavy and I stumble. They race ahead of me, and though I wave at them, they don't see me. They fade into the distance and shadows surround me. Bots, towering and covered in weaponry, back me into a corner. I stay calm and reach for my launcher - but it's not there. I look up. Someone stands ahead of me, my launcher held firmly in their grip, a twisted smile on their face. I see golden curls and blue eyes - but I can't make out his face.

  I wake in a cold sweat. The room around me is pitch black, and I can hear the sound of snuffling breath around me. The sound is occasionally broken by a whine or gasp, like someone is in pain. The sweat stings my eyes and I sit up, rubbing it away. There's a lot here - I wonder if it's really sweat. I'd like to think I hadn't been crying while asleep, but I suppose it doesn't matter.

  The hospital is filled with people. Every one of the concrete beds is taken; though I note with displeasure that all those close to me have been moved away. Instead I sleep on an island, a pointed distance from everyone else. I sigh heavily. I can't say I blame them for not wanting to be near me.

  "Shh… it's okay."

  I pause. The voice came from within the darkness, a whispered comfort in the black. The pained whimper rings out again, and instinct kicks in. I climb to my feet, wipe a dirty hand across my face, and walk towards the noise.

  It turns out to be a small girl. She lies in a fetal position on the floor, clutching at her stomach and groaning. A boy lies next to her, his hand on her head, a concerned expression on his face. He gingerly strokes her hair, and sadness wells up in his eyes. They both share the same carrot-coloured hair and freckled complexion - I wonder if they're siblings.

  But then he sees me looking, and his expression changes. His brows furrow, his jaw tightens, and he visibly shrinks back. It's a motion caused by a mix of hate and fear… and I don't understand it.

  I slowly kneel down next to them, and hold out a hand towards her. But he slaps it away and snarls.

  "Leave her alone," he warns me, "please. She's suffered enough."

  I watch him for a moment, carefully studying his face. It isn't the first time I've seen this; if someone's loved ones are in pain, they get scared. So scared in fact that they believe everything will hurt them. Even the touch of a doctor. I've always been pretty good at keeping people calm, though - I'm soft and quiet and non-threatening. It was always my job to sit with people at Fairground. Over the years of training I've learned a lot, including the perfect facial expression. Sympathy and kindness and gentleness. It comes naturally to me now; though it rarely mirrors my real thoughts.

  I give the boy a soft smile and reach out again, slower this time. He watches me carefully, clearly unhappy at my presence, but he doesn't move to stop me. Instead he pulls back, his eyes focussed on mine, his expression unsure.

  "What are you…"

  I ignore him, and place my hand on the girl's head. She winces a little, but she's barely conscious, so she doesn't move away from my touch. I hold for a moment before pulling away. No fever. So it doesn't seem to be an infection.

  It takes me a few minutes of gentle checking to get an idea of what's wrong. Every so often I stare at the boy, and he explains in a hushed voice what happened. Apparently she fell from a height while they were building some shelters; hitting her side hard on the way down. Judging by her breathing and the way she clutches at them, it seems like broken ribs. Of course I'm not a fully trained doctor and I could quite easily be wrong, but as I open my pack and pull out a roll of bandage, I'm nearly certain I've got it right. I bind the girl's ribs and give her something for the pain - and by the time I'm done, she's sleeping more easily. The boy stares at me, and for a moment, I think he's going to thank me.

  But then he turns away, wrapping an arm around his sister's shoulders and closing his eyes. It's clear he still doesn't trust me; and I don't blame him.

  I sit in silence for a while before returning to my little slice of concrete heaven. As I drop to my knees, I spy something in the darkness. A plate of food, bread and beans. Next to it is a glass of somewhat-dirty water. I smile as I drink it. Max must have come back like he promised after all. I briefly wonder if he saw my sleeping face, and it crosses my mind that I should probably be embarrassed, but I shrug it off. Despite my exhaustion, tears and nightmares, it comforts me to have a chance to play doctor. For years now medicine has been my life, so it makes me feel at home.

  Chapter Ten

  I sit motionless, head in my knees, until the sun starts to rise. I can feel the temperature skyrocket as light fills the room; and one by one, the people around me begin to stir.

  Their immediate reaction is fright; but I’m no longer surprised. I suppose it does look like I'm staring at them, watching them sleep. They avoid me, crossing the room to walk on the other side like they're scared I might attack them if they get too close. They mutter between themselves, shooting me sideways glances and scowling. I try not to move, try not to make eye contact.

  But now, in the light, I can see the true horror of this place. Everyone is injured. Most have broken bones or cuts that won't heal. Many are bandaged with dirty cloth or in awful pain. That person at the end of the row lies motionless, their back to the room, and I can't even tell if they're breathing.

  "Morning, guys."

  I look up just as Minni strides into the room. In the morning light I find myself surprised at her size. She's tiny, as her name suggests; her pigtails are so long they reach her elbows and her eyes are dark and angled in a way I haven’t seen in years. She greets the others then pauses, her eyes finding me. For a momen
t we weigh each other up; but then she clicks her tongue and sighs.

  "Sure. I might have known Max would put you under my care. Typical."

  I return her scowl and stand up. I might be weak in many ways, physically, emotionally… but I'll be damned if I'm about to let her think she can talk that way to me. She meets my eyes and shakes her head.

  "Whatever," she huffs, "just stay out of my way, alright?"

  I huff right back at her, but back off. That girl raises my hackles something fierce; but I can't go getting into a fight. I need these people - not to like me, but to trust and accept me. If I go about alienating them, that won't happen.

  Minni strides past me and greets everyone in the room in turn - as she reaches the motionless figure she leans down to check something, then smiles and stands up. I feel a small rush of relief; the person, whoever it is, is still alive.

  She then turns her attention to the young boy and girl in the corner. The girl is still asleep, the drugs easing her pain just enough to allow a calm, natural rest. I eye her carefully, though; the painkillers will wear off soon, and then she'll be back to normal.

  "Ryan?" Minni asks, "are you two okay? I haven't seen Sarah this calm for days."

  As I watch, the boy reaches down and pulls at his sister's shirt, revealing the bandages that I put on her last night. Minni's eyes widen, and she stands back, then turns to me.

  "Did you do this?"

  Her voice is quiet, seething. I can sense that she wants to be mad at me, but is questioning if she has the right to. I nod, somewhat smug, and she grits her teeth.

  "Where did you get the bandages?"

  I lift up my pack and sling it over one shoulder, pointing at it. She frowns, and I can hear her teeth grinding from over the other side of the room. Others are stopping now, pausing mid-way through dressing, turning their attention to Minni's barely-concealed anger and my forced indifference.

  "Are you even a doctor?" she demands, stamping her foot, "are you even trained?"