by Tracey Ward
She glances distractedly at Liv. “From the look of her face I can think of one reason.”
“She’s fine.”
“I’m fine,” Liv says at the same time.
Dr. Kanden stops, turning to consider us both. “The both of you are going to help?”
“Yes,” Liv answers immediately. Soundly.
“Does Captain Fuller know that?”
“Would it bother you if he didn’t?” I ask.
“No.”
“Then no, he doesn’t know.”
Dr. Kanden smiles faintly before turning to Liv. “Are you squeamish?”
“How do you mean?” Liv asks uncertainly.
“Does blood bother you?”
“I can handle it.”
“Alright. Gray, get her face cleaned up. Put a bandage over it. It’ll worry people being face to face with an open wound. After that you can both get to work.” A truck rolls up, pulling to the curb abruptly with a shrill screech of its brakes. Dr. Kanden hurries to meet them, calling over her shoulder, “Be careful!”
First shift Forces are already unloading injured from the truck. Some second shifters hurry out to help them. Liv and I slip into the lobby of the hospital as they press out.
It’s busy inside. People are sitting in seats, standing against walls, talking to Forces as they evaluate their injuries. The room is humming but it’s not buzzing. It’s not shouting. Not yet. The quake happened less than thirty minutes ago. It’ll take at least an hour before we get hit really hard.
“Wow, Gray,” Abby drones when she sees me. She’s standing beside an ashen faced woman parked in one of the seats lining the lobby. “Nice of you to show.”
“Wouldn’t miss it, Abby.”
“People are staring at me,” Liv whispers to me tensely.
“Just keep walking. Eyes straight ahead. Act like you belong here.”
“Even though it’s obvious you don’t,” Abby snips.
Liv looks over her shoulder as we pass her. “Is that another person I need to be worried about?”
“Nah. Not Abby.”
“She’s not dangerous?”
“Nope. Just a bitch.”
It takes me less than ten minutes to clean and cover Liv’s cut. It’s superficial, nothing to worry about. Still, she’s twitchy when we head back toward the lobby.
I pretend not to notice. I don’t have the time.
I unlock the supply closet at the end of the hall, snagging a black bag from the top shelf. I hand it to Liv. “Here, hold onto this.”
“What is it?”
Something to steady your hands.
“Supplies. Bandages, antiseptic spray, medical tape, tourniquet, a ton of other stuff. We’re taking it to the lobby to triage.”
“What’s triage?”
“It means we’re looking at the severity of people’s injuries and deciding how quickly they’re seen by the doc.”
“Is that what Abby was doing?”
“No. Abby is better trained. She’s treating patients with Dr. Kanden.”
“Will she be nicer to them than she is to us?”
“Probably not.”
“What’s her problem?”
I look at her sideways, silently reminding her of what I’ve already told her.
She nods, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Right. I forgot.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll remind you.”
“If she’s better trained then what was she doing cleaning up my sick when I first got here?”
“Probably being punished by Dr. Kanden. She’s got a real mouth on her.”
“Grayson!” Fren shouts from the far side of the lobby. “I need a hand, man!”
I hurry to him. Liv is close at my side, following without question.
Fren is hunched over a man in his forties. Sweat soaks his face and shirt until a dark Rorschach pattern emerges against the material. In it I see agony.
“It’s his leg,” Fren explains immediately.
I fight the urge to grimace when I see the problem. That’s one of the first things we’re taught when we train for this; to hide our horror. No one in pain wants to see a professional lose their cool. They want you to act like this shard of glass standing tall as a flagpole out of their thigh is mundane. You’ve seen three already today and to be frank you’re a little tired of it. Bored. Not about to gag.
I kneel down, reaching back to pull Liv with me. “Don’t look at it,” I mumble.
“Too late.”
“You okay?”
“What do we do?” she asks evenly. She pops open the bag. “What do you need?”
I’m surprised by her determination, but I immediately take advantage. “Gloves. Bandages.”
“What are you going to do?”
“We’re gonna pull it out.”
She pales slightly, but she keeps her composure as she searches for the gloves.
“Has he had anything?” I ask Fren.
He nods, snapping on his gloves. “He got Narthenol when they found him fifteen minutes ago. He’s calm but lucid.”
The man looks between us, his eyes glassy and unfocused. That’s good, ‘cause this is going to hurt.
“Are you ready?” I ask him.
“Ready for what?” he asks slowly.
Fren clears his throat. “Sir, we’re going to have to pull the glass from your leg. It’s dangerous to leave it in like this.”
The man shakes his head frantically. “No. No, no, no. Where’s the doctor? Where’s Kanden?”
“She’s busy with an emergency. You’re in good hands.”
“You’re not pulling it out.”
“We have to. Once we get it out we’ll apply pressure, get you stable, and the doctor will be with you soon to apply stitches.”
His eyes bulge. “No. No!”
“Quiet him down, Fren,” I mutter.
Fren shoots me daggers before putting his hands on the man’s chest. “Sir, I promise you this is the best thing. You’ll be able to relax once it’s out.”
“I could bleed to death!”
“It’s nowhere near an artery. You won’t bleed out.”
“You’re going to kill me!”
“You wanna help me here, Gray?” Fren snaps.
“I’m going to find the doctor.” The man tries to stand up. “Dr. Kanden!”
I shake my head in annoyance. “Sir, you need to quiet down. Now.”
“What’s your name?”
We all freeze, shocked into silence by the silvery sound of a woman’s voice. It takes me a second to realize it was Liv. She’s using a tone I’ve never heard from her before. Clear as a bell, calm as sleep.
She steps around me, coming to sit down in the seat next to the man. His jaw hits his chest as he watches her with fascination. Maybe it’s because she’s a novelty. Or because she’s pretty. Most likely it’s the drugs, but whatever the reason, the sight of her calms him instantly. He goes slack in his seat.
“I—it’s Roger,” he stutters.
Liv smiles. “Roger, this is Grayson and…”
She looks to Fren for help.
“Fren,” he supplies hurriedly.
“And Fren.”
Roger looks at us hesitantly before returning to Liv, his eyes pulled to her like he can barely stand to look away. “Who are you?”
“Liv.”
“That doesn’t sound like a foreign name.”
“Does Livandra Pamuke?”
“It’s nice.”
She smiles again. “Good. I’ll tell my mo— my father. He’ll be pleased.”
Liv’s eyes dart to mine, pained but resolute. I know what she almost said. What she’s thinking about. And still I have no words for her.
“They have a lot of people to help here today,” she tells Roger gently, “but right now Fren and Grayson, they want to help you. Can you let them do that? Please?”
Roger’s chest heaves with short, nervous breaths. “Do you trust them?”
“With my li
fe.”
“Is it going to hurt?”
“Yes,” she answers bluntly. She offers him her hand. “But I’m going to stay right here with you through all of it.”
He takes her hand immediately, swallowing it inside his.
Liv grins encouragingly. “On three?”
Roger swallows visibly. “Okay.”
“Grayson?”
I nod once, handing a compress to Fren. “Be ready with pressure.”
“You got it, man,” he agrees.
I take a steadying breath before wrapping my fingers tight around the shard of glass.
“Three…two…”
I lick my lips, risking a look at Liv. I don’t know why I do it. I don’t know why it matters, but when she meets my eyes for just a fraction of a second I find what I’m looking for.
Fear.
It’s a weird thing to want. A strange thing to wish on someone, but when it has you too it’s only natural to hope you’re not alone. To take comfort in company, no matter who that company may be.
“One.”
Chapter Twenty
Liv
Not everyone loves me. Not everyone is Roger with the glassy eyes and goofy grin holding my hand like it’s a lifeline. Some people stare, some glare. A lot of them whisper. More don’t. More say what they’re thinking out loud for me to hear like I’m deaf or they just don’t care.
Not everything is favorable, but the majority of it is simply curious. People ask to hear me speak, chuckling at my accent. A little girl getting a cast on her arm asks to touch my skin. She gasps at how soft it is. How normal. She asks to braid my hair and I promise her she can once her hand is better.
A pregnant woman comes in suffering from premature labor. I offer her my hand to hold the way I did to Roger, but I regret it almost immediately. By the time her body calms and she’s resting, I’m convinced I need Grayson to reset some of my bones. They’ve been crushed to powder. But she thanks me as she drifts off to sleep, and I wonder what’s a little broken bone between friends?
Some people make it clear I’m not welcome to come too near them. Others studiously ignoring my presence entirely, but none of them give me the creeps the way Holster did. There is something inherently troubling about that guy.
I follow Grayson obediently through the lobby triaging for over three hours before things slow down and there’s no one else to look after. A lot of what we see is broken bones. Fingers, feet, arms. Abrasions. Head trauma. A lot of words I’m learning on the fly, asking questions as discreetly as I can. Grayson is shockingly quick to answer. He even tells me to lean in to watch what he’s doing, narrating as he goes. Including me. Educating me.
And the first thing he does with every patient after Roger? He asks their name, and he tells them his.
The time flies by. It’s hours but it feels like minutes, and it’s not until it’s over that I realize how exhausted I am. My back aches, my feet hurt, my fingers throb from tearing countless strips of bandage. Endless lines of tape.
“You’re smiling,” Grayson accuses.
“Am I?”
He looks at me from across the exam table. We’re in a room down the hall from the one I was staying in just yesterday. It’s been filled with supplies for Dr. Kanden’s staff to grab on the fly, and now Grayson and I are using it to restock the drained first aid bags.
“Yeah,” he answers with an amused grin. “Your face is busted, you’re covered in blood, and you’re smiling.”
I shrug, reaching for a roll of bandage. “I had a good day.”
“Doing this?”
“Doing anything.”
I feel it when he looks away from me. I also feel it when he’s about to speak, like the length of his pauses are consistent, calculated to a point that my mind has found the pattern.
“What do you do on your ship?”
My shoulders slump, the smile falling off my face. “What do you mean?”
“Do you work?”
“I go to school.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“Math and history?” he prods.
“And business and literature. Whatever you went to school for, Grayson, that’s what I learn too. It’s nothing different.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s very different.”
So am I.
“Why is that?” I ask warily.
“Because we’re the same age and I’ve been out of school for years. Why are you still in it?”
“I’m not very smart.”
“That’s a lie.”
I grin. “Be careful. That’s almost a compliment.”
“No, a compliment would be to say you’re obviously really smart so I don’t understand why you’re still in school.”
“Thank you.”
“But that’s not what I’m saying.”
I snort. “Of course it’s not.”
“Does it have anything to do with your dress?”
I pause. “My dress?”
“The big red and white one that you were wearing when we found you.”
“You mean when you found me?”
“Whatever. Does it?”
“Does what what, Grayson?” I ask impatiently. “I don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Is that dress part of your extended education?”
I put my hands flat on the table, turning my full attention to him. The fullness of my frustration. “Yes, it is. It has everything to do with it. With dinners and dancing and gold forks and silver spoons. With trade agreements and bartering. Shortages. Council members with white hair and opinions that they put on you as fact. Zealand diamonds and Ambrios opium. Favorable tides, nuclear engines, Aedha ship builders.”
“They don’t teach any of that here.”
I roughly shove a handful of gloves into the bag. “Yeah, well, I’m not allowed to learn any of this there, so it’s only fair.”
“That’s too bad. You’re good at it.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Are you going to accuse me of complimenting you again?”
“Never.”
“Then, yeah, really.” He tosses me a jar of ointment. “You’re good at this.”
I grin, rolling the small jar in my hand. “I like it.”
“I can tell,” he chuckles.
“Do you think they’ll let me do it?”
“What? You mean like permanently?”
“For the year, yes.”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask.”
“Is it okay with you?”
He frowns. “Why do you care what I think?”
“Because you’ll have to do it with me, won’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he answers slowly, pensively. “At least until Captain Fuller feels like you’re safe enough to be on your own.”
“So, would you mind?”
He shrugs, zipping his bag closed with a sharp zzzzp. “Nah, I don’t mind. I’m used to being here anyway. And I’d rather be here than following you to a baker’s or something.”
“I have no idea how to cook.”
“You have no idea how to do this.”
“But you can teach me. You already have. After today I know more about this than anything else in the world.”
He smirks. “Not more than Ambrios Opium. Or Zealand diamonds.”
“Do you want me to teach you about those?”
“God no.”
“Will you teach me something else?”
He hefts the straps of three black bags over his shoulder with a grunt. “Like what?”
“Like how to defend myself.”
Grayson stops, his eyes on the floor. He pauses for the requisite amount of time, four beats, before nodding solemnly. “Yeah, I could do that. I think we’d both feel better if I did.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem, but you gotta keep it to yourself, alright?” He levels his gaze on me seriously. “The Captain can’t know. No one can know. Yo
u got it?”
“Who would I tell? Abby?”
“Sure, that’s what I want,” he replies sarcastically. “My two favorite people becoming best friends.”
“You’re packing me in with Abby?”
“Yep.”
“Well, that’s hurtful.”
He grabs my last bag from me, heading for the door. “It is what it is, Liv.”
I smile when he says my name. Not because it sounds so smooth or it rolls off his accent the way it does when Easton says it. I like it because he said it without venom. Like I’m not the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. Little as it is, with Grayson I’ll take that as a win.
“Grayson!”
Uh oh.
It’s Fuller. His voice booms down the hall, shouting Grayson’s name with all the venom mine was spared. Grayson stops, dropping the bags to the floor to stand at attention.
“Yes, sir.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Working.”
“Where’s the girl?”
Grayson steps aside, clearing the way into the room. “Inside.”
“You better have a brilliant reason for bringing her down here. Did you get clearance for that?”
“No, sir.”
“No! Do you know how I know you didn’t?”
“Because I didn’t ask you.”
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
Ironically, Grayson doesn’t answer him.
“Insubordinate as your brother,” Fuller grumbles. I can see his shadow in the hall draped over the floor at Grayson’s feet. “You boys just do whatever you feel like, don’t you? Think you know everything. This will come back to bite you, son.”
I hurry to the door, stopping just shy of the threshold. “It’s my fault,” I tell him fervently. I rip the bandage off my head with a grimace. “I hit my head during the earthquake. It was bleeding so badly it had me terrified. I was seeing double. Grayson brought me down to get me checked out. I wouldn’t calm down until he did.”
Fuller eyes me critically, and for the first time today I’m grateful for the plumb colored bruising. Hopefully it will cover the lie in my eyes. “You saw the doc about that?”
“She was busy. Grayson ended up cleaning and bandaging it when we got here, but I begged him to stay until we could see her. She’s still finishing up with some people. I’m last in line.” I gesture to the bags at Grayson’s feet. “We’ve been making ourselves useful. Repacking the bags and rolling bandages. Grayson said we should help since we’re here.”