I continue walking. “So can my hospital staff. I’m not going to rest while they’re working themselves to death.
I climb the steps leading up to the doors of the hospital. Out of the corner of my eyes I can see Kingston lift his radio. Damn it. I guess I should expect a visit from the big bad Wolfe.
Dr. Summers greets me as I walk through the doors, her face drawn and worried. She’s wearing her lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck.
“We have a problem. Come with me.” She turns away and walks swiftly down the corridor. I follow.
“The flu?” I’m terrified of her answer, but she shakes her head.
“No, our Primitives.”
True to his word, Wolfe sent men to reinforce the hospital and arranged to have the Primitives moved. I’d received word before heading over that Dr. Summers was already setting up her new lab.
“What about them? Was the move hard on them?” I hadn’t thought of that possibility before approving it.
“No, it’s not that. They moved just fine.” She walks swiftly through the hospital corridors toward what I assume is her new lab. “The treatment is working.”
“This is a bad thing?” I ask, almost jogging to keep up with her. “I thought this was what we were hoping for.”
“Yes,” she says, but sounds sceptical. “It’s just so much easier to theorize than to see the reality.” She waves to a guard, who unlocks the lab and holds the door open for us.
“See for yourself.” She leads me through the doors.
The first thing I hear is an ear-splitting scream echoing through the room. The lab must be soundproofed because I hadn’t heard anything in the hospital corridors. Probably a good thing. The screams are enough to raise the dead. Ha, zombie joke.
Dr. Summers stops in front of a glass caged room, staring grimly down at the female zombie. The Primitive is curled onto her side, her hands in her hair, screaming in agony.
I crouch, getting a good look. I can’t see much but her skin looks better, as though the dead patches are sloughing off and leaving healthy pink skin behind.
If it weren’t for the screaming, this development would excite me.
“What’s wrong with her?” I have to shout to be heard over the screams.
“I’m not exactly sure, but I think the cell reversal is extremely painful for them. The other two are the same.” She nods toward another door. I assume Silas and the other male zombie are in a separate room.
“Can’t we make them more comfortable?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I tried, but they are essentially regenerating on a cellular level, which is burning off every drug I try to give them before it has time to take effect.” She crouches with me next to the cage, her eyes filled with sorrow. “They’re in so much pain.”
So, this is what has been bothering my usually unflappable doctor. I thought she was overworked, but it looks like her conscience has been pricking her.
I stand and hold a hand out to Dr. Summers. She takes it, allowing me to help her rise. We leave the lab, reconvening in a quieter part of the hospital. She sits heavily in a chair, sighing and rubbing the bridge of her nose.
“Are you going to be okay?” When she looks up at me, I clarify. “Will you be able to continue your research?”
She stares at me, but I know she’s not looking at me. Her quick mind is on the problem in front of her.
“Talk to me.” I push her. “You don’t have to deal with this on your own. You have me and the rest of the council.”
She nods and then shakes her head. “You have enough on your plate.”
I pull up a chair up and sit across from her, leaning forward to take her hands. “I will always have time for you. Now, let’s talk this through and see if we can find a solution.”
Tears fill her eyes. “I don’t know if there is one. I swore when I became a doctor that I would help people. Anyone and everyone who needed me, regardless of status. Now, I’m torturing the same people I promised to protect. It feels awful.”
“You couldn’t have known this would happen.”
“I should have known! We’re injecting them with a solution meant to reverse Necrotitis Primeval. Their bodies have been rotting from the inside out for years. Of course a reversal is going to hurt.”
“Do you think they’re in more pain now than when they turned the first time?”
She shudders as we both imagine what it must feel like to turn into a zombie. I’ve seen it up close and personal. When I was sixteen, I’d lived in the Las Vegas Sanctuary with my sister and grandparents. Flu had ripped through the Sanctuary, leaving the city defenseless. It had fallen easily to the zombie hordes that relentlessly attacked the city, testing its defenses.
As we’d run away, a Primitive had taken me down. As its teeth sank into the flesh of my throat, I was knocked unconscious. I truly believed I would wake up as one of them, but I’d still miraculously been human. Less miraculous was the people littered all around me on the street, doing exactly what I’d thought was going to happen to me.
Right before my eyes they’d turned, their bodies twisting and cracking, their lips splitting from their screams and cries of pain. No, it hadn’t been pleasant. And if Dr. Summers is correct, we’re essentially doing the same thing to the three Primitives under our care.
It makes me wonder who the real monsters are in this scenario and who are the victims.
“I see your point,” I tell her. “But is there anything we can do now? We can’t turn them back into Primitives, can we?”
“No. Whatever’s happening to them is irreversible.”
“Then we move forward,” I say decisively. “Give them every comfort you can think of during the transition. If it doesn’t end, or becomes unbearable, then we’ll talk about putting them down.”
She blinks back tears, but nods. “I’ve grown sort of attached,” she admits. “But I think you’re right. If they don’t settle down in the next day or two, we’ll need to do the humane thing.”
“Okay, we have a plan.” I squeeze her hands and then stand, pushing my chair back. “I’m here to help. Put me to work. Put all of us to work. I think I came here with about eight guards. Consider us yours for the day.”
Dr. Summers is grateful to have several extra sets of hands in the hospital and puts us immediately to work.
Time passes and I have no idea how long I’ve been working. I’ve cleaned, I’ve assisted, I’ve worked on charts, I’ve taken appointments. I am both horrified and enlightened by what it takes to run a hospital, and I’ve only been helping for one day.
I’m dead on my feet but determined to keep going.
I fill my arms with freshly laundered bed sheets and blankets and walk swiftly down the hall, my head down, my thoughts on how to ease the situation at the hospital, when I run headlong into a person. He grips my arms and steadies me but doesn’t let go. I open my mouth to blast him, tipping my head up and glaring, when I realize my gaze only meets a chest. It drifts up until I’m finally at the face.
“Wolfe.”
My heart speeds up at seeing him, but I’m too tired to give him more than a brief acknowledgment.
“Home.”
Typical. With one word, he issues an order to me.
I shake my head. “I can’t, there’s still too much to do.”
“Someone else can do it.” He takes the armload of blankets from me and strides into the nearest room, dumping the pile on an empty bed. He turns back to me and takes my arm. “Come.”
“As if you’re giving me a choice,” I grumble, but follow him.
As we pass the front desk, I pull on Wolfe’s hold, showing I want to stop. He pauses.
I turn to the duty nurse I met earlier in the day. “Jessa, can you please let Dr. Summers know I’ve gone home. If she has any emergencies tonight, she’s welcome to contact me.”
“No, she’s not,” Wolfe contradicts me. “The Warlord will not be available for the rest of the day or night.”
He drags me from the hospital while my face reddens in annoyance.
I pull my arm from his grip and stop on the sidewalk. “What’s the point in my being Warlord, if you’re going to dictate my actions?”
He stops walking to look down at me. “I’m not dictating to my Warlord, but to my wife.”
“I am not your wife,” I hiss. “And I’m not going to be if you don’t stop with this Neanderthal act.”
His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a sudden distinct chill to the air. Damn. I always take it one step too far with him.
I consider apologizing to avoid the coming explosion, but the deadly air surrounding him is sort of intriguing. Makes me want to lick him all over just to bask in his sexy possessiveness.
I know, I’m a contradiction. One minute fighting against his oppressive tendencies, the next wanting to sex up the angry soldier.
He opens the door to his car and pushes me inside, slamming it shut, before striding around to his side. It takes less than five minutes to reach the palace. We don’t say a word to each other as we climb the stairs. We don’t often take the lifts, as the exercise is beneficial. We have to keep our bodies battle ready.
I admit I am exhausted by the time we reach the top, but once we get into our suite, Wolfe turns to me, battle in his eyes.
I stand my ground. “Say your piece, warrior, and then let’s eat. I’m too fucking hungry to fight with you.”
His gaze grows concerned and he scans me from head to foot. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I yawn widely. “Actually, I think I’ll skip supper and go to bed.”
He catches my arm as I try to pass him and lifts his big paw-like hand to my forehead, checking to see if I have a temperature. It would be laughably domestic, except I’ve seen how fast this man can decapitate a Primitive.
“You feel warm.”
I shrug. “I’ve been working my tail off at the hospital all day. Since I’m not skilled in medicine, they gave me the menial tasks. It was hot and sweaty work.”
“You will not go to work there again.” His brows lower into a frown, though the worry remains in his single amber eye.
I touch his cheek, savouring the feel of his whiskers against my palm. “Is that an order?”
He stares steadily down at me, thinking, then shakes his head. “No.”
Happiness surges through me. By not making it an order, he’s acknowledging my new leadership role and the decision-making that must go with it.
He’s making a request, which makes it difficult to deny him. Wolfe is so sure of himself that he rarely forms his opinions as requests. For good reason. He has survived and thrived, reaching this point in his life and always coming out better with each tragedy. He is survivor goals.
Still, I have a responsibility to my Sanctuary.
“I will do the work until I’m no longer needed and then I’ll move on to the next task.” I speak the words softly, but with feeling, letting Wolfe know that I will not change my mind. “I’m no one’s figurehead, but the leader of this Sanctuary. You tasked me with putting this place in order and I will be at the forefront of that revolution.”
He dips his head in a nod, his eye warming as he looks at me.
I yawn again. “Now, I’m going to bed so I’ll be rested for my shift at the hospital tomorrow.”
Before I can walk away, Wolfe drags me around and bends to haul me up into his arms.
“Hey!”
He kisses my protest away and looks down at me.
“You’ll be eating your supper before you go to bed.” As he strides into the dining chamber, with me in his arms, he adds, “That’s an order.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, but you’ll have to cut my food. I’m too tired.”
Eleven
The next day at the hospital is no less demanding than the previous one. I’m sent running for supplies the moment I walk in the door. It becomes quickly obvious that flu, which has been threatening us for weeks, is now running rampant through our city. It’s too early to tell how bad it might get, but as the fifth person in the space of an hour walks into the hospital looking for relief, I’m forced to admit that I need to do something about the growing sickness.
I pull Kingston, who has been working alongside me, into a corner and discuss my concerns with him. He agrees that we’re seeing the doctor’s suspicions come to fruition and that something will have to be done to stop a potential epidemic before it starts.
“Send someone to appraise Wolfe of the situation but tell him to keep his distance,” I instruct my personal guard. “He’ll need to decide what measures will need to be enacted for security.”
“Right away.” Kingston walks away from me to find one of his men.
I smother a yawn and lean against the wall, closing my eyes. My lunch isn’t sitting well and my feet are sore from being on them all day. Having experienced life as a nurse, I am now fairly certain that I prefer the profession of soldier.
Someone down the hall is shouting at a nurse, insisting he get help before others who have been waiting longer. I open my eyes and take a few steps toward them, intent on intervening. I catch Kingston’s gaze and he gives his head a quick shake, telling me to stay out of it. He’s right. I don’t need to solve every minor problem that erupts inside my Sanctuary.
Instead, I turn and make my way down the hall. I will see if I can find Dr. Summers and let her know we’re likely going to enact security measures throughout the city, slowing the spread of the virus.
I let myself into the research lab, as this is where she spends most of her time when not directing hospital staff.
“Dr. Summers?” I call out softly, not wanting to startle her. “Sheela?”
“She’s not here.”
The voice is so soft I almost miss it. Then I spot Hannah. She’s curled up on the floor next to the glass wall separating Silas’ cage from the rest of the lab.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her.
She looks up at me, tears drenching her eyes. “Did you know?”
“Know what?” I crouch next to her.
“How much pain he’s been in?” Her voice becomes stronger with accusation as she looks back at Silas who is curled on his side with his back to us. “Did you know the doctor has been experimenting on him, causing him more pain than he can bear?” A sob escapes her. “Hasn’t he been through enough?”
I rub her back, but she jerks away from me. I drop my hand and sit on the floor next to her.
“Doctor Summers didn’t know this would happen; she’s just as upset by it as you are, but it’s too late now to change the course of treatment.”
She uses her sleeve to wipe her eyes. “You should have experimented on the others, not him. Not Silas.”
I glance toward the other cages, each with a Primitive who is undergoing the same treatment as Silas.
I shake my head. “He’s not Silas. He’s a Primitive.”
She treats me to the heat of her glare.
I barely recognize the Hannah I once knew from our harem days. She was everything that was loving kindness, compassion, and perfect manners. Now she’s bitter, angry, constantly struggling with herself. My heart goes out to her, but I can’t have her sitting here on the floor of Sheela’s lab blaming the doctor for something that’s out of her control.
I push myself off the floor and reach for her. “Let’s get you up.”
“No.” She tightens her body, resisting my effort to help her.
I run a hand over my face, trying to determine what to do. Is there a precedent for the spectre of one’s undead husband casting a shadow over his former wives?
Hannah’s growing obsession with Silas concerns me. She checks on him daily and attempts to direct Dr. Summers’ research in a way that will keep him safe. Dr. Summers plays along until she can’t anymore, and then I’m forced to intervene. I can feel a growing rift in my friendship with Hannah, but I need to get through to her.
Before I can say anything, de
mand she leave the lab, Hannah speaks again, her voice a low growl of anger. “You never really loved him. He was always a means for you to climb your way to the top. Now you’re Warlord and he’s locked up in a cage.”
The accusation should be a knife to the heart, but it barely registers. I’m tired and I’m growing progressively more annoyed by her sometimes sweet, sometimes angry attitude.
I give Hannah a stern look and reach down, gripping her arm tightly and dragging her to her feet. She has no choice but to comply or let me wrench her arm.
When she’s on her feet, I lead her away from the lab. “You know that’s not true. And you saying it does nothing but hurt our relationship even more. Why are you doing this, Hannah?”
“I’m speaking the truth!” she cries out, trying to pull her arm away from me. “He’s suffering and you’re enjoying all the perks of his old position.”
“What perks?” I snap. “So far the only perks I’ve noticed are repeated threats on my life, a kidnapping and a whole lot of work while a few ungrateful citizens question my every move.”
My pointed words seem to sink in as she remembers I’m an ally and not an enemy. “Oh, Skye, I’m so sorry.” She turns to me, tears sparkling in her eyes. “I didn’t mean it. Of course, you love him as much as I do.”
She’s wrong about that, but now that she’s flip-flopped back to seeing reason, I’m not going to argue.
Tears pour down her cheeks as she sobs her misery in the middle of the hospital corridor.
I sigh heavily and pull her impatiently into my arms where she cries out her heart. It won’t matter, she’ll find another reason to hate me again later and we’ll go through this all over again.
Dr. Summers has explained to me that Hannah is likely experiencing PTSD and anxiety from the ordeal of losing Silas and spending a year in a Sanctuary without protection, forced to scavenge for food, calm the population of survivors and do the best she could with an influx of refugees. Apparently she’s no longer as adept as she used to be at handling her emotions. I can sympathize, but I don’t have enough time or expertise to help her heal.
Skye's Sanctuary (The Sanctuary Series Book 5) Page 7
