by G. R. Lyons
“A morgue?” one asked.
“A room where autopsies are performed and bodies are prepared for burial.”
The nurses shared a look and shook their heads.
“Never heard of anything like that. We just put them here until the carter arrives to take them to the burial ground.”
“That's it?”
They nodded as though it were obvious.
“You don't notify families or–” Graeden began, then cut off. “No, of course you wouldn't. What would be the point?”
“Doctor?”
“Never mind. Don't let me keep you.”
The nurses shared a look and a shrug and hurried away, leaving Graeden alone with the silent and bloody dead. He counted the bodies, and closed his eyes.
Father Kalos, he prayed, I know I don't do this often enough, but as You created us, so too do You give us enduring souls. These people we could not save…I wish we could have done more. Please see them safely to the other side. Please let them know peace, where they didn't know it in life.
He touched his hand to his chest, right over his heart, then touched his forehead, and lifted his hand toward the sky—a reverential gesture to the Father of Healing—then knelt beside the first body and tried to find some way to identify him.
Moving carefully, he searched the man's pockets, but found nothing, and wondered how in the world he was supposed to determine the name of a man he'd never seen before. Then he opened the man's uniform coat and found a name and citizen identification number on a label attached to the inside of the lapel.
“Vyrn,” he read, glancing up at the man's face, dried blood still staining his chin. “Be at peace.”
Graeden wrote the man's name on the form, along with his citizen number, approximate age, and sex, then moved on to the next body. He repeated the process until he'd recorded all their names, then went back inside and straight to Records.
“Can I help you?” a records clerk asked him.
Graeden held up the clipboard, and the clerk gave it a quick glance.
“Oh.” The clerk turned back to whatever he was working on and waved vaguely behind him. “Go find whatever you need.”
Graeden raised an eyebrow and started to say something, then thought better of it and stepped around the man to face the endless rows of files.
Good gods, he thought, seeing shelves overstuffed with folders and paper.
He looked down at his list, hoped the files were at least kept alphabetical, and went in search of the first name.
It took well over an hour to hunt down the files, weeding through duplicate folders and misplaced folders until he found ones that matched the identities of the bodies outside, stacking the folders on a counter at the end of the room as he found them. During his search, he found a file for a patient who had died the second week Graeden and his friends had been on Tanas, and two files for a patient he'd treated for a broken leg.
This place is a disaster, he thought, shaking his head as he came to the last name on his list. He scanned through the shelves of Cs and carefully plucked the file he needed from the stuffed mess, pushing a few back in place so they wouldn't all fall out onto the floor. Tucking the file into the crook of his arm, he headed toward his stack, eager to get out of there, then came to a stop as he passed the shelves marked B.
Graeden glanced around, making sure there was no one else near, and scanned the shelves, thinking the chances were near impossible, but curiosity won over.
On one particularly stuffed shelf, Graeden slowed down and thumbed through the labels, going one by one until he found a familiar name.
Keeping a finger between files so he wouldn't lose his place, he crouched down to set the last file for the deceased on the floor, leaving his hands free to pull out a folder labeled Benash.
His jaw dropped as he opened the file and read the patient details, showing exam dates from over seventy years before and a notation about an officer who was injured during a training exercise.
Off the Isle for six decades, and they still have his file, he thought, shaking his head. Gods, this is insane.
Graeden looked around at the endless stacks of files, and wondered just how many more were still there that didn't need to be.
Making sure he wasn't watched, Graeden tucked the file into the waistband of his pants, zipped up his jacket, and kept his posture as straight as he could as he retrieved the gathered files and went to find out what he was supposed to do with them.
* * *
GRAEDEN AND the other doctors spent the rest of the day making rounds, checking on patients' progress while also seeing to new patients who came in for the usual complaints of cuts, broken bones, and fevers. One man arrived in the middle of the day suffering from a sort of heat stroke, saying he worked at the boiler plant and the Elders had kept them all working continuously until the machinery was up and running.
The man's hair was singed, his skin dry, and his hands cracked and bleeding. He collapsed into unconsciousness as the doctors saw to him, but the general attitude in the hospital was one of relief, glad to hear the boilers were working again.
Graeden looked at the overworked man, and around at all the people who had nearly died, and knew he had to find out why it had all happened.
As night approached, the Agori doctors were told they could finally go home, and as Zhadeyn was just strong enough to get out of bed, Graeden slowly walked her back to the apartment and put her in the shower while he pulled the blood-stained sheets from the bed and made it up afresh.
When he was finished, he peeked into the shower and found Zhadeyn leaning up against the wall, breathing heavily and holding a bar of soap in one limp hand.
Graeden got undressed and joined her, holding her as he gently rubbed the soap over her body.
“You don't…have to do that,” she said, eyelids drooping as she looked at him.
“Hush,” he said, kissing her gently and turning her so the water rinsed the soap away. “Just relax.” He set the soap aside and finished rinsing her, then added, “As for that, you are going straight to bed once we're done here.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and she stammered, “But…No, I…I have to make your dinner, and…”
“Deyn,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips. “No arguing. You need sleep. Doctor's orders.”
Zhadeyn frowned, resting her hands on his chest, and murmured, “But…you need…”
Graeden took a deep breath and stifled a groan, then gave her a smile as he said, “I appreciate that, but another day or two won't exactly kill me.” She started to argue again, and he held up a hand. “And I can manage my own dinner. I'll be fine. You need to rest and heal, alright?”
Zhadeyn sighed and leaned against him, her body shaking with exhaustion, then turned away from him, bringing her hands up to her mouth as she gasped out a sob and burst into tears.
“Honey,” he murmured, hugging her back to his chest.
“Gods, I don't deserve you,” she said haltingly through her sobs.
“What? That's nonsense. Why do you say that?”
She turned around to face him but didn't lift her eyes above his chin as she said, “Any other man would have just– But you– I don't–”
A guilty look crept over her face for a moment before she hid behind her hands and cried.
“You've been so good to me and I don't deserve it,” she said.
Graeden shook his head, breathing a laugh.
“Deyn, honey.” He pulled her into his arms and rocked her while she cried. “You're over-tired and weak. This is just exhaustion talking. Come on. Time for bed.”
He got her out of the shower, helped her dry off and dress, then put her to bed, tiptoeing his way out to the kitchen to make himself something to eat before his own exhaustion fully took over.
Graeden stood at the sink, mechanically eating whatever leftovers he could find, then shoved his bowl aside and searched the kitchen again, mentally noting what food they had that would keep for a few days. With a plan f
orming in his mind, Graeden shut off the lights and went to bed, sinking into sleep the moment he lay down beside his wife.
* * *
THE NEXT morning, Zevic waited out of sight until he saw Dr. Graeden arrive at the hospital, then slipped out and made his way to Zhadeyn's apartment, strolling along casually as he went.
He walked right up to the door and let himself in, hearing a gasp and a shatter of ceramic as he closed the door behind him.
“What are you doing here?” Zhadeyn asked, staring at him, wide-eyed.
Zevic stormed toward her with a glare and backhanded her across the face.
“How dare you speak before spoken to!” he yelled. “What nonsense is that husband of yours putting into your head?”
Zhadeyn cupped a hand over her cheek and backed away from him, wincing as she stepped on a shard of broken plate.
“Your husband is a problem,” Zevic growled, stalking toward her until she was trapped between him and the sink. “Have you found anything in his head that we can use to break him?”
“I won't do it,” she whispered, shaking and cowering away from him.
Zevic grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “What was that?”
“I said I won't do it!” she cried, trembling as he tightened his grip. “He's a good man, Zevic. I won't let you destroy him!”
Zevic whirled her around and slammed her back against the wall. “And ruin all our plans? Oh, I don't think so, sister dear.”
“Your plans,” she spat. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Oh, but you made it all possible,” he said with a sneer. “It required a woman to make it work, and it was about damned time you actually did something for the sake of your fellow citizens. Otherwise, you were just a useless waste of flesh.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “He doesn't think so. He says all people are valuable in some way, and that they shouldn't be slaves to one another.”
Zevic snorted a laugh. “Blasphemous drivel. You'll get yourself killed if you start thinking like that. Not that I care. You're probably too old now to have children, anyway, so what good are you?”
He thrust her aside and headed for the door, calling back over his shoulder, “Probe his mind and find something we can use.”
“I'm going to tell him.”
Zevic paused, his hand halfway to the doorknob, and turned around to face her.
“What did you just say?”
Clenching her hands into fists at her sides, she lifted her head and looked straight at him.
“I'm going to tell him,” she said through clenched teeth. “I'll tell him everything. And you'll have to kill me to stop me.”
Zevic stormed toward her and slapped her again, striking so hard that he knocked her to the ground.
“You say one word to him…” he fumed. “You hear me? One fucking word and I will start cutting on you until you scream yourself to death. Got it?” He kicked her in the side and added, “And how dare you raise your eyes to mine! You are beneath me, woman!”
He spat on the floor, turned on his heel, and stormed away, slamming the door on his way out.
Chapter 23
GRAEDEN MADE his way through the hospital, surprised to see the hallways empty and most of the beds in the exam rooms unoccupied. He went straight to their original assigned room and found Jase and the others already getting their files started for the day.
“Where is everyone?” Graeden asked. “We didn't lose any more, did we?”
“No, just sent them home,” Dr. Keisen answered, setting aside a stack of files and coming over to join them. “We kept the ones who were still too weak to get out of bed, but the others, who had less exposure and were already near healed, we discharged early this morning.”
“I just hope they actually get some more rest rather than being forced back to work so soon,” Jase muttered, “but I doubt it.”
“Not likely,” Dr. Keisen said with a sigh and a shake of the head. “But, that is the way of the world.”
“Not the whole world, Keisen,” Graeden said, clapping the man on the shoulder as he went to grab his first file of the day.
They worked in relative peace and routine, the hospital eerily silent after the crowded chaos of the past few days. Even with sick and injured people still lining up in the hallways and crowding the hospital entrance as the day progressed, it didn't feel nearly so busy as the outbreak had been.
“Where's the count now, Leni?” Quinn asked. “You forgot this morning.”
Leni looked up from his file and quirked his mouth to one side as he silently counted.
“Forty-three.”
Jase sighed. “Getting closer.”
Graeden nodded absently, staring down at his unfinished report, and thought, Forty-three days. Just forty-three days until I can go home and make things right.
He shook his head, laughing at himself. He'd been so desperate to get away from Agoran and have some time to come to terms with certain changes, thinking it would take every one of the one-hundred-fifty-odd days allotted for the Tanasian expedition to ready him for going back, but he was already eager to do so. It would mean a painful confession, and condemnation from his family—maybe even disownership—but the prize could be worth it.
Provided a certain person wasn't so pained by his five-month absence that Graeden lost everything that mattered to him…
“Funny,” Jase muttered, tearing Graeden out of his thoughts, “we haven't seen the weasel at all today.”
Graeden snorted. “He's probably meeting with the Elders, deciding how to punish me.”
“Grae, listen,” Jase whispered, resting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in close. “I respect what you did the past few days. Hells, it was absolutely the right thing to do. But from now on…would you please try to stay in line? I don't want to see you get hurt, or thrown in jail, or worse.”
“Jase, I can't just sit back and let people die when I can help them, even if it means breaking the law.”
“I know, I know. And I agree with you. But they've got guns to our heads, Grae. What if they put those guns between us and the Gate, and never let us go home?”
Graeden shook his head and leaned in closer, pretending to work on his file and lowering his voice to the barest whisper as he said, “There's another way off the Isle. Don't worry. If it comes to that, we've got a way out.”
Jase looked at him strangely. “Are you sure?”
Graeden nodded. “I'll have to grovel before my grandfather for telling me—he was worried something like that might happen—but yeah, I'm sure. I'll tell you guys where just as soon as we have a chance.”
They fell silent and finished up their files so they could see to the next patients, not wanting to be caught talking in secret for too long, and finished out the day without anything more unusual happening. Zevic's absence was worrisome, but Graeden went home breathing easily, having not had the bureaucrat standing over his shoulder all day.
He no sooner stepped inside the apartment and shut the door than he was almost knocked off his feet by the force of a body slamming into him.
“Thank the gods, you're alright,” Zhadeyn panted, hugging him tight.
Graeden laughed and hugged her back. “I missed you, too.” He tried to pull away, but she refused to loosen her hold. “Hey, what's wrong?”
Zhadeyn shook her head. “I was so worried something was going to happen to you.”
“Why?”
“Just…a bad feeling.”
“Hey, I'm here, aren't I?” he murmured, pulling back until she slightly loosened her arms around his shoulders. “Everything's just f–”
He stopped, staring at her face.
“What is this?” he asked, grabbing her by the chin and turning her head to one side, looking at the bruise under her eye.
“Nothing,” she said, pulling away from him and going to the stove, mechanically stirring something in a pot.
“Zhadeyn.”
“I fell. Really, I'm fin
e. Dinner's almost ready.” She shut off the burner and set the pot aside, giving him a smile. “Come. Sit. I'll rub your shoulders.”
She pulled out a chair for him, but he stayed where he was, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I can keep the stew warm if you'd rather shower first,” she said, hesitating between the table and the kitchen. “Or we can go straight to bed, if that's what you need. I know it's been a while, and–”
“Are you feeling alright? You're rambling.”
Her lip trembled for a moment before she looked away, holding her breath.
“I need–” she began, then squeezed her eyes shut as they began to shine with tears. “I have to–”
“What you need to do,” he said when she didn't continue, “is sit down. Did you rest at all today, like I asked?”
She shrugged, wringing her hands. “I had to get the washing done.”
Graeden sighed. “No wonder you look exhausted. Come here. Come sit.”
“But–”
“I can manage,” he said, pulling her away from the kitchen. “You're still healing, so you need to slow down. You'll wear yourself out.” He got her into a chair and studied her face. “You look about ready to drop as it is.”
Zhadeyn wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded, looking down at her hands.
After he got her to eat and sent her to bed, Graeden had another bowl of stew while he hunted around the kitchen, gathering what food he could take, and stuffed it into a small sack. He tucked the sack into a corner, shut off the lights, and showered and went to bed, checking to make sure Zhadeyn was asleep before he closed his eyes.
He woke in the middle of the night, feeling Zhadeyn trailing her fingers across his chest and down to his waist. Without a word, he tossed back the sheets and turned toward her, gathering her up in his arms while she slipped out of her skirt, throwing it aside in the dark and pulling him over on top of her.
“Are you strong enough?” he whispered.
“Hush.” She leaned up to kiss him and wrapped her arms around him. “You need this.”
Graeden plunged into her, the world falling away from his awareness as simple need took over. Zhadeyn opened up to him without any reservations for the first time since they'd been married, and he found himself unable to let go of her once he collapsed in relief.
