Degrees of Wrong

by Anna Scarlett

  to make sure the lump wasn’t actually protruding.

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  41

  Anna Scarlett

  In my nervous fit, I didn’t realize we were under the door until it opened,

  pouring light into the cabin. And, like a group of trained seals, we all looked up.

  I tried to look away—just to see if I could—but couldn’t tear my eyes from the

  white nothingness. In the next instant we catapulted up, swallowed whole.

  Somebody screamed. Might have been me. Another rash of snickers broke

  out, and I clamped my mouth shut.

  The pod rested on the cage-like floor of a lighted white room, and although

  we were still immersed in water, it was draining quickly. Within seconds, we

  were able to step out onto dry vents. While the other passengers retrieved their

  duffel bags from the rear of the pod, I waited alone, hugging myself like a lost

  child.

  The conductor ushered us through the only door in the room, out into a long

  hallway where we lined up, side by side. The walls were painted a very

  soothing—and very fitting—ocean blue instead of the customary, morbid black.

  The hallway extended without apparent end in either direction, with bright

  white lights embedded into the ceiling every few feet. Smiling, Ebony took the

  place beside me. I resolved to thank her later for her kindness.

  Little-Man silenced us with “Atten-hut!”

  As unique as his fingerprints, Lt. Horan’s gait on the squeaky hallway floors

  announced his presence. He strode up to me wearing a mirror-shattering grin.

  “There you are, Worm! Did you miss me?” he screamed in my face. Without

  taking his eyes off me, he yelled, “The rest of you are dismissed. Go get

  processed, find your quarters and stay there.”

  I wanted to think Ebony brushed against me on purpose, to reassure me, not

  because Lt. Horan was practically foaming at the mouth. But the hall seemed to

  vomit cadets. After a few minutes of shuffling, nudging and duck-and-cover, the

  lieutenant and I faced each other alone.

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  “Did you bring your toothbrush, Morgan?” His voice was a sickening sweet.

  “No,” I replied, grateful for it.

  “That’s okay. Every new cadet is issued a complimentary toothbrush. I’ll get

  you one.”

  I followed him against my better judgment, to what I knew would be a

  bathroom where I would use the toothbrush to clean it. “That’s not very original, Lt. Pretty Princess,” I muttered as he beckoned me inside the long, reeking

  room—obviously the men’s. Still, relief washed over me. As a doctor, it would

  take a lot more than some excrement and poorly aimed urine to ruin my day.

  “Why change a perfectly adequate tradition?” He smiled, but I could tell by

  the crookedness that he was out of practice. “Get to work.” He handed me the

  toothbrush and waved me forth, as if to shoo me.

  I liked him better when he yelled. To accommodate his falsely pleasant tone,

  I stuck my tongue out at him—I owed this man nothing. At least I got him to

  scowl again before he left, instead of smiling like one of those creepy circus

  clowns who scare children.

  When I was sure he was gone, I cleaned enough space on the floor to sit and

  plopped down, flinging the defiled toothbrush as far away from me as I could.

  Drawing my knees to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them, putting my

  head down. As I drifted off to sleep, I acknowledged that a nap would do me

  considerable good. I told myself the slight headache percolating was probably

  from stress and lack of sleep—not a near-concussion from swan-diving into a

  certain captain’s rock-hard chest. Either way, an escape to oblivion was exactly

  what I needed.

  But the peace of oblivion shattered as the gore of yesterday resurfaced, the

  nightmare so real I could smell the smoke.

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  43

  Anna Scarlett

  After ascertaining what I already knew—that the children were dead—I left

  the field and headed toward the sound of gunfire. Terrified to the point of

  weeping, I pressed on, despite my sense of self-preservation pleading with me to

  turn around. The closer I got to the village, the more victims I found, either dead or dying. The living begged for me to kill them. Legs, hands, arms, feet. Limbs of all sizes, all ages, were scattered with the bodies, some in piles where groups of people had been the targets, some lying in solitude next to the poor souls who

  died alone.

  It was then that I realized I wouldn’t be saving anyone today. Not one of

  these gentle, kind people stood a chance against guns meant to bring down

  buildings. Awash with desperation, emboldened by a new purpose, I flung open

  my kit and began administering morphine to any breathing being I found—I

  couldn’t prevent death itself, but I could make it as painless as possible. Judging body weight by sight, I gave each their measure of relief. Acceptable degree of

  wrong.

  The tragic imbalance of supply and demand left me breathless, but I

  continued on, oblivious to the heaving sounds of artillery around me. Men,

  women and children swirled and staggered to their escape in varying degrees of

  panic and confusion. It reminded me of sheep being herded, though I’d never

  seen it done before. Many of them urged me to run too, but I remained at my

  task.

  I happened upon a black-clad soldier lying on his back, gripping his

  stomach. He wasn’t one of the massive warriors I’d seen earlier. Blood poured

  from between his fingers, and he stared up at me in horror, his body writhing in

  pain. Without hesitation, I knelt and injected him twice, granting him peace. It

  wouldn’t be long before that amount took effect, and I hoped his last memory

  was of the kind act, instead of the need for it.

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  Degrees of Wrong

  As I rose to press forward, he grabbed my arm and pulled me to the ground.

  Startled and unsure of his intent, I fought to break free. Even in his condition, he was easily stronger than me, pulling me closer until my face was inches from his.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Stunned beyond speech, I nodded. His head fell back and his hand on my

  arm went limp. I caught it before it flung to the dirt, laying it gently beside him in a last measure of dignity.

  At that point, I’d taken the time to survey my surroundings. To my surprise,

  I found a two-sided conflict—black versus khaki. I couldn’t tell who was

  prevailing—lifeless uniforms from both sides freckled the road and surrounding

  fields. The living multitudes kept fleeing to the village, searching for a refuge, searching for loved ones, searching for mercy. Still, I stayed the course as

  shadows cast by the sun started to change direction. It was in the late afternoon that I stumbled, literally, over Blue Eyes.

  “Ow,” he said when I stepped on his hand—and then he laughed when he

  saw my kit. “Some doctor you are.”

  Immediately, I knew his life could be saved, that I could be of use to this one

  person out of so many I had failed today. And I was jubilant. I looked for a place to hide him and spotted the horrible little hut a short distance away. He saw m
y

  intent and laughed again.

  “That’s an outhouse, Doc,” he protested. But I was too excited to care. I

  peered down at him—then gasped. Blue eyes were replaced with brown ones,

  blond hair with black. Captain Marek sat at my feet, his tattered uniform

  exposing the cut physique I’d felt through his shirt. He held his hand up to me,

  just as Blue Eyes had done, but instead of letting me help him up, he pulled me

  down to him.

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  Anna Scarlett

  Brushing my hair from my face and tucking it behind my ear, he traced a

  finger along my jawline, pressing my body into his with his free hand and

  drawing me closer. “What’s your name, cadet?” he murmured on my lips.

  I had no answer…

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  Chapter Four

  I thought I heard someone clear their throat but couldn’t be sure, so I didn’t

  look up.

  “Morgan?”

  I knew that voice. That voice belonged to a man I had recently met and

  decided to despise. As far as I remembered, he wasn’t very happy with me

  either, so the tone of concern didn’t make sense. I pulled my head from my

  knees.

  Captain Marek stood in the doorway of the restroom, hands folded behind

  his back, perfect brow furrowed in…worry? “Are you well?” he asked, striding

  toward me.

  Is he serious? “In what context?” Did he not, more or less, send me to this bathroom himself?

  “Are you ill?” He lowered himself on his haunches in front of me. My resting

  heart rate flatlined when he lifted my chin with the crook of his finger, turning my head side to side in his examination.

  “No.” I swatted his hand away, disappointed at the new heat swirling in my

  stomach.

  This sobered him up. I saw the exact moment it registered on his face. Not ill,

  not injured—just insubordinate. Again.

  He stood up, his creased brow straightening too. “I see you must have

  finished your task, then.”

  He could see I had not.

  Anna Scarlett

  It occurred to me that I had just swatted the captain of the ship within hours

  of head-butting him, and in the meantime, had disobeyed one of his officers.

  There was also a pretty good chance I drooled on his bathroom floor while doing

  it. So much for first—and second—impressions. On the positive side, he’d

  probably avoid me after this, so I wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting my

  name again or amputating someone’s head instead of their toe.

  Feeling confident that this would be our last encounter, I hoisted to my feet

  and stretched. “Actually, Captain, you run such a tight ship, there was nothing

  more I could do. It’s spotless. So I’ve been here waiting for further instruction.”

  He frowned, but despite his efforts, still looked glorious. “Dr. Folsom has

  boarded. I’ll take you to her.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

  I followed, in much better spirits after my nap—at least the nightmare meant

  that I had slept. He led me down the hallway, our boots clicking on the hard

  floor in disharmony, his long strides forcing me to keep an urgent pace. We

  stopped in front of an elevator whose ocean-blue doors opened in our presence.

  “Admiral Rudd’s office,” he commanded, and the elevator jolted me to the

  left, indicating our speedy travel to the right instead of up or down.

  Voice prompted. That would be advantageous to me while I fumbled my way

  around this ship.

  After a few seconds, gravity forced me to the floor—we were moving up.

  The elevator stopped, and Captain Marek turned around, as if to say something.

  A door behind us opened, and he exited without a glance in my direction. Of

  course, I followed, but considered making a face at his wide back. Again, hand

  gestures crossed my mind.

  Trying to keep up, I realized with dismay that this hallway was a carbon

  copy of the last hall and the one before that. No signs or symbols adorned the

  walls, nothing to guide a person to their destination. Was this a defense strategy 48

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  Degrees of Wrong

  of some sort, to slow the progress of invaders or trespassers— if they could penetrate it in the first place?

  Captain Marek halted in front of the only door in this hall. As he stood at

  attention, a matrix of red light roamed over his face. Peering around him, I found the source over the door—a small laser, no bigger than the eraser of a pencil.

  Despite its size, it projected the light over his entire face like a net.

  “Captain Nicoli Marek,” he said, startling me.

  The laser then moved over my own curious expression, and a high-pitched

  siren began to wail, “Intruder! Intruder! Intruder!”

  The lights went dark, except for a red strobe, a robotic accuser shrieking in

  alarm. Biting my lip, I looked to the captain for a directive. He rolled his eyes.

  Again, a well-executed hand gesture seemed appropriate. I refrained.

  The chaos stopped, and the older man who appeared at the door raised a

  brow at Captain Marek.

  The captain saluted. “Her in-processing was…interrupted, sir. She’s not in

  our system yet.”

  The man returned the salute, studied me in apparent amusement, then

  stepped aside, motioning for us to enter. The room’s size and decor suggested a

  tenant of high rank. I was both surprised and pleased to see real books lining the shelves on several walls. A huge desk dominated the space in front of a massive

  bookcase. The other side of the room hosted a large metallic table surrounded by

  six matching chairs. The small sitting area in the middle—complete with gray

  sofa and a pair of armchairs—hinted at casual meetings, but none without

  appropriate protocol.

  Dr. Folsom was seated on the sofa.

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  “Elyse.” She almost broke into a run to reach me. When she embraced me, I

  fought back the urge to cry. She’d been my mother’s closest friend, the one who

  most reminded me of her.

  After a final, hearty squeeze she pulled away, still hugging me with one arm.

  She grabbed my chin with her tiny hand and lifted it, although I was taller than

  she. Examining me with her big blue eyes—in the same way my mother would

  have—she said, “You look tired. Has everyone treated you well?” She all but

  pointed at Captain Marek with her glare, who offered an almost-indiscernible

  shrug.

  She turned back to me. “Well, don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll get you

  settled in and comfortable. Then we’ll worry about your research.”

  The older man cleared his throat.

  “Oh,” she said. “Introductions! Of course, you’ve had the pleasure of

  meeting Captain Nicoli Marek…” at this I narrowed my eyes at the one and only,

  “…but you haven’t met Admiral James Rudd.” She motioned to the older man.

  Admiral Rudd was still handsome for his age. Though gray had overtaken

  his hair, he had all of it. Wisdom and kindness crinkled his eyes in a smile when he extended his hand to me. As I accepted, he brought his other hand up to

  enclose mine.

  “It’s a great
pleasure to meet you, Dr. Morgan,” he assured me, and I

  believed him. “If I can be of assistance to you in any way, please do let me

  know.”

  “The pleasure’s mine, I’m sure.” I couldn’t say I was happy to be here, but

  this man was sincere and deserved my respect.

  “Forgive the interruption, sir,” Captain Marek interjected, “but I feel I’ve

  been misinformed as to the reason for her presence on this ship. For instance, I

  was unaware that she is a doctor of…?”

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  “Medicine,” Dr. Folsom completed for him.

  I took certain delight in the captain’s astonishment. He turned to the admiral.

  “I thought she was here for witness protection, sir. However, Dr. Folsom

  mentioned something about research?”

  “I didn’t have time to tell you before port, Nicoli,” Admiral Rudd said. “I

  didn’t know myself the exact arrangement until this morning. What I told you

  yesterday was what I believed true until a few hours ago. She isn’t here under

  witness protection. She’s been commissioned by the UN to try to find the cure to

  the Black Death. We’ll be providing her room, board and a laboratory for the

  duration of her research. Not to mention protection. Dr. Folsom will be assisting her with her research.”

  “Protection from whom, sir?” The captain’s eyes locked on mine.

  The admiral snorted. “One can only imagine who could be looking for her at

  this point.”

  I shivered under the captain’s scrutiny but couldn’t look away. His gaze was

  like the red laser, only probing me for the truth through my reaction. “Dr.

  Folsom will be assisting her, Admiral?”

  I wouldn’t let myself be provoked by the doubt in his tone.

  “I can assure you, if there’s anyone capable of creating an antivirus, it’s Dr.

  Morgan,” Dr. Folsom said. I appreciated her confidence—mine had gone

  missing.

  “Seems a bit young for this kind of assignment,” Captain Marek said.

  “I might say the same of you,” I countered. He couldn’t be much older than

  me, and the captain of a warship. He was up to his eyeballs in hypocrisy—maybe

  that’s why he was frowning. I smiled a little.

  Admiral Rudd laughed. “She has you there, Nicoli. Two child prodigies on