on the table was my patient, regardless of what the Commander said.
“It’s out of my hands. The Elders will decide, but the status level needs to be followed.” His voice was monotone, as if he’d repeated this line of crap at least a dozen times before.
I was stunned. Who were these Elders? And exactly why did they get to decide? “If you weren’t going to allow me to treat him, why did your men bring him back? Why not just let him die in the field?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw ConRad glance down at the solider whose blood had spilled onto the floor and started to pool toward our shoes. His gaze drifted back toward me and for a brief moment I saw regret flash in his eyes. But then the emotion was gone, replaced with blue ice. “He’s a good man. And there may still be hope for the goddess.”
I looked around the room. Despair dripped like water from a sodden blanket. Quinn’s face had grown pale with worry, eyes huge with fright. The other soldiers stood motionless, not sure whose orders to obey. Each face was etched with pain, eyes dead and hollow.
“But your men thought there was hope for him . That’s why they risked their lives to save his. And I think there is hope, so until I have none . . . I expect full cooperation from you and your men. Cut off his clothes, I need to see what I am working with.” As far as I was concerned, the discussion was over. My ER doctor persona had raised its ugly head. I shouted orders and expected to be obeyed. But ConRad’s presence was doing its standard assault on my brainwaves. I needed him gone.
sor=div“Commander, unless you’re going to help, you need to get out of my way.” My voice was sharper than I intended, but I could detect his scent underneath the blood and gore, and to realize how aware I was of this man sent panic coursing up my spine. Expecting resistance, I was relieved when he took a huge step back, allowing me breathing room.
“You need to know, you are disobeying a direct order from the Elders.”
His words had the same effect as if he ran ice down my naked spine. I glanced down at my battered and torn patient, and then the pale goddess. I wasn’t sure I could help either of them. But were they worth the risk? I shook my head; it wouldn’t come to that. I’d be gone before the Elders, or whoever they were, could find me.
I nodded. I understood what he was saying; the responsibility was all mine. ConRad stepped closer to me and whispered in my ear. “I will protect you as much as I can, but they could ask for retribution instead.”
My only reaction was the slight stutter in my heartbeat. “It doesn’t matter.”
I lied; it sure the hell did matter—a lot. He stepped closer. His shoulder brushed my back, his breath tickled the fine hairs along my neck. “I didn’t think it would.”
I sighed. What did he know? Apparently nothing, because I had a plan. Try to save both of my patients and then get the hell out of Dodge.
A spasm found a home deep in my shoulders and neck as I struggled to knit flesh and bone together. Hours had flown by and now only Quinn and I were left with our patients. In the harsh glare of the infirmary the blood glowed orange and soaked the gauze as it seeped through my clumsy attempt at stitches. The work was tedious, his wounds extensive, and to top it off, I wasn’t sure my stitches would even pass for surgery. I strained my Hippocratic oath with the “first do no harm” part, not knowing if, after I was done, he’d even be able to take a leak without squirting himself in the eye instead.
My God, please let him be able to take a leak. Panic caused my hands to shake. I wiped wetness from my forehead with a shrug of a shoulder. If I had been in a “real surgery,” I would’ve been thrown out of the OR for such a non-aseptic move, but then I would at least be wearing gloves instead of bearing cuticles stained orange with gore.
“You’re doing fine,” Quinn said as she wiped my working field
“It’s out of my hands. The Elders will decide, but the status level needs to be followed.” His voice was monotone, as if he’d repeated this line of crap at least a dozen times before.
I was stunned. Who were these Elders? And exactly why did they get to decide? “If you weren’t going to allow me to treat him, why did your men bring him back? Why not just let him die in the field?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw ConRad glance down at the solider whose blood had spilled onto the floor and started to pool toward our shoes. His gaze drifted back toward me and for a brief moment I saw regret flash in his eyes. But then the emotion was gone, replaced with blue ice. “He’s a good man. And there may still be hope for the goddess.”
I looked around the room. Despair dripped like water from a sodden blanket. Quinn’s face had grown pale with worry, eyes huge with fright. The other soldiers stood motionless, not sure whose orders to obey. Each face was etched with pain, eyes dead and hollow.
“But your men thought there was hope for him . That’s why they risked their lives to save his. And I think there is hope, so until I have none . . . I expect full cooperation from you and your men. Cut off his clothes, I need to see what I am working with.” As far as I was concerned, the discussion was over. My ER doctor persona had raised its ugly head. I shouted orders and expected to be obeyed. But ConRad’s presence was doing its standard assault on my brainwaves. I needed him gone.
sor=div“Commander, unless you’re going to help, you need to get out of my way.” My voice was sharper than I intended, but I could detect his scent underneath the blood and gore, and to realize how aware I was of this man sent panic coursing up my spine. Expecting resistance, I was relieved when he took a huge step back, allowing me breathing room.
“You need to know, you are disobeying a direct order from the Elders.”
His words had the same effect as if he ran ice down my naked spine. I glanced down at my battered and torn patient, and then the pale goddess. I wasn’t sure I could help either of them. But were they worth the risk? I shook my head; it wouldn’t come to that. I’d be gone before the Elders, or whoever they were, could find me.
I nodded. I understood what he was saying; the responsibility was all mine. ConRad stepped closer to me and whispered in my ear. “I will protect you as much as I can, but they could ask for retribution instead.”
My only reaction was the slight stutter in my heartbeat. “It doesn’t matter.”
I lied; it sure the hell did matter—a lot. He stepped closer. His shoulder brushed my back, his breath tickled the fine hairs along my neck. “I didn’t think it would.”
I sighed. What did he know? Apparently nothing, because I had a plan. Try to save both of my patients and then get the hell out of Dodge.
A spasm found a home deep in my shoulders and neck as I struggled to knit flesh and bone together. Hours had flown by and now only Quinn and I were left with our patients. In the harsh glare of the infirmary the blood glowed orange and soaked the gauze as it seeped through my clumsy attempt at stitches. The work was tedious, his wounds extensive, and to top it off, I wasn’t sure my stitches would even pass for surgery. I strained my Hippocratic oath with the “first do no harm” part, not knowing if, after I was done, he’d even be able to take a leak without squirting himself in the eye instead.
My God, please let him be able to take a leak. Panic caused my hands to shake. I wiped wetness from my forehead with a shrug of a shoulder. If I had been in a “real surgery,” I would’ve been thrown out of the OR for such a non-aseptic move, but then I would at least be wearing gloves instead of bearing cuticles stained orange with gore.
“You’re doing fine,” Quinn said as she wiped my working field
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