Gray (Book 3) by Lou Cadle

they’re allergic anyway, I’d imagine.”
    “Do you know who is allergic to what? With a couple hundred people, have you started keeping files on everyone?”
    Edith nodded. “We don’t have much paper, but I have a system that uses old library catalog cards they found in basement storage. I write small, on the back of them, and only the crucial bits. I’ll show it to you in a minute. First, I want to get you acclimated.”
    She showed her the clinic, which had once been a good size but now was mostly shut off. There was an exam table in one room, the vinyl covering scorched and one edge covered with duct tape, but she flipped a clean sheet onto it, and it made the room look almost normal. The other room had metal folding chairs, and another wood stove that put out enough heat that Edith was able to work in a light sweater. Coral took her jacket off, and Edith hung the jacket on a hook behind the door.
    What instruments and equipment there were had been lined up neatly in metal cabinets. Bandages were cotton scraps of cloth, with a very few packages of gauze and tape. A few medicines remained—two glass bottles of mercurochrome that looked to be twenty years old, the medicines Kathy’s group had brought back, and a smattering of other drugs. A few partial blister packs looked like they’d been donated from what people might have had on them, in purse or pocket, when the Event happened. She flipped them over to read and found Tylenol, antihistamines, acid reducer, anti-diarrhea meds, and two over-the-counter sleep aids.
    It wasn’t a lot for three hundred people, but it was something. There was no stethoscope, and no way to measure blood pressure, but there was an otoscope. “From a vet’s office,” said Edith.
    “We have more animal supplies than human.”
    “The otoscope works the same on either. And vet’s offices seem to be more likely to be in concrete buildings, as it happens, which means a few things survived there.” She pulled a white jacket off the back of a chair. “May as well put this on, make it official. Doctor—what was your last name?”
    “I’m not comfortable being called Doctor. Or anything like that. Just Coral, please.”
    Edith frowned. “You know, these people have been without a doctor for seven months now. They’re going to be relieved there is one. I get what you’re saying—you aren’t fully trained, or licensed, or maybe feeling ready to do the job. But it isn’t about your comfort or discomfort. It’s about theirs. And I believe that healing can happen when people believe in it. They’ll believe in your treatments if they believe in you.”
    “Dear God,” said Coral. She was so not ready for this.
    “How about Doc Coral, split the difference? It’ll seem like you’re trying to be friendly to the kids, that way.”
    “I suppose,” said Coral. “But I’m sure you know more than I do about practical medicine. The hands-on, for sure. Eighteen years, versus my few weeks?” She shook her head. “No contest.”
    “Still, you should take the lead. They know me. They know what I was before. You don’t have that baggage. They’ll believe in you if you believe in you.”
    “And what if I don’t know something and you do know it?”
    “I’ll be there with you, unless we’re treating multiple injuries from an accident or the like. Look at me from time to time. I’ll give you a high sign if you’re saying something I disagree with. At worst, I’ll say I need help getting something from the other room, and we’ll both go and talk.”
    “Great,” Coral said, meaning the opposite.
    “You can read my face fine, I bet. You can read a yes or a no on it, I’m sure. Like what am I thinking right now?”
    Coral looked at the woman. Her eyes were closely set, her nose turned up, her chin receding. Her expression was easy to read. “Exasperated, impatient, thinking I’m more trouble than I’m worth?”
    Edith laughed. “Not quite that bad. I bet you’re going to