Horde (Enclave Series) by Ann Aguirre

work at once, turning the men who were too heavy or too hurt for us to manage. By morning, four of our patients had died. Tegan wept after the first; when the third one stopped breathing, she was pale and dry-eyed, which worried me.
    “I don’t know where their families are,” she said flatly. “Or what kind of funeral rites they preferred in Salvation.”
    “They were religious,” Morrow said. “They didn’t permit visitors, or I’d know more. Not sure if their minister made it. I can ask around … and if not, our chaplain could say a few words.” He hesitated, then went on, “They can’t stay with the living. It’ll increase the risk of infection.”
    Tegan snapped, “I know that. Go ahead.”
    For the first time, I understood why people were always saying I was too young to fight. Because looking at my friend, I had that same thought. Someone older should’ve removed this burden from her shoulders; she shouldn’t be suffering like this. But with Doc Tuttle gone, she was the closest thing to a doctor these people had, and Tegan wouldn’t abandon them. I wouldn’t leave her dealing with this alone, either. Morrow removed the bodies with care, I’d grant him that. He didn’t treat them like dead strangers. Tegan’s sharpness softened a little, then.
    “Thank you,” she murmured to him when he came back for the last time.
    He only nodded.
    “We need to sleep,” I said then. “The bandages have all been changed, and you’ll be no use to them if you fall asleep in the middle of treatment.”
    With a reluctant nod, she agreed.
    That set the tone for the next week. I had rarely been so tired in my life as I left the granary only to wash up and eat, then I came right back. It gave me the greatest satisfaction when our patients got well enough to move around, tend their own needs, and head to the mess instead of opening their mouths for broth like baby birds. I saw Stalker and Fade little. At the end of ten days, over half the casualties had healed, and fourteen died. By then, eight remained, among them Harry Carter. I had my doubts that he would make it. His wounds were severe and with his family gone, he didn’t seem to care that much about getting better.
    I was exhausted and I ached all over when I stumbled out of the granary to eat. It had been weeks since I slept anywhere but on the floor, longer since I felt rested. Tegan had to feel just as bad, but she had more resolve for this kind of suffering. My own pain, I could deal with. I’d learned to tolerate it, shake it off, and keep fighting. I’d never learned how to handle anguish from people I was helping. Maybe I’d get better at it. With eight patients left, it wouldn’t be much longer. Then the burning of Salvation would only be a terrible night that lived in the memories of the survivors.
    I collided with Fade as I turned toward the mess. His hands came to my shoulders in reflex to keep me from falling. Blearily I expected the same recoil, but I was too tired to mind. To my surprise, his hands lingered past the point where I was steady.
    “You look exhausted,” he said.
    “It’s been rough,” I admitted.
    Fade fell into step with me. I hoped they would still be serving, as there were no other options for refugees. Inside the building, there was still a short line and the impatient server was ladling out soup; farther on, I took some stale bread. The food wasn’t good, but I’d had much worse on the road and down below. Fade took his meal and followed me to a table.
    “What’ve you been doing?” I asked.
    “Helping Edmund.”
    I guessed I’d know that if I had visited the shop. News had funneled to me; as patients went for a walk, then limped back to the granary, they brought word from around town. So I knew Spence had made good on his promise to get an exception made for my family, and Edmund was hard at work, tanning and making boots. There had been some leather on hand, and Edmund had the skill to make more from skins the