Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
No matter how many times we warn people off the enormous, strange bugs, they keep eating them.
I get it. I do. There are pockets of those in Fort Dallas that refuse to join the militia or take part in the work programs we have set up. Now that the majority of the fort is “employed” by Azar and the militia, the black market is struggling. There are fewer buyers for goods and so no one's trading for food. The poor are struggling and the huge, cat-sized bugs that have been showing up in town are slow and easy to catch.
Lots of protein on those bugs, I imagine. Easy to fill the bellies of hungry families.
But those bugs make almost everyone sick. People keep eating them anyhow.
I pull back the sheets and look at the dead man's face. It's sunken, and I recognize him vaguely—he's one of the men we'd been treating for a few days now, who had vomited constantly despite our best efforts. He had a wife and a son, too. The wife died yesterday, and the son is hanging on by a thread. Frustrated, I cover him up again and turn to Alma. "Call in the soldiers, yeah. Let's empty this bed and get someone that's been on the floor into it." When she nods and swipes at her forehead, I add, "And wash your hands."
"Always," she tells me, and then pauses. "You staying tonight?"
I bite my lip. I need to. I need to be here constantly to help out. Alma does an evening shift, but there's more going on than one person can possibly handle. I have militia soldiers assisting (thanks to Azar), but most of them don't know how to do more than change out barf buckets or carry out the dead. I should stay…but I won't, because Azar insists I come home. He thinks my place is at his side, no matter how much I protest that I won't be long, or that people need me. He says he needs me, too.
It's one of those things that reminds me that Azar can be a stubborn, intractable ass when he wants to be.
Even so, I shake my head. "I can't. I need to talk to him. I'm sorry."
Alma nods, unsurprised. I can't tell her that I need to talk to Azar about a food program for the poor. He's a firm believer that if people want to eat, they have to obey his rules. They have to contribute to the well-being of the fort. And while it's easy to say that, it's less easy to look into the starving eyes of children who have rebellious parents. They're the ones that suffer, and because of the food shortages, I can't persuade Azar to feed those that won't contribute. I'm working on it, though. It's a process, just like everything else with Azar. His way of thinking is different than mine.
It's probably good I return home anyhow. We can argue about food (again) and I can get a good night's sleep so I can be fresh for the morning…and hopefully I can help Azar sleep. His nightmares have been increasing.
Tired, I rub my eyes and go over the list of patients with Alma, which ones need more water, which ones have eaten, which ones probably won't make it through the night. The need to stay and help is pulling at me, but I know Azar. It's already late in the evening and he's going to be looking for me.
"Ask about medicine," Alma whispers as I get ready to leave.
I nod. She knows as well as I do that if there's medicine in the area, we've already acquired it. Old Dallas and its surroundings are completely picked over. We'd need to range farther out. Get on bicycles and ride out for a few days and follow the highways. See what we can find. I'd ask Gwen and her dragon, Vaan, but Gwen is heavily pregnant. One of the local girls, Rachel, is newly mated to a dragon of her own, but Rachel is unfriendly and acts like we're her enemies. No one seems to trust Azar. I suppose I get it. He's prickly and hard to get along with even on good days. He has a definite vision of what he wants Fort Dallas to be like, and little tolerance for those that veer from his vision. They see the dragons on the wall and think he's abusing them.
They don't know him like I do.
They don't know the man that agonizes over childhood learning books, because he wants to arm himself with information. They don't know that he's tender and kind to me. That he now greets the servants with polite words and encouraging comments because he wants them to realize how appreciated they are. That he's a man that kisses and cuddles me, that takes care of me as if I'm gold, that ensures that I want for nothing. He comes from a culture where they care for no one but themselves, from what I've gathered, but he's changing. He's learning. How many nights have we stayed up late, talking about plans for Fort Dallas? Talking about how we can make things better for everyone without upsetting the delicate ecosystem that's built up since the Rift? Maybe he initially wanted to be in charge for selfish reasons, but I'm around him every day. I know he's changing. I know he listens to reason.