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)
Gary also is bad at realizing that no one wants to hear about pandemics when there are too many beds filled with sick people, so I do my best to tune him out. I work at the far end of the clinic, so he can't talk to me unless he shouts across the room, and I stay busy even though I'm so tired I feel as if I'm dragging myself around the room.
One of the soldiers opens the door and ushers an elderly man inside. Immediately, I put on my game face, giving the man a bright, welcoming smile. "Hello, sir. How can we help you?"
The man has a sickly pallor to his tanned skin, his hair white and sticking up around his head. "Don't feel so good," he mumbles, and I can see he doesn't have many teeth left. "M'daughter said to come here."
"No problem. We'll get you fixed up." I move to one of the few empty cots we have and pat it encouragingly. Once he sits, I pull the privacy curtain around him, the hiss of the curtain moving through the runners making me oddly happy. I'd complained to Azar about them months ago, wishing I had some, and he'd insisted that his men go to one of the old hospitals, figure out how they were installed, and then do the same for me. It's just another small, thoughtful thing he'd done—
I push thoughts of Azar out of my head as the man begins to speak, telling me his symptoms. No fever, no chills, but lots of vomiting and stomach pain. I nod absently, putting a thermometer in his mouth anyhow. "Have you eaten any of the large insects, sir? I know they get into everything and sometimes they're impossible to avoid, but they make people very sick."
He shakes his head and his temperature looks fine. I continue examining him, studying his mouth and throat. It's reddened from his vomiting, and his stomach is a little distended, which is worrying, but other than that, he seems better off than my flu patients.
I quiz him on his food and drink. The bugs coming through from the Rift have been a relentless nuisance in the last few months, and sometimes people get sick even without eating one simply because their food supplies get infested, or trace elements end up on someone's hands, and then they cook dinner, or change the baby. After talking with my new patient—Donald Gutierrez, he tells me—I learn he hasn't been boiling his water before drinking it, and make a mental note to have the soldiers check the well again. Someone left it uncovered for a day last month and several bugs got in and we had a rash of sickness for weeks.
"Just relax and sip some water, all right? I'm going to take care of you. Do we need to send someone to your house to let your daughter know?" I ask, helping him take his shoes off and get into bed. He shakes his head and mumbles something about his daughter coming by later, and then the person in the cot next to his starts sneezing wildly. I frown over at them, then back at Donald. He needs another bed, one preferably away from the flu patients, but I don't have the room. "You keep this curtain shut at all times, okay? I'll be back to check on you and if you need anything, you stay here and wait. Don't come out because I don't want you to get sicker."
I show him the bedpan and give him a glass of water, and then a couple of the hard, dry honey-and-corn cakes that most patients seem to be able to keep down, and then slide out from behind the curtain. I need to tell Gary to keep Donald behind the curtain, and when we get a bed open away from the flu patients, we need to move him. I should probably do my rounds again, but I really just want to sit down first—
"Melina?"
A voice calls, and I lift my weary head to look toward the door.
Rachel stands there, her baby daughter in her arms. She gives me a tentative smile. "Is this a bad time?"
My surprise turns to horror, and I touch her shoulder, trying to pull her toward the door. "You shouldn't be here. The flu—"
"It's okay," she says brightly. "The drakoni don't get sick, so Malliope is fine, and Jurik told me that since I have his fires, it's that much harder for me to get sick as well. We won't be affected." She peers at me. "Are you all right? You look…drained."
Am I all right? I want to laugh, because no one's asked me that in forever. "It's just always busy. I'm hanging in there." I gesture at my office. She says they won't get sick but I'll still feel better if that fat-cheeked baby isn't near the sickroom. "Did you want to come to the back?"