Chapter Four Noah

Noah's head was spinning. He'd spent the past hour ferrying resources from the Emergency Resource Centre to various locations around the hospital. He'd lost count of how many jobs he'd taken from the screen, but he was glad to have been kept busy. It gave him less time to worry.

Frustratingly, the comms device the Resistance had given him wasn't working. He had attempted to use it several times throughout the morning, to no avail. The soreness of his aching arm was compounded by his growing certainty that he had damaged the tiny device in the fall.

He still wasn't certain whether remaining in the hospital was his best course of action. In all the chaos, it would have been easy for him to slip away. But he suspected the explosion had Danforth's guards on high alert. Being out on the streets of the city right now would be suicide. Better wait until things calmed down. Or at least until darkness fell.

The screens around the hospital had remained dark, so there was no additional news of the explosion. The only new information came from the gossip that had begun to circulate in the hospital hallways, and he had no idea which of the rumours were true.

One medic whispered that the explosion had destroyed the entirety of Matriarch House. Another claimed many of the buildings around it also lay in ruins. There were numerous other bombs planted in key locations around the city just waiting to be detonated, if you believed what the various techs in the Emergency Department were saying. And Danforth was either injured, dead, or in hiding.

The rumour mill was in full flow; the citizens of Bellator were fascinated and terrified in equal measure. There was one thing the women all agreed upon though: Eremus was responsible. It made Noah sick. After a while, he'd taken to reciting all the prime numbers in his head to tune the babble of voices out.

Eventually, the ambulances began arriving from the bomb site. Instead of filling supplies, drudges were now directed to transport patients from the emergency room to the various wards in the hospital, or, more tragically, the morgue. In the space of an hour, Noah had taken five trolleys to the depressingly large room located on the far side of the hospital.

The number of casualties was shocking. Many of the women being brought in were severely injured. Some had lost their fight on the way from the bombsite to the hospital. Others had been treated once they arrived, but had quickly succumbed to their injuries.

When he arrived back at the Emergency Department, he was dismayed to see the familiar black tag on the rail at the base of the trolley he was assigned.

"Another one who didn't make it." The tech's tone was emotionless, and Noah couldn't look up to see if her facial expression differed. "Take her down and get back here quickly. There are more on the way."

He nodded his understanding, not judging her. One way to cope with the death which stalked the hospital was to mentally distance yourself. Many of the medics had struggled with this, their voices cracking as they dispatched bodies to the morgue. More than one had broken down in tears, but it didn't help those who were still alive. The women who needed saving required a clear head and a steady hand.

Noah respected those who could stay focused. They reminded him of his ma, who always seemed to keep a cool head in a crisis. Over the years he had witnessed her treating many sick and injured Eremus citizens, always fighting to save lives with the limited resources she had available.

The only time he'd ever seen her crack had been when Dawn, Ella's ma, had been shot. Even then, Anna hadn't let her terror stop her. Where many would have frozen, she had somehow managed to push through, drawing on some inner strength as she attempted to stop her friend losing blood and barked commands to those around her.

Only when Dawn had succumbed to her injuries, had she allowed herself to break down.

A wave of loneliness washed over him as he began to push the trolley along the now-recognisable route. As he had with every victim, he glanced at the woman, wanting to pay his respects. And also, though he wouldn't admit it, to check that the body on the trolley wasn't familiar.

This woman lay on her back, her head facing away from him. Her features were hidden by her hair. Her long, blonde hair, which was stained red.

His heart stopped. Ella had long blonde hair.

His eyes roamed over her, desperately searching for other clues. She was young, he could tell by the skin on her hands. But the fingers were curled inwards, so he couldn't see whether they were roughened by work, the way all the Eremus citizens' hands were. He tried to work out her height, but it was difficult to estimate when she was lying down.

He didn't dare move her hair away from her face in such a public place.

As he approached the lifts, he prayed that there wouldn't be anyone else waiting. Finding the area deserted, he pressed the call button and waited, willing it to arrive quickly. It seemed to take an age, but finally the doors swished open. Waiting for a couple of medics to exit, he wheeled the trolley in as fast as he dared, angling it so the woman's head was underneath the camera.

He pushed the button for the basement. Clutching the rail which ran around the trolley, he waited until the doors had swished closed. He didn't want to check, but if he didn't do it now, he might not get another chance. Inching forward, he slid around the side of the trolley so he was out of the camera's view.

As he got closer to the woman's head, he could feel a line of sweat trickling down his back.

Let it be someone else. Please. Let it be anyone but her.

His fingers were trembling as he reached forward to brush the woman's hair out of her face. The skin was cold to the touch, the hair brittle. A devastating wound ran along the woman's forehead and snaked down her left cheek.

But it wasn't Ella.

His entire body sagged with relief. Even with the injury, he could tell. The face was too angular, the cheeks far wider than those of his petite friend. He closed his eyes.

The woman in front of him was dead. She had died violently, painfully. She wasn't his friend. But she'd been someone's friend.

For a moment, he thought he was going to throw up. Sucking in a deep breath, he replaced the woman's hair as gently as he could and backed away.

I'm sorry. He opened his eyes. He made himself look at her. I'm so sorry.

The ping of the lift jolted him back to reality. He managed the rest of the journey on autopilot, then escaped the grimness of the morgue as fast as he could. On the return journey, he ducked into the rudimentary drudge bathroom for a brief moment of respite.

As he stood in front of the sink, he inhaled deeply. The woman had not been Ella, but she had been similar to his friend. Young, innocent, full of life. She hadn't deserved her fate.

And Ella might still be brought to the hospital in the same state.

Noah clutched the rim of the sink, dread and fury coursing through him in equal measure. The earlier nausea returned, making his head spin.

He'd faced illness and injury before, in Eremus, but never on such a scale. Back home, his ma would have allowed him to assist with treating the patients, as he had with Dawn. Be active, play his part.

He rolled his shoulders up and back. His right arm had already felt tender after his fall, but now his entire body was stiff with tension. He was nothing but a lackey here: fetching and carrying items for the people who were trying to save lives, desperate for news of his friend.

He closed his eyes as a darkness descended over him. Letting go of the sink with one hand, he flexed his fingers. Curled them into a fist. Raising his hand, he rested it against his forehead. Willed himself to breathe. He moved the fist away, then brought it back into contact with his skin. Repeating the movement, he increased the pressure each time, until he was pounding his fist against his skull over and over.

When he stopped, his head hurt. But the nausea had abated. He could breathe more easily. He was able to move again.

Leaning down, he splashed his face with cold water, willing himself to retain control. If this was Jacob's doing, it was something he could never forgive. The death of so many innocent Bellator citizens was inexcusable. And all the while, the women of the city blamed Eremus, cursing the vicious brutes from the forest. Destroying the fragile trust the Resistance and Eremus had attempted to build through Faith and Flynn's words.

He hadn't allowed himself to think too hard about his father yet. Flynn had been on stage right beside Danforth when the bomb had exploded. Unarmed. There was no way the chancellor would let him walk out of the city unscathed. Not if she blamed him for this, which she no doubt did.

Quashing the frightening thought, Noah dried his face. Exiting the bathroom and heading back to the Emergency Department, he steeled himself to resume transferring bodies to the morgue. But when he got there, the next patient he was assigned was still alive.

And very familiar. Lying on the trolley, her eyes closed, was Helen. Praying she wouldn't open them and let a flash of recognition give them away, Noah glanced at the note on the board. Ward A9.

As he transported her through the hospital, he wondered why she had been brought in. She hadn't been anywhere near the bomb, and at a glance, appeared to have no injuries. But the fact that she was being taken to a ward implied she required treatment.

So far, she hadn't moved. Was she unconscious? He couldn't touch her to check. Hoping it was a pretense to avoid awkward questions, he waited until he was in the only place it was safe to converse.

Entering the lift, he pushed the button to go up to the wards. This time, he made sure he stood directly under the camera in the corner. As they began whirring upwards, he took a breath.

"Helen? It's Noah." Her eyes flew open. "Stay still. Don't react."

She closed her eyes again.

"I'm here working undercover. Are you okay?" She moved her head slightly. A nod. "That's good."

She rolled her head away from him. "Danforth wanted the medics to check me over."

She was turning away to hide her mouth from the camera. Encouraged by her astuteness, he asked the question he dreaded the answer to.

"What happened to Flynn?"

"Arrested." Her voice was muffled, as though she was moving her lips as little as possible. "We were separated as soon as they brought us off the stage." She shuddered. "The guards who hauled him away were pretty rough."

"So Danforth blames him?"

Helen inclined her head again.

Noah's heart sank. "Do you know where he's been taken?"

This time, Helen shook her head. There was a silence, as Noah considered Flynn's plight. There was no way Danforth would let him get away with this. But what could be done to save him?

The lift's whirring sound increased. They were approaching the ward floor. On the trolley, Helen shifted her body slightly.

"What about Sophia?"

"Resistance took her from the hospital earlier today." He wished he could be certain that the rescue had been a success. "She was on her way to Resistance headquarters when the bomb went off. I just hope they made it."

"And Ella?" Helen's voice was filled with trepidation. "Flynn said she was working undercover. Is she–?"

The question hung between them. Noah hesitated, not wanting Helen to have to shoulder the burden of dread alongside him. Admitting where Ella had been working would have Helen jumping to the same conclusion he had. But he didn't want to lie.

"Don't shield me." Helen's tone contained an undertone of steel. Gone was the frightened rabbit he'd first met in the tunnels of Eremus. "I need to know."

"I don't know where she is," he admitted.

As Helen fought to keep the emotion from showing on her face, Noah steeled himself to admit the truth.

"She'd… she'd been working at Matriarch House."

Helen's eyes were open, her stare filled with alarm. "And that's where–"

"Yes." He searched for words which might offer comfort. "I'm sorry. I've no idea if she was there today. She might not have been working, or she may have been in an area of the building which wasn't affected."

"But she might have been right at the centre of it all."

Noah's mind travelled over the battered and broken bodies he'd witnessed entering the hospital over the last few hours. The blonde woman's face appeared in his head, morphing into Ella's. Shaking his head, he tried to stay positive.

"To my knowledge, she hasn't been brought in." He fought to keep his voice steady. "I'll keep my eyes open for her. I promise."

As the lift pinged open, Helen closed her eyes again. This time, to mask the pain. He manoeuvred the trolley out of the lift and wheeled it to the ward doors. Pressing the buzzer to indicate their arrival, he waited until one of the medics inside opened the door.

Nodding briskly, she gestured for him to follow her. He pushed the trolley along the ward, wanting desperately to offer Helen comfort, but knowing that he couldn't risk speaking. It was torture. When he helped to transfer her into the bed, he squeezed her hand tightly, hoping it conveyed his support.

As he exited the ward, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

He couldn't assist with saving the women who had been caught in the explosion. He couldn't help rescue Ella or save Flynn from Danforth's punishment. But he had helped get Sophia out.

And now he could be here for Helen. For the first time since the explosion, he was certain he should stay.

Promising himself he would find some way to get back to check on her later, he took a deep breath and headed back to the Emergency Department.