29. MADDY

29

MADDY

My arm hurts, bruised from the transfusion needle. My body is exhausted, ready to collapse. But the doctor’s hopeful words pump in my head, “He’s out of danger.”

As if Raven’s extensive damages weren’t enough, Ayana’s emergency alert about the gas attack went off. Dad was on the phone with me.

“You have the mask on?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled into the speaker built into the mask.

“Stay with me all the way through,” he asked. “Five minutes, at least. Then you’ll have to turn on the fans to the maximum and open the windows.”

“I know, Dad. I know.” We all had to take a tutorial beforehand.

“Where are you now?”

“In the medical center. Where else?”

“I know, Mila. But where?”

“In Raven’s room. Holding his hand.”

“Okay.”

An hour later, the air still feels bitter, making nurses and guards slightly nauseous. But Ayana is quiet. There is no sound of explosions or gunshots. Why does it feel like a funeral?

Dr. Hodges tells me to take a break and let Raven rest. Raven is resting, unconscious.

“It’s for your own good. You need a break,” the doctor insists. “Maddy.” He gently touches my shoulder as we walk out of Raven’s room. “Look at me.”

I am prepared to hear a warning, something about complications, about the possible turn to the worst. It’s been four hours since we brought Raven here. Finally, he is stable, wounds taken care of, his body cleared of glass shards. But I know the fateful words almost every doctor says, “It’s too early to tell what’s going to happen.”

Dr. Hodges’s eyes are tired yet smiling when he rests his hand on my shoulder. “You know how things work with injuries like his, especially the neck one. It’s too?—”

“Early to say,” I finish. “I know. I know.”

“I know you know. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, because doctors are not supposed to give false hope. But Raven will be fine. Sure, there might be infection in his hands and knees. Probably will, with the scope of the damage. But that we can easily deal with. That’s surface stuff. His gunshot wounds? That was our main concern. But he will be fine. I will look at the scans later after I do my rounds. I will call you. But Maddy?”

I bite my lip because I appreciate what Dr. Hodges says. He is not just a colleague; he is a friend. When I see his smile, tears well up in my eyes.

“He will be all right. Come here.” He pulls me into a gentle hug, and I exhale against his doctor’s coat, which smells of medication, blood, and gunpowder.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He pulls away. “You should rest.”

I chuckle sadly. “No way, Jose. There are too many patients in our little medical ward.”

Dr. Hodges smiles tiredly. “Yes, that. We’ll get through it.”

I nod and walk along the corridor to the entrance hall that accommodates the kids.

I halt as I step into a large, usually empty room now crowded with over forty people. The floor is littered with mattresses, hospital sheets and blankets, water bottles and food packages. It’s mostly children, dirty, quiet, their faces smudged with mud or whatever that war paint is.

My heart aches at the sight.

I see Little talking to one of the older boys. That must be Garrick, his best friend.

All our nurses are here. One is treating a little girl’s hand with peroxide. Another is bandaging a boy’s foot. There are several injured guards with IVs in, because the patient rooms are full.

Kat and Margot are here, opening boxes of dry foods and passing them around.

Margot catches sight of me and rushes over. “How is Raven?”

“I think he’s safe,” I say.

She’s never been so friendly. She looks like a disaster. Her yellow jumpsuit contrasts with her bright-pink bob, which is covered in blood smudges. Her sneakers are dirty and burned like she ran through a burning field.

“I thought you’d be at the Center,” I say, hugging my middle and taking a moment to get myself together before I can help out.

“Archer told me to take care of the kids when the guards intercepted them,” she says proudly as she helps a little girl to open a juice box.

“And you left the Center?” I ask, still amused.

“Yes,” Margot blurts, giving Kat, who is walking up to us, a side eye. “Well, she dragged me here.”

I smile at Kat, who puts her hand on Margot’s shoulder. “I knew she’d need help putting a mask on,” Kat says, and Margot shakes her off and rolls her eyes.

“How many are here?”

“Twenty-six,” Kat says. “One is on an IV in a patient room. One is being treated for severe burns. We took them all downstairs and put the N95 masks on during the attack. But I think one kid had an allergic reaction.”

“I’ll check on them,” I say, my eyes flitting around the crowded room that looks like a bomb shelter after a battle.

I haven’t been on the mainland during the bombings and the Change, but I can only imagine what the world went through.

And I don’t remember the last time I saw so many children in real life. They are all staring at us, munching hungrily on the snacks, downing water and juices and everything else they are handed. Candy and several other women are here, too.

A little boy, around six or seven, torn shorts, Superman shirt, barefoot, his feet dirty and cut up, walks up to us, his big hungry eyes on Kat’s hand. “Can we get more?”

She looks down at the juice box in her hand. “Yeah, buddy. Take this. I’ll give out chips in a moment.”

He takes it hesitantly, then looks at me, then Margot. “We did it right?”

We exchange confused glances.

“Did what right, sweetie?”

“They said we gon’ get food if we go and throw fire bottles. Is tha’ wha’ food for? We did well?”

My heart stills. I hear this continuous huffing sound next to me and see Margot staring at him, her jaw dropped as she takes deep inhales. Her eyes are filling up with tears until she blinks and they start falling down her cheeks.

I swallow hard. Kat meets my eyes, then turns to the kid. “You’ll never have to do that again, buddy. Go take a seat. We have plenty of food. Go rest. I’ll be right there.”

The kid stumbles away, and Kat and I both see Margot staring at the floor, her chest shaking. She quickly wipes her cheeks, drops to her knees beside the box, and starts pulling chips out of it right onto the floor.

The most devastating thing about war zones, so common and heartbreaking, is children growing up thinking violence, murder, and starvation are the norm. The most atrocious collateral of war is children. It takes a minute to teach a crime and years to teach what’s good.

We are all quiet for a moment, ashamed of what we are and what we did to these kids, though it wasn’t us, but we are all inevitably part of the system.

I look at Kat and nod to Margot, who still sniffles, hiding her face, as she aimlessly pulls packages of chips out of the box, making a mess.

Kat kneels beside her and gently places her hands on Margot’s, stopping her. “Let me take the box, and you will go in front of me and pull the packages out and hand them to the kids. We’ll start from the front.”

Margot nods fast, then wipes her cheek. “Sorry. I needed a minute.”

“Come on, pink witch. Time to do some good work. Though you are not used to it.”

“Piss off, Katura,” Margot says with a sniffle.

Kat only chuckles and winks at me. She’s trying to snap Margot out of the pity mode.

“You know,” Kat says as they walk to the front of the hall to start another round of food distribution, “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad you are here.”

“You high, Katura?” Margot pushes her pink hair out of her face.

“I wish. But looks like Bishop fucked the arrogance out of you.”

“I thought I’d follow in your steps and open my legs for opportunities.”

“You finally made a good choice.”

“Fuck you, Katura.”

Kat laughs.

Margot is trying to hide a smile. “I do, by the way.”

“Do what?” Kat asks.

“Have a joint.”

Kat stalls, but Margot motions for her to follow. “But we have work to do first.”

“Margot?” Kat warns.

“Yeah, yeah. Later. Time to do some work. Though you are not used to it.”

Kat rolls her eyes, then notices me watching and mouths, “Bitch.”