The doc had beady little brown eyes with an abundance of crow’s feet, most likely from scrutinizing over an operating table at the inside of rectums. I’ve heard that the most coveted nursing jobs are working in those little day surgery places where they do endoscopies and colonoscopies all day. It makes sense. Anyone who has ever had a colonoscopy will tell you the worst part is the day before. The actual procedure is a breeze. Doc Robbins was nice enough. He always had a smile on his face, and he didn’t exude the arrogance that many doctors do. No God complex that I could see.
Life on the island was so serene. It was almost possible to forget what was waiting for us outside the walls. Jake was assigned to the day shift, and we met at North Station for dinner every night with the rest of our group. At our first dinner we learned that Adam took a position in central supply, cataloging and organizing the community food stores.
It was no surprise to discover that Nancy had also chosen to work at the orphanage. She and Gabby were rarely apart, and Gabby spent her days playing with the other kids and attending the small school that had been established shortly after the perimeter went up. Daphne, too, had changed. She wasn’t nearly as skittish as she had been. She also, thankfully, wasn’t a barker anymore. I guess too many close calls had taught her a lesson.
The one thing that hadn’t changed was how much I adored her. She was with me twenty-four hours a day. She would sit quietly outside the shower, trot along next to me when I went to the clinic, and even lay under my table during meals. Sure, there were other dogs on the island, but they held no interest for her other than the random butt sniff.
My marriage had always been great, but Jake and I had grown even closer. His welcome home kisses gave me butterflies, and we held hands like school kids. I found his constant big brother heckling endearing. Poor Will was scared stiff around him, so much so that he had spent the first three evenings sleeping on the sofa. The best part was that Jake was only messing with Will to watch him squirm. Will was a stand-up guy, and Jake was really fine with him and Meg being together. Finally on the third night he gave the kid a reprieve. Jake was on his way to the kitchen for a bottle of water before bed. When he walked into the living room, Will jumped off the sofa like a fire had been lit under his ass.
He strolled over and clapped his hand on Will’s back. “I can’t keep it up.” He blew out a low laugh when he saw Will’s confused expression. “I’m just messing with ya, kid. You’re a good man and you’ve done right by Meg, and the rest of our group. I’m fine with you being together. Now stop camping out in here and go to bed.”
A goofy grin spread across Will’s face and he bounded out of the living room before Jake could change his mind.
Chapter 28
A Little Bit Louder Now
It was noon on my third day in the clinic. My only patient so far was an elderly woman complaining of arthritic pain. Without modern medicine readily available, I was limited in what I could do for her. So I gave her a massage to help loosen up her joints.
I lounged in the rocking chair by the front entry flipping through a six-month-old celebrity gossip magazine. The newest Disney child actor to shed her squeaky clean image made for an exciting story. I was thinking about what fate might have befallen the little tart when the squawk of radio sent me toppling off the front of the rocker and stumbling for the railing to remain on my feet. The doctor had told me we were in possession of one of the few camp radios in case there was a medical issue in the field and they needed help.
“Doc. Come in, Doc. Over.”
Snatching the radio up, my hands trembled with the fear of what could be happening. “This is Emma… er… the nurse. Doc Robbins is out to lunch. What can I do for you?” I waited for a response and gave myself a mental head slap. Duh. “Over.”
“This is PFC Sotter. ETA to clinic is thirty minutes. We’ve got a soldier with a minor laceration that needs wound care and infection prevention. Over.”
“Roger that, PFC. We’ll be here.” Dammit, I forgot again. “Over.”
Scenarios started to play through my brain in rapid fire. I knew there was a recovery team on the way back to base. They’d been gone before we arrived on the island. I also knew the cut was not a zombie bite, because the camp had a strict policy on bites. If you are bitten, you are infected: one hundred percent of the time. Victims are given the option of a self-inflicted bullet to the brain, or they could opt for what’s behind door number two: execution by comrade. In the new world, where infection is lurking everywhere, any cut, scrape, or blister was taken seriously and treated to prevent a staph infection, tetanus, or worse.
I may have been given the title of nurse, but the fact that I was technically an unlicensed student with an extremely limited scope of experience had my nerves getting the best of me. Better to be safe than sorry, I say. So I did what any self-respecting nursing student would do. I ran to get the doctor. He was still waiting in the lunch line when I found him, and his annoyance at being summoned back to work was visible on his face. He left me in line in his place to bring his meal back to the clinic.
You would think the camp meals were bland and delivered in portions just big enough to sustain life, and you would be half right. The portions were minuscule, but the food had been excellent thus far. Judging by the mouth-watering effect the smell of beef stew had on me, today would be no exception. No way was I passing up the opportunity to cut in line and not get a meal for myself.
I may have felt a small twinge of guilt. But when I saw the stew was accompanied by a fresh baked biscuit, I was guilty no more. The biscuit didn’t stand a chance of making it back to the clinic intact. My willpower held out all of ten paces before that flaky delight was leaving crumbs down the front of my shirt. Even worse was my inner struggle to not eat Doc Robbins’ biscuit too. Biscuit? What biscuit? Fear of reprisal saved that little biscuit from meeting its maker by way of my eager tummy.
A Ford F350 was parked in front of the clinic. The shiny blue paint was visible only on the roof. The body of the behemoth truck was covered with a thick coating of both fresh and dried blood. A crack in the windshield reminded me of the bull’s-eye on a dartboard. The concentric circular pattern had multiple fractures with small chips in the glass. Stuck inside the chips were bits of flesh and hair. One tangle in particular caught my eye and made my stomach do a flip-flop.
A clump of blond locks threaded through the small opening. Dangling inside like a pair of fuzzy dice was a chunk of scalp nearly two inches in diameter. I made the executive decision to stop the vehicle inspection and passed by, intentionally turning my gaze upward. When the stench hit me, I quickened my pace and took shallow breaths through my mouth.
Two soldiers leaned on the railing as I approached. They were both laughing as they puffed away on cigarettes.
Mmm, I miss cigarettes, I thought. It had been nearly five years since I gave up smoking, and I still craved those evil little cancer sticks whenever I caught a whiff. It was no big mystery; smoking is bad for you. So after years of enduring the riot act from Jake, I woke up one day and threw a full pack in the trash. Is it irony that I quit to avoid an early death by lung cancer and now every day was a gamble on whether or not I’d see tomorrow? Perhaps I should reevaluate that decision. I think I would prefer that death to the other, and more likely, option. But, I digress.