There were indeed many shoe prints.
I paused in front of a darker patch of dirt. “Is this newer?”
Dax joined me, crouched down, and reached toward the dirt. Then he seemed to think better of it, withdrawing his hand. “Y’know, all the shit we’ve come across, I’m thinking it might be better to just not touch whatever’s there,” he said.
I looked around and spotted similar blotches scattered across the infield.
Hmm. Strange stains in a makeshift arena. I had a pretty good feeling I didn’t really want to investigate this place any further.
Dax’s cell phone beeped. He pulled it out and glanced at it, perhaps out of habit—no one could make calls anymore, but the thing still functioned as a stopwatch and miniature video game console. “Half-hour warning,” he said. “Let’s head back.”
In truth, I was glad for the distraction, as my thoughts had started to wander in a dark direction. What are they using this place for…?
Dax tucked his phone back into his pocket, and the two of us us hurried back toward the medical complex.
The rest of the bites had been dealt with by the time I got back, so Lattimore sent me to a spot she dubbed the Mystery Tent for the rest of my shift. “Ask Renati for instructions,” she said, ushering me away before I could ask any questions, like who the hell Renati was and why they were calling what was probably the ER the Mystery Tent.
As it turned out, questions were unnecessary. A quick survey of its occupants told me this was where everyone who was sick but not really sick got thrown. Better than ICU and Triage, likely not as exciting as Zombie Ward.
Did I say exciting? I meant tragic.
There were two dozen people in the tent; none of them looked all that great, but they didn’t seem to be dying, either. I spotted Alyssa sitting up in bed toward the back and made my way to her. Her color had tanked since the previous day, but she smiled at me and paused in her latest Angry Birds pursuits to wave. “Hey, medic.”
“Hey.” I glanced down at the scribbled notes on her chart; Lattimore definitely felt she had something besides a common cold, and thus had dumped her off here. “So day two, huh?”
“Yeah.”
No antibiotics. Not much of anything, really. She was due for a sedative, which I could load up for her. A quick glance at the other boards around me indicated that sedatives were all we were giving to these poor folks in general.
Why are we keeping them drugged?
Probably so they won’t complain.
Maybe it was for the best. Last time I had the flu, life would have been much better if someone had just doped me up properly. I looked around for an authority figure and spotted a man hunched over a bed on the other side of the tent. A shock of black hair atop his head stuck out in every direction, and his lab coat—well, I figured it had once been a lab coat—had splashes of blue, purple, and red on it. “Is that Renati?” I asked.
She turned over enough to look. I couldn’t quite interpret the look on her face; it didn’t entirely seem to be dislike, but nor did I see someone who was particularly pleased that Renati was in charge of her well-being. “That’s him,” she confirmed after a moment.
“And…?”
She looked back at me and shrugged as best she could, finally setting the phone aside. “He’s not a real doctor.”
“So…he’s one of the fake ones?”
“I mean, he is. But he was in R&D and he makes it pretty clear that’s where he’d rather be. He’s nice and everything, just prefers to talk about pathogens and the Trojan War instead of whatever ails you.”
Interesting combination. Too bad most of the people in this tent probably weren’t retired classics professors.
The good doctor saw me looking at him, glanced around, and hustled over. “I take it you’re my new medic,” he said. He didn’t look pleased, but if what Alyssa said was true, he didn’t want to be here at all. Hell, neither did I.
“Yeah. I’m Vibeke.”
“Marvelous. You’ll take this side, please? I’ll handle the other side.”
“Sure.”
He hadn’t questioned my background yet—either he assumed I’d already been vetted or he simply didn’t care.
“Marvelous. Thank you.”
I tried to think of something appropriately witty and Homeric to say, but none of my usual pleasantries seemed quite fitting.
Alyssa saw my look of concentration and let out a snort. “Doc, I was telling her you prefer R&D.”
“Well, what passes for it these days.” He stuck a hand out, and after a split second of contemplation I shook it. “Gustav Renati. I haven’t dealt with actual patients since med school.”
“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to say that to actual patients,” Alyssa said.
“Wouldn’t you rather have honesty?”
“I’d rather think myself in the hands of a capable physician.”
He stared down at her, brow furrowing as if he were trying to figure out whether she was joking or not. “Well, therein the patient must minister to herself,” he said.