Alchemised, page 77
The mask on her face sealed the dampness against her skin. Her hands grew caked with dust that she kept washing off after every patient. The mask stopped working; it was so clogged with dust, it nearly suffocated her. She replaced it with a wet cloth, which was what everyone without masks had already begun using.
“Marino! Where’s Marino?”
Helena looked up from washing her hands. “What is it?”
She squinted through the haze at the man in front of her.
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be down-island. I’ve been looking for you.” He was in a lorry uniform, and he took her by the arm.
She stared at him in confusion as he pulled her towards one of the lorries. “What?”
“There’s too much of a risk of the nullium contamination spreading if we keep bringing the wounded up-island. Takes too long anyway. There’s a hospital down-island but they’re overrun, not enough experience with the nullium. You’re in charge of the nullium ward here, so you’re lead. Orders are right here.” He shoved her up into the passenger side of the lorry and handed her a piece of paper.
“I’m not in charge…” She squinted at the paper, her eyes gritty with dust. “I’m not allowed to leave Headquarters.”
She stared stupidly at the words that indicated that Helena Marino, as head of the nullium ward, was to be dispatched to the field hospital to lead the medics in treating the nullium-poisoned combatants. It was signed by Falcon Matias.
She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been given written orders from him.
“This can’t be right. Was there a meeting?”
The engine rumbled beneath her.
“I just follow orders, Marino. They don’t bring me in for Council meetings. You were supposed to be there right off. Kept waiting, finally went looking for you.” The driver twisted at the ignition, shifting a gear, and the lorry lurched forward. Before she had more time to argue, they were speeding out of Headquarters and down-island.
She could already see the ruined skyline.
“I need you to go back and tell Crowther where I’ve been dispatched. I don’t think this was Council-authorised,” she said as they drove.
“There’s a radio at the field office. You can check in when you arrive.”
She always forgot how fast it was to travel by vehicle on military roads. In no time at all, the lorry stopped at a hastily assembled checkpoint.
Everyone sent down the island into the blast zone was fitted with layers of protective clothing, masks as well as veils to try to keep out the dust. They stopped to dress and then continued deeper. The dust hung in the air, and the road deteriorated, covered in rubble. It was midday, but the dust blotted out the sun so that everything glowed an eerie orange.
Two bright lanterns showed through the smog, and they pulled up at the hospital. There were already medics there, no healers, although it was hard to tell who anyone was.
Medical workers all wore red ribbons tied around their arms. Here Helena saw the devastation she’d kept expecting to arrive at Headquarters.
This was the worst of it.
There were so many crushed bodies. The armour of soldiers had splintered and sliced them apart. Medics with the right resonance were transmuting the armour off, but when it came loose, blood would immediately begin pouring out.
Dust and smoke and metal and blood stained the air. Helena could taste it despite all the layers.
There was no running water.
She could barely see. No one had any idea where the radio was, or if they still had one. They were drowning in injuries.
Half of the medics had already lost their resonance, and there was no time to do anything but switch to manual protocols. Without running water, it was impossible to keep anything clean.
Helena could feel her resonance starting to fail when General Althorne came through the door, pulling a cart with several bodies on it.
“I think they’re alive,” he said, breathing heavily. He was coated in dust, no mask and only light armour on. “There’s at least forty trapped under a wall. We can hear them, but we don’t know how to reach them without potentially collapsing it on them.”
Helena let the others check the bodies and try to find space for them. The hospital was already overflowing. Althorne’s fingers were bloody from digging through rubble. He sat down heavily, coughing violently, struggling to breathe.
“You should be wearing a mask,” she said.
“Can’t breathe in those damn things,” he said, gulping water. “No point. Already lost my resonance.” Then he blinked and peered at her. “Marino?”
“Yes?” She didn’t know Althorne had any idea who she was.
He leaned towards her, his voice dropping. “What are you doing here? Get back to Headquarters before Ferron finds out about this.”
She was speechless, but of course Althorne had to have known. She looked at him helplessly. “Matias signed the order and dispatched me here, and I can’t find the radio to get permission to return.”
“Go back to Headquarters. First lorry. Tell them I ordered it. The last thing we need is Ferron going off the rails.” Althorne dragged himself up on his feet.
“Wait.” She caught him by the arm, and to her surprise, he collapsed back onto the chair. She reached out with her failing resonance, but all she felt was a blur.
“Althorne, you need a mask. It’ll give you lung damage to keep breathing this dust. You’re too valuable to risk,” she said, searching him, trying to find the injury she could tell he was hiding. It was a testament to how weak he was that he sat there, letting her.
He said nothing.
“When are reinforcements coming?” she asked. “There’s not enough people here to handle this much. We’re running out of everything.”
“They’re not,” Althorne said quietly, as if to keep anyone else from overhearing. “We’re all there is.”
Helena’s heart stalled.
He watched as several soldiers dragged in bodies on makeshift litters.
“We can’t risk our remaining combatants down here, losing their resonance. The fallout has to be contained,” Althorne said, his voice tight with resignation.
He stood and swayed.
“Where are you hurt?” Helena asked, blocking his path.
He shrugged her off, straightening, his breath laboured. “It’s shallow. Falling rubble. Everyone’s bleeding. I’ll be fine.”
“Althorne.” She stepped into his path. “You’re hurt. Badly. If I had my resonance, I’d sedate you by force, because you’re not in any condition to lead recovery efforts. You are too valuable. You know that. The Resistance can’t lose you.”
He patted her on the shoulder as if she were a child. “My men are in that rubble. Buried and suffocating because I sent them there.”
A warning shriek rose from the rubble. Long and piercing, followed by another and another. Whistles. Helena didn’t know what it meant.
Althorne’s face hardened. He pushed her aside with a sweep of his arm. “Block the doors. They’ve sent in necrothralls; they’ll be coming for the bodies.”
He strode past her, and Helena stood, torn between trying to stop him and the urgency of securing the hospital. Before she could decide, he vanished into the dust. She turned to face the hospital.
“We need to move all the bodies as far back into the building as possible,” she said, her voice shaking. “If there’s not enough room—stack the dead. We have to secure the doors.”
The thought of being locked in a field hospital again made her vision blur. She forced herself to stay focused, curling her fingers until she felt the scars on her palm.
“Can’t we let Headquarters know we’re under attack?” a medic asked, voice muffled through protective gear. “They have to send people.”
Helena shook her head. “They’re not coming. The nullium has to be contained.”
Everyone around her froze, staring. She probably wasn’t supposed to tell them that.
Helena had never been a leader, and she had no idea how to suddenly begin being one. She was not the kind of person that anyone believed in, and standing, covered in dust, soaked in blood and gore—it was not the time for it. She focused on practicalities.
“Our job is to keep everyone here safe. We’ll move them back and put up obstacles. The Undying won’t come here themselves; nullium affects them, too.”
“But there’s no room to move anyone unless we can break through the walls, and no one here has the resonance for that. We’re already out of space,” a medic said. “And how are we going to block the doors?”
Helena looked around. He was right. If they protected the survivors, they’d have to leave the dead to be taken. Which would cost them dearly later on.
There was no room, and no means.
She was in command. She had a stupid slip of paper declaring it.
“We’ll evacuate,” she said, not caring whether the nullium was supposed to be contained down-island. It would be worse if the Undying got hold of all their casualties. “We won’t go into Headquarters, but if we get close enough, they might not pursue. If the Council minds, they can blame me.”
A flurry of activity followed as bodies were prepared for transfer. Helena went and commandeered all the lorries, using the crumpled slip of paper that named her as head of the nullium ward as proof of legitimacy.
They crammed as many bodies as possible into the lorries. Dead at the bottom, injured on top. A medic or nurse departed with each lorry.
The wait for their return felt interminable as they readied group after group.
They could hear the fighting. Fire glowed through the smog. Whistles kept sounding on all sides, like a signal of wolves closing in, except it wasn’t night; the world was red.
Helena’s muscles were burning from lifting, over and over. The bodies never seemed to stop. She and one other medic were left, even though there were still wounded and more bodies that they had to get out.
“I’ll stay,” he said. “Take this one.”
Helena shook her head. “I’m lead. I go last.”
He stepped back, thumping the lorry.
“I’ll wait with you, then,” he said.
She could only see his eyes, and they were crusted all around until they were black with dust.
He reminded her of Luc.
“No,” she said quickly, looking away. “Go, that’s an order.”
She watched him swing up into the cab next to the driver as the lorry pulled away, driving carefully through the debris. She could just barely make out the Alchemy Tower in the distance. The flame at the top like a small sun.
The lorry stopped.
Helena squinted through the dust, trying to make out why. There was another lorry approaching, swerving back and forth so that the departing lorry couldn’t pass it.
Suddenly the approaching lorry sped up, and Helena could see through the dust enough to make out the bloated grey face of the driver.
The Resistance lorry’s wheels screamed as it went into a rapid reverse, but rubble scattered across the road prevented evasion. The approaching lorry crashed into it head-on.
There was a bright flash.
Chapter 59
Junius 1787
Helena lay squinting, struggling to see, but everything was dim, blurring. When she tried to breathe, pain radiated through her, so sudden it jolted her back into consciousness. She clutched her chest, trying to draw breath, but she couldn’t.
What had happened? She couldn’t remember. She fought to breathe, and a low whistling sound came from somewhere. Then it all rushed back. The lorries, they crashed and—
There must have been another bomb.
She struggled, trying to pull herself up.
She tried to spot the explosion, but the landscape was wrong. Where was the road? There was just fire and a crater.
Agony bloomed through her. Her vision turned red.
A whistling sound like a boiling kettle kept coming from somewhere. She tried to find it and realised it was coming from her throat.
She moved cautiously. If she’d damaged her spine—
Calm down. Focus. Assess your condition and act from there.
She forced herself to look down and gave a strangled whimper.
There was a piece of metal buried in the centre of her chest, splitting her sternum.
She kept staring at it, too shocked to move at first. She was going to die. She was going to die in a field hospital, just like her father. All that vivimancy just to run into the same fate.
She closed her eyes, struggling to stay calm as feeling crept back over her. She could sense her fingers. Toes. Her spine was intact at least.
She kept trying to breathe, but she wanted to scream with every hitch of her lungs. It was worse than a knife wound; the agony seemed to radiate outwards, seething like cracks through every rib. It consumed the whole of her consciousness.
Get up. You have to get up.
She could barely make herself move. She looked towards the road again. There was just a hole. The road was gone, but there were still people in the hospital.
She managed to get her hand up and peel the mask off. She didn’t think that lung damage from dust mattered anymore.
The air was so much cooler. She managed a half breath.
She couldn’t die.
She fought to her feet, managing shallow, panting breaths, and nearly fainted when she got upright. Every movement was agony. The need to breathe warred with the excruciating misery of forcing her ribs and lungs to shift. She bit down on her lip as she tried to shuffle towards the doors. One step at a time.
Her lungs kept agitating her with the urge to cough, but she fought it back. Pain exploded through her each time, bright white, so searing she’d waver, unable to see.
If she coughed, she would faint, and she’d be dead before she regained consciousness.
She would not die. She would wait. Someone would come back and find her. Maier could operate. Shiseo would work night and day to find the right chelator, and she would make herself recover quickly.
She’d promised Kaine that she was safe, that nothing would happen to her. She could not die.
She made it through the doors. There was a tray with a few discarded instruments and bottles on it. She fumbled through them until she found a vial of laudanum.
She managed to unscrew the lid and forced down a sip of the tongue-biting contents.
Not too much. She had to stay lucid. She searched the rest of the supplies, looking for something, a stimulant to keep herself going.
She’d kill for a cough suppressant.
She forced herself to look down at her chest. She was wearing so many layers, she couldn’t see exactly where the shrapnel went in to tell if it was nullium dissolving into her blood or just a stray piece of the lorry.
She wanted to pull it out but knew better. If it had punctured her heart or aorta, she’d bleed to death in seconds. It might be keeping her alive.
Someone would come. She could wait until a lorry came back.
She made herself keep moving, because it was easier than sitting, feeling the injury.
She checked the remaining patients. The nearest was a boy who’d been cut out of his armour. He was missing an arm. There was an intravenous drip in his remaining arm, but there was so much blood pooled beneath him. Reaching feebly for a pulse and finding none, she drew his eyes closed and moved on.
Most were dead, several unresponsive; only a few were still conscious. She checked all of them, noting where they were.
The laudanum had managed to numb her enough that she could move a little easier.
“Mum…?” one of the soldiers moaned, catching her wrist as she passed.
Pain ripped through her chest and up her spine, shattering the relief. Her legs nearly gave out, and she bit down on her tongue so hard her mouth flooded with blood.
His helmet was crushed around his skull. Through the openings, one side of his face was mangled. There was thick blood oozing from his head onto the pallet underneath him.
“Mum…” he said.
“She’ll be here soon.”
He wouldn’t let go of her wrist. He tugged again. Her vision flashed white.
“Mum…sorry. Forgot to say goodbye. Sorry.”
“It’s all right, d-don’t worry,” she said.
His fingers relaxed enough for her to slip her hand free. She looked down.
He was dead.
She took another sip of laudanum. It was growing harder and harder to keep from coughing. She couldn’t tell if the blood in her mouth was from her lungs or her tongue.
She tried to listen for any sound of the lorries. The sounds of fighting were fading. She headed for the doors.
She was growing increasingly certain that her injury was beyond the Resistance’s means. The bone and potential heart damage would require extensive manual surgery beyond what Maier could manage without alchemy. One of her lungs was likely punctured. She’d need at least two surgeons, possibly three.
If triage protocols were in place, which they would be given the mass injuries, no one except Luc or Sebastian would qualify for three surgeons.
She leaned her head against the wall.
Even with a successful surgery, her likelihood of survival would be low. She’d be at high risk of complications and infection, a drain on their limited supplies. The hospital would save far more people if they passed her over. Any half-rate medical assessment would realise that.
Whether the lorries arrived or not, she was going to die. She looked down at her hand, wishing she had the resonance to send a pulse code to Kaine. Some way to tell him she was sorry. That she had tried.
