Chapter 201

Almara’s Pov

Arthur was right. Our work did slow down. The doors to the hospital have been opening less and with less urgency. The plus side to this is we can give more undivided time to patients, the downside is we’re only slow because most of our members have already died.

I like to think maybe it’s because we’re doing well on the battlefield, but if that were the case Arthur wouldn’t have needed to pull members from our staff.

I push my lunch around with my fork, still not wanting to eat but I do anyway only to nourish the growing baby inside me. “Would you like to see a picture of Grace?” I heard my mother ask and plop her tray down next to me.

The cafeteria is sparse with workers. The usual stuffiness of the cafeteria has thinned, allowing streaks of sunlight from high windows to shine down on empty gray tables. The chattering is minimal, accentuating the periodic sound of the hospital doors opening on the floor above.

I admire her ability to stay cheery even in the darkest of times, it’s one of her natural talents. I try my best to give an appreciative smile It’s not that I don’t want to see my baby girl, it’s just I don’t know how to reconcile her innocence during a time like this.

Seeing her while I’m away seeing death at every hour would only make me fully realize that she too isn’t invincible and I’m not there to protect her- and that would be the death of me. I can’t even promise to save the lives I try so hard to rescue here at work.

“Sure,” I say in spite of myself. I know my mother is worried about me and is only trying to help in the way she knows best. She turns her phone over so I can see a picture of my father with his arm around Grace. Both are smiling, and Grace’s joy beams through the phone.

She’s lost a tooth and her hair is wild. Leave it to my father to not know how to brush hair Just as I predicted, the walls around my heart begin to crumble and the tears start to flow.

“I miss her,” I whisper and let out a shaky breath.

“I do too,” my mother says and slides her phone back into her pocket.

“How are things back at home?” I ask, trying to restore the walls.

“Well,” my mother shrugs. “There haven’t been any more invasions which must mean all vampires and familiars are needed on the battlefield so that must is good news.”

“How?”

“Well, if they’re all needed on the battlefield that must mean we’re doing enough damage that they can’t spare any extra war tactics in harassing us.” My mother says and I nod, though I’m not sure if that’s what it must mean, still, appreciating her ability to see the brighter side.

“How’s dad doing?” I ask, knowing my mother is suffering too.

A sadness sweeps over her and I almost regret asking. “He’s struggling,” she admits through a sad smile. “He’s lost a lot of friends,” she says and stabs a piece of cold broccoli with her fork. I nod. A lot of wolves have lost members of their packs.

I can only imagine the entire feel back home is solemn. My stomach churns at the thought of Grace being the only beacon of light in a vast ocean of sadness.

Just then the hospital doors on the floor above us burst open with that familiar and dreaded sense of urgency. All heads tilt up with scared curiosity.

“Code red! Code red!” We hear someone shout. All nurses jump from their seats and run to the main floor of the hospital. My mother and I shoot each other an alarmed look and then hustle to exit the cafeteria.

Code red is never good. It means the patient is in critical condition and needs immediate attention or they will die in only a matter of a short few minutes. By the grace of the mood goddess we can only hope the fallen soldier will remain alive, even if it means their physical condition may never be the same.

Due to the lack of workers in the building, the exit doors don’t become congested as they sometimes did. We’re able to slide out with ease and hit the floor running, skipping two steps at a time on the stairs.

My mother and I reach the top of the floor just in time to see a gurney with a body strapped down on top of it wheeling past us. Blood soaks through the shite sheets and drips onto the floor, it’s hard to see who’s even under the mess of blood.

My mother gasps and my heart rate spikes. It’s like I know who it is without seeing him or her yet. Then I see the dangle of a forearm and I know. That’s all it took for me to be certain of who lays on that stretcher. Arthur.

It feels like the ground beneath me has been pulled out from under my feet. I think I’m falling to my knees, but I’m running. I’m sprinting to the gurney. Time slows and it’s like I’m running in a dream but there’s weight around my ankles that prevent me from moving.

“Arthur!” I shout out though my own words sound like I’m screaming underwater, a blubbering mess against my own ears. I see his knuckles twitch. It could be an automatic bodily response, but maybe he’s heard me. Maybe he knows I’m here with him.

I reach the gurney and keep up with the pace at which it’s being pushed. There’s so much blood I can’t even see the source of the wound. Three other nurses and a doctor surround the gurney, one is injecting an IV as we move, the other is applying pressure to his chest, but blood quickly seeps through her pressing towel.

Arthur’s face is slack, he’s completely unaware of the chaos happening around him. I loose my balance and trip, rocking the gurney. The nurse who’s inject the IV grunts in frustration.

“Get back!” She shouts and I don’t take it personally. She’s panicking, still defensiveness and the need to protect what’s mine swells inside me.

“No,” I say. “I’m helping. I’m here Arthur, I’m here,” I tell him and fight back a sob.

I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder, and I whip around ready to attack the intruder. It takes me a minute to see that it’s my mom.

“Almara, sweetie,” my mother says as calmly as she can though her hands are shaking and sweat is beading on her brow. “Sit this out. You can’t help right now, this isn’t good for you. I will take care of him. Okay? Let me fix this,”

At the utterance of those words I crumble. The need to fall to the ground in the fetal position and let my mom take care of everything becomes overwhelming.

My mother doesn’t wait for a reply, she can’t there’s no time. She runs after the gurney and I watch as the operation doors swing open and Arthur is wheeled inside and then close.

Something in me snaps. I don’t fall to the ground, I don’t cry. I run. I sprint faster than I ever have in my life. I’m going to battle.