P.N.E. (The Wolfblood Prophecies Book 4) (10 page)

‘So you’re prisoners down here?’

‘I’d rather be down here than up there. All those cameras and loud speakers and bastards with guns. They make Zebo and his lot look like debutantes. The Vermin wanted to install their spy stuff down here, but their engineers told them it couldn’t be done. I reckon they just didn’t want to risk coming down after we sorted out the first lot they sent... It’s not so bad. Years back, in the nuclear winter, if the blast didn’t get you, then radiation sickness, cholera, plague and starvation would, but we’ve come a long way since then. There’s a school, of sorts, and this little hospital’s not bad, if I do say so myself. I’ve got Bobby working here when he’s not off his head, and a surgeon and a vet come round once a week –‘

‘A vet?’ interjected Jo.

‘Quite a lot of cross-over with people and animals,’ said Brenda simply. ‘We’re lucky to have her on the team. Skilled people like her can make a lot of money working for the nobs.  Most of them do. Anyway, they do the fancy stuff and Bobby and I do the basics. It’s amazing what good hygiene, clean water and sanitation can achieve.’

‘So tell me about the patients,’ said Jo.

‘We’ve got the lot,’ said Brenda slowly. ‘About thirty at the moment. Some gun-shot wounds if people go Overground and get seen. Paediatrics. Obstetrics. Schizophrenics. Diabetics. You name it. Everything but Geriatrics.’

‘Geriatrics? Old people?’ Jo hazarded.

‘Yes. It took us a long time to realise that the VMN were quietly getting rid of all the old and sick people left over after NW1. By the time we cottoned on, it was too late. I reckon me and Reg are the oldest people you’ll meet! It was a cull of a whole generation.’

‘They did that in the world I come from, too,’ said Jo. ‘Crazy Em had this little cottage, with hollyhocks and honeysuckle round the door – ‘

Brenda looked disapproving. ‘Don’t you go talking like that round the patients,’ she chided. ‘They’ve never seen any flowers except in books. They’ve got enough to worry about without wondering if you’re an escaped lunatic.’

Jo could not remember being so tired. Under Brenda’s eagle-eyed direction she had worked unceasingly to help maintain comfort and cleanliness on the wards. As Brenda had said, there were no elderly patients, although most of the people she tried to help seemed old beyond their years.  Everyone looked as if they could use a good square meal and a hot bath; nevertheless, they had youth on their side and Brenda was upbeat about their recovery prospects.

Jo did not find the work as harrowing as she had feared. She wasn’t particularly squeamish, which helped, although the bed-pan round didn’t fill her with enthusiasm. Brenda saw her pull a face and soon put her right. ‘Don’t you dare take their dignity away,’ she admonished. ‘They haven’t got any choice in the matter, so you take it in your stride and be grateful that you can be independent when you want to use the toilet.’

What did surprise Jo was the mistrust and apathy she met as she tried talking to the patients who were her age or a little older. In the main her attempts to get to know them were rebuffed.

‘They don’t trust me,’ she confided to Brenda.

Brenda shrugged. ‘Any reason why they should?’ she challenged and Jo couldn’t think of a satisfactory answer.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Crap.’

‘How can I help?’

‘Piss off.’

‘You know I’m not going to. Would you like a drink?’

‘Call that bilge a drink? Piss off.’

‘Are you subtly trying to tell me you want the bed-pan?’

‘Think you’re funny, don’t you.’

‘Well, do you?’

‘Do I what?’

‘Want the bed-pan?’

‘Piss off.’

That’s progress,
thought Jo, smiling to herself as she finished bandaging Mandy’s arm, badly damaged in a run-in with a VMN thug.
Yesterday Mandy wouldn’t speak to me at all.
The sullen eight-year old rolled over in the bed, pointedly turning her back

At the end of the first week Brenda gave her a brief nod. ‘You did alright,’ she said, and Jo beamed. ‘I could do with a few more like you,’ Brenda added, ‘but there is one problem. You’re making the patients way too comfortable.’

Jo looked puzzled. ‘I thought that would help them get better,’ she protested.

‘You’re right. To a point. The problem is, if it’s too cosy here, no-one will want to leave and we’ll have people faking illness to be admitted. It’s not a holiday camp. Life underground is tough, and we’ve got a fine line to tread.’

And so the days wore on. Jo spent her time cleaning the wards and caring for the bed ridden. She was so busy that the intense concentration needed to summon the healing lotus was just not an option. However, she learnt quickly that some of the adult patients and the little children responded very positively when she spoke quietly to them. Some started talking to her.  Even those who didn’t answer seemed to be listening, so she carried on chatting. Sometimes she hummed a snatch of a song and discovered very quickly who liked that and who didn’t. Others – not all - visibly relaxed when she touched them gently. But whenever she was alone, Jo told herself that she was still asleep in Glory Heights and every time she went to sleep she prayed to wake up back there.

Jo awoke with a start from a dream of green leaves and blue sunlit skies. There was banging and shouting and movement all around.

‘Jo!’ yelled Brenda, ‘We need you, now!’ 

Snapping to her senses Jo dressed quickly and ran to the Infirmary. In shocked disbelief she took in the scene; soldiers. Lots and lots of soldiers. And they were dying.

‘What’s happening?’ she cried.

‘What does it look like? The Vermin were ready for us. I still don’t know what went wrong; I only know that if you don’t pull your finger out right this second that more of these brave young folk are going to die on my watch and I am not having it. Do you understand me, Nurse?’

‘Yes, Matron,’ replied Jo. ‘You can count on me.’ And with that Jo set to work. She held men down as Brenda operated. She sewed them back together. She mopped up the blood and then washed the bloodied towels.

She was holding the hands of a young girl who was howling in pain. Then the howling stopped and all Jo could hear was a dreadful dry, rattling rasp.

‘No!’ The word ripped from Jo’s throat on a wave of desperation, rage and prayer. The girl’s head lolled backwards. ‘Look at me! I will not let you die!’

The girl’s eyelids flickered for a moment, revealing eyes of a startling blue, edged with shimmering tears. As Jo stared into those azure eyes a soft pearly light began to shine from them. The tears seemed like petals. Jo was almost too exhausted to hope but to her joy the light began to crystallise into the healing lotus. Amid all the carnage and horror, Jo found her beauty again. She saw Death and she defied it with dignity.

The girl stopped crying and gazed in wonder at the lotus before her. It hung in the air, the softest, palest green light, glowing in the underground gloom. Her face softened and she looked down.

Where her belly had been torn open by shrapnel her skin was unmarked. Even the blood was gone. She looked at Jo and her expressive eyes said all there was to say.

Brenda just stared and said, ‘So Smokey was right.’ Quickly she gathered her wits and led Jo to the most critical patients. From there, more able patients came and linked hands with both them and the infirmary staff until everybody was connected.

And Jo sang. She sang of faraway worlds and missing family. She whispered of fear and of strength in the dark. She focused her mind on remembering her mum until she sang without words and with every rise and fall of her voice, the lotus exploded in great bursts of colour that swam round the room and warmed all that they touched. And Jo sang until she remembered everyone she loved and she poured out her heart and the warmth in the room grew greater and grand, until all of the soldiers were standing as normal, completely uninjured but still linking hands. And they were singing along with their great booming hearts until Jo, quivering with fatigue, finally let go and just listened as the warriors sang a song full of miracles and of wonder and of worship and of happiness and of love and of victory.

Until.

Until Quinn, stark, wired, ragged, but unharmed Quinn, appeared in the doorway. Slouched between him and a badly burned Smokey was Reg. And he was not moving at all.

Jo tried. She had nothing left and she still gave her all. She tried and nothing happened. The lotus would not appear no matter how much she tried, until in the end everyone cried with her. Brenda salved and cleaned Smokey’s wounds and applied clean, fresh bandages and confined him to bed.