A DICKHEAD OR HEALER?

AUTHOR’S POV 

The infirmary took two days to establish.

The building Lydia selected had once been a small residence. Its walls were sound, and the roof required only minor repairs. There were three rooms, a narrow kitchen, and a back entrance that could be used to separate patients from the rest of the settlement.

Elena and Lydia worked from morning until night, cleaning the floors, repairing shelves, and organizing the medicines they had salvaged.

They made separate areas for minor injuries, serious cases, and anyone who might require isolation.

Every bottle and packet was counted.

Every treatment was recorded.

They labeled containers carefully, noting which herbs could be used for pain, which were helpful for fever, and which should never be administered without careful measurement.

Lydia had worked in a human hospital before the plague. Her experience proved invaluable, especially when it came to wound care and recognizing signs of serious infection.

Elena, meanwhile, knew the medicinal plants growing in the mountains and could identify several remedies that were unavailable in the settlement's dwindling stock of manufactured medicine.

Together, they made the best use of what they had.

"You've organized this better than some clinics I've worked in," Lydia remarked one evening.

Elena looked up from her ledger.

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm not. Most people would have thrown everything onto a shelf and hoped for the best."

"We don't have enough supplies to afford that."

Lydia smiled.

"Exactly."

She glanced at the inventory.

"How long do you think our medicines will last?"

Elena hesitated.

"If no one develops a serious infection and we don't receive many new patients, perhaps a few weeks. Less if the plague reaches us in large numbers."

Lydia's expression grew sober.

"Then we'll need to find more."

"Yes."

"And if we can't?"

Elena closed the ledger.

"Then we'll have to make difficult decisions."

Neither woman liked the sound of that.

But they both understood that pretending otherwise would not make the problem disappear.

A knock sounded at the door.

One of the settlement's guards entered.

"Elena, there's a man at the eastern perimeter. He's injured."

She stood immediately.

"How badly?"

"I don't know. He's alone, and he's asking for a healer."

"Did you check him for symptoms?"

"We kept our distance. He doesn't appear to have a fever, but he's bleeding."

Elena grabbed her medical bag.

"Take me to him."

Lydia rose beside her.

"I'm coming, too."

Together, they left the infirmary.

The stranger was sitting against a tree near the perimeter, one leg stretched out in front of him.

He looked to be in his early thirties. His clothes were torn, his hair was matted with dirt, and a deep wound ran along his upper arm. Blood had soaked through the fabric of his shirt and dried in dark patches against his skin.

A small pack lay beside him.

When Elena approached, he tried to stand.

"Don't," she said firmly. "You'll make the bleeding worse."

He sank back against the tree.

"Are you the healer?"

"Yes. My name is Elena."

He swallowed.

"I need help."

"I can see that. How did you get this wound?"

"Raiders."

Elena's eyes narrowed.

"Where?"

"South of here. They attacked a group of survivors we were traveling with. Took our food, our weapons, everything."

His jaw tightened.

"I managed to get away, but one of them cut me before I escaped."

"How long ago?"

"Yesterday."

Elena knelt beside him and examined the wound.

It was deep, but it did not appear to have damaged a major artery. The bleeding had slowed, although the surrounding skin was swollen and dirty.

"Have you had a fever?"

"No."

"Any unusual confusion, violent urges, or dark markings beneath your skin?"

The man stared at her.

"No. Why?"

"We're taking precautions."

She glanced toward the guards.

"Keep your distance until we've cleaned the wound. If he develops symptoms, we'll isolate him for observation."

Then she turned back to the stranger.

"I'm going to clean this. It will hurt."

He gave a bitter laugh.

"Everything hurts."

Elena did not respond to the remark. She poured clean water over the wound, removed the dirt, and began cleaning the damaged tissue.

The man clenched his teeth but did not cry out.

Lydia helped her apply a medicinal paste and secure the bandage.

When they finished, Elena handed him a small cup of water.

"Drink slowly."

He obeyed.

After several moments, he looked at her with an expression she could not quite read.

"What do you want in return?"

Elena frowned.

"What?"

"For the treatment. Food? Weapons? I don't have much left, but I can give you something."

She shook her head.

"You don't need to pay me."

His eyes narrowed.

"Nothing is free anymore."

"That doesn't mean every act of kindness has to come with a price."

He looked away.

For a moment, Elena thought he might argue.

Instead, he lowered his head.

"I haven't eaten since yesterday morning."

"We'll get you something."

"You don't even know who I am."

"That is true."

"Then why help me?"

Elena packed away her medical instruments.

"Because you're injured, and I know how to treat you. That's enough."

The stranger stared at her.

Something in his expression shifted.

Not trust, exactly.

Perhaps disbelief.

He had expected to be questioned, threatened, or forced to surrender whatever remained of his belongings. Instead, Elena had treated his wound without demanding anything in return.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Caleb."

"All right, Caleb. We'll give you a place to rest while you recover. You'll need to follow our rules, including checking in with the infirmary and keeping your wound clean."

He nodded slowly.

"Thank you."

Elena helped him stand, supporting his uninjured side while one of the guards collected his pack.

As they guided him toward the settlement, she noticed several survivors watching from the nearby buildings.

Among them stood Roderick.

He had witnessed the entire exchange and his clenched fist was ready to deal with someone.