The Monster MASH Page 4

  The look he gave me cut straight through the web I’d tried to spin. “It’s supposed to be a healer who ends this war.”

  “True.” One with a forbidden power. The gods had probably killed the person already, or chained them inside a volcano, where they could be dipped in lava twelve times a day.

  A moment of silence passed between us.

  “Do you believe in oracles?” he asked.

  “No.” Not anymore.

  He seemed surprised at that.

  I shrugged and leaned back in my chair. “I’m from New Orleans. I’ve heard a lot of ghost stories.”

  And since I’d gotten here, I’d seen a lot of soldiers. But, dang, with this one I was in trouble. I tilted my head, studying Galen of Delphi. A triple scar sliced across his lower belly as if something had taken a swipe at him. A bandage from his recent wound covered his heart and trailed over a broad shoulder. He had legions of nicks and scratches from countless hurts. I found myself wanting to fix all of it, even though I knew I couldn’t.

  Instead I asked, “How many times have you been injured?”

  A muscle in his shoulder twitched. “Too many to count.”

  I knew. I’d felt it firsthand. This man was different from the one-note, hotshot soldiers who crossed my table. Galen had the passion of an immortal, and the intensity. Yet he hadn’t lost his humanity. There was no mistaking his suffering and his pain. It was comforting and disturbing at the same time.

  I couldn’t imagine what he’d been through. I’d never witnessed a battle up close. But I did see the men as they came off the field, injured and dying.

  No doubt he wanted to bring an end to it all. It was more than our startling connection. He wanted the prophecy to come true. But in my experience, life didn’t work that way.

  I touched him lightly on the arm. His skin was sleek, the muscle underneath hard. “You’ve suffered.” Surely he’d lost friends as well. My chest tightened. “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t.” The ice in his voice sent a shiver through me. “I wouldn’t wish it on you if my life depended on it. You have no idea what’s about to happen.”

  It was true. I didn’t know what he faced. And he didn’t know me. We would leave it at that.

  I stood. “My time is up.”

  He ground his jaw, watching me as I slid a rust-colored military blanket over his shoulders and made a notation in his chart. Commander Galen would ship out tomorrow to the MASH 8071st—the farthest unit from us. I’d figure out a reason later.

  “Thanks for talking, Doc,” he said, grudgingly taking my hand. His touch rocked me to the core.

  He inhaled sharply.

  Our eyes locked, and I could see that he felt it, too. I let out a shaky breath.

  It was the first time we’d touched like this since the incident in the OR, and it hit me with stark clarity exactly how dangerous this man was.

  Like an idiot, I didn’t let go right away. I let him hold my hand for a long moment. His eyes searched my face as if he was struggling to remember.

  I drew back. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Right,” he said under his breath, recovering. “I promise not to scare you if you come see me later.”

  “Sure. I make rounds at noon.”

  I watched him ease back onto his military recovery bed, aware that I’d gained a much-needed reprieve.

  Technically, we could talk at noon. If I hadn’t just scheduled him to ship out at dawn.

  Chapter Four

  The wooden door of the recovery unit banged closed behind me as I took one deep breath, then another. The shadows of the camp slung low against the desert. Torches lined the walk, casting pools of light in the darkness.

  We’d talked the new gods into a generator for the hospital, but otherwise they insisted we go old-school with lanterns and anything else we could set on fire. For progressive gods, they sure needed to get with the twenty-first century.

  I rubbed a hand over my gritty eyes, trying to ignore the pounding in my head. I wished I could do more for soldiers like Galen. I tried to make a difference. Sometimes, though, it seemed like all we did here was patch them up so somebody else could blow holes in them again.

  Cripes. I had to let it go. I couldn’t change anything about this war or the soldiers who fought it.

  I blew out a breath. As much as I didn’t want to think about it, Galen was different. I’d seen wounded heroes before, but he was the first one who’d tried to charge out of bed after me. I wondered how many times in his life that man had ever given up command. Let himself be vulnerable. Rest, for the gods’ sake.

  Talking to Galen had felt like running a mental marathon. Shipping him out of here would be like crossing the finish line.

  So why did I feel so guilty?

  I started walking. Forget about it. I’d done the right thing—the only sane thing—to do.

  It was more than I could say for some of the generals in this war.

  Or the gods. The original war had stemmed from an argument over where to house the capital city. The old gods wanted Atlantis. The new gods wanted El Dorado. Seeing as both cities had been destroyed in the war, you’d think they’d stop fighting.

  But no. In a grand show of immortal egomania, both sides refused to back down. Now they were locked in a senseless, deadly game of one-upmanship that no one could possibly win.

  The PA speaker above my head crackled with static.

  Attention. Doctors on call. Incoming wounded.

  I snapped to attention, almost ashamed to notice that it felt good to be back on familiar ground.

  My life made sense again. I was Primary Team on call today. Adrenaline surged through me as I jogged to the operating tent, my sneakers crunching against the sandy soil.

  In the narrow prep room right outside the OR, I donned my mask and scrubbed up to the squealing of ambulance brakes and the shouts of the drivers. I could hear more doctors arriving in the yard, prioritizing cases as I finished up.

  “What do we have?” I asked, sterile hands up as I banged into the front of the OR. Nurse Hume had beaten me out to the floor. Silent and efficient, he helped me fasten my gown and gloves.

  The immense steel lights above our tables hummed as EMTs and nurses hustled the new arrivals in.

  “Cannon shot to the lower abdomen,” an ambulance worker grunted as he and another EMT carried the patient to my table.

  I took a look at the chart. “Good.” At least it wasn’t fatal.

  The gods hadn’t made a poison that could withstand the heat of an artillery shot. Yet.

  “Get me some more light over here,” I ordered.

  I kept my head down and handled a total of two gut shots and a severed spinal cord. It seemed I was back to my normal caseload, although a broken neck can be a challenge on an immortal.

  The trick is to get the bones lined up before it heals wrong. Otherwise you have to plant your hands on either side of the neck and break it again before you can set it. The weak spot breaks first. Easy peasy, right?

  Don’t think about it.

  The hours passed quickly as I worked on case after case. I was back to handling the routine traumas, and this time I did it without complaint. Galen had given me enough excitement to last the rest of the war.

  Afterward, I tossed my gloves into the biowaste can and headed for the surgeons’ locker room.

  At least it kept my mind off Galen for a while.

  We changed in a square room behind the surgical prep area. Lockers lined up on opposite walls, with a few benches in the middle.

  I yanked the surgical cap off and unwound my hair from a tight bun. There’s nothing like setting it loose after tying it too hard. I bent over at the waist, letting my hair flow as I drew my fingers against my scalp. Sweet freedom.

  A leg scraped up against my hip. “Do you mind?”

  I kept my eyes closed, ignoring the scratchy voice of Captain Thaïs. The man was like sandpaper.

  “I have a bone to pick with you,” h
e said, banging around in his locker.

  Thaïs was from the immortals-are-superior school of thinking. I didn’t feel like dealing with it.

  Brushing my hair out of my eyes with my fingers, I stuffed my operating gown in the biohazard can.

  I could practically feel him invading my personal space.

  “Hey, are you ignoring me?”

  “Yes.” It was standard protocol at this point. In fact, I was surprised that tips for deflecting, ducking, or otherwise avoiding Captain Thaïs weren’t included in the MASH 3063rd handbook. Maybe they were. Come to think of it, I never read the handbooks they issued every year. I just used them to prop up my wobbly bunk.

  “It figures.” He stood inches away from me. The man looked like Mr. Clean, minus the earring. And the smile. Thaïs wore a permanent scowl. “You’re going to have to write up your nurse for failing to retrieve the proper neck brace for your patient back there.”

  My nurse was timid enough. Writing him up wouldn’t help.

  I nudged my way around him and dialed the combination to my surgical locker. I needed a hairbrush and some duct tape for Thaïs’s mouth. “The neck brace was close by. I grabbed it.”

  No big deal.

  He stiffened. “The nurses need to learn respect.”

  “And all this time, I thought it was you.” I opened my locker and about fell over. I slammed it closed again.

  “What?” he demanded, trying to see around me. “What did you just say to me?”

  “Nothing,” I said automatically. My splayed hand blocked the door. My heart was pumping like mad. There was a bronze knife in my cubby. Either it was a sick practical joke, or the knife from surgery had made it onto the shelf next to my PowerBars.

  Somehow I knew this was no joke.

  Thaïs scowled. “Well, if you ask me, you’re acting stranger than usual.”

  No kidding. I’d get the knife later, when there were no witnesses around to see it.

  I managed a halfhearted smirk. “Yeah, well, they shouldn’t let half-breeds into the operating room.”

  Thaïs propped a foot up on a bench, tying his rusty red combat boots. “You said it, not me.”

  It would have suited me fine to leave the fighting and the dying and the entire bloody mess up to demigods like Thaïs. Only a birth defect had kept him out of the line of fire. “If I could fix your leg and hand you a long sword, I would.”

  “Ha, ha,” he grumbled before limping out of the tent.

  When I was sure he was gone, I opened my locker again. The bronze knife sat on the top shelf, dull with dried blood. It was as long as my hand, with a compact handle and a triangular blade. I picked it up. It wasn’t army issue. It was old and ornate, with a newer leather-wrapped grip. Above it, the top of the knife curved to form the head of a snake, or some sort of serpentlike beast.

  Intricate, time-worn carvings wound down the blade. A chill ran through me as I saw the sliver missing from the tip. I was pretty sure this was the knife I took out of Galen. Hades knew what it was doing in my locker. It was supposed to be in weapons waste.

  I ground my jaw. Nobody saw me.

  Except for Galen.

  That wasn’t as comforting as I’d hoped.

  Still, Galen couldn’t have planted the knife. He’d been under guard. And no other gods knew about my ability, or I’d be dead.

  I was tempted to toss the dagger straight into the biohazard pit. I would have if I could have been sure that would be the end of it.

  No, I’d take care of it myself.

  With one last glance at the door, I carried the knife over to the prep sink. Holding it like the deadly weapon it was, I carefully washed any remaining poison from the blade. Then I wrapped the whole thing in a used surgical cap and eased it into the pocket of my scrubs, pointy side down. It didn’t fit all the way, but at least it wouldn’t stab me.

  I dried my hands on my scrub pants. There were windows high up in the locker room, and I could see the bright afternoon sun peeking in from the sides of the drab army-issue shades. Father McArio would know what to do.

  A dusty breeze hit me as I nudged my way out of the operating tent. A second later, I was slapped with the full heat of the day.

  On my way toward the south end of camp, I saw Rodger coming out of recovery.

  “Petra!” He waved. “You eat?” The wind tossed his hair up in a frenzy, as if it weren’t wild enough. His wife had sent him another new shirt from home. He wore it under his white doctor’s coat. This one said Trophy Husband.

  I caught up to him. “I have to go see Father McArio.”

  “He’s in the mess tent,” he said, cocking his head in the direction I’d been heading.

  “Then let’s eat.” I fell into step next to him. No need to draw attention to myself. I’d get a hold of the father on the way out. I usually went for breakfast and skipped lunch. It was hard to screw up powdered eggs and dehydrated bacon, while the lunchtime cheeseburger soup left a lot to be desired. “Nice shirt, by the way.”

  “My wife made it,” Rodger said, with a hint of pride.

  I could tell by the crooked T.

  “You’re a lucky man,” I said as we ambled down the sandy main drag through camp. I nodded to a pair of doctors passing the opposite way.

  “I took care of your one-horned patient this morning,” Rodger said.

  “I was going to do that.” I should have had them bring him in at the end.

  “It’s okay.” Rodger shrugged. “Although considering the way he was grumbling, I don’t think he had as much fun staring at my chest while I reattached it.”

  “Served him right,” I said. “Thanks,” I added, meaning it. “It’s been an interesting twenty-four hours.”

  Rodger squinted against the rising suns. “Recovery is jammed. Jeffe is fit to be tied. Keeps trying to play twenty questions with your knife-wound patient.”

  Dread punched me in the gut. “I shipped him out.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Rodger said, far too happily for my taste.

  I ground to a halt. “What?”

  He should have been out of there at dawn.

  Rodger took three more steps before he realized I’d stopped walking. He turned. “Commander Galen, your knife patient. He’s in recovery.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I’d transferred him. I’d handed over the paperwork myself. “Son of a—” I took off for the recovery tent. A surprised group of nurses and a departing ambulance team made way.

  “Hey,” Rodger called from behind me, “what about lunch?”

  “I’ll sacrifice.” I didn’t need soup made from things that should not be souped. I needed an explanation as to why in Hades my patient was still here.

  Sure enough, Galen was down near the end of the row, in bed 22A, smiling at me.

  I placed both hands on the desk of the attending nurse. The knife felt heavy in my pocket. “I ordered that man transferred.”

  Marjorie was a calm, thin woman with generous lips and large eyes. She looked up from her laptop. “Transport made a paperwork mistake,” she said patiently. “They were gone before we realized he had to go.”

  I stared her down. I couldn’t help it. “A paperwork mistake?” I repeated, emphasizing every word. I was trying to believe it was a coincidence. I really was.

  She leveled a steady gaze at me. “It happens.”

  Not often. I strode outside to where I saw the ambulance team preparing to leave. “Where are you going?”

  The tattooed paramedic glanced up. “To the 4027th,” he said, tightening down a loaded stretcher. The ambulances could take up to six patients.

  “Got room for one more?” I asked, seeing two empty bunks.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Bed 22A.” Hand shaking, I braced a clipboard on my hip as I drew up orders. Dr. Freiermuth would know what to do with him. I hoped. At least I was pretty sure she didn’t see spirits.

  Two EMTs headed inside to retrieve Galen. “Better take a third man,” I s
aid, scrawling my signature at the bottom. “And strap him in,” I added, despising myself just a little.

  I hated to order restraints. Galen would be ticked. But I couldn’t have him getting up and walking away. He’d do it, too.

  I stood at the entrance to recovery and cringed as three immortal orderlies struggled to tie Galen down. When they’d finally subdued him, two of them hustled him out. The third orderly followed, rubbing his left hand.

  Galen’s muscular shoulders shook as he fought the leather straps on his wrists and across his upper arms and torso. They strained against the metal supports that held them in place. “Stop,” he demanded. “Tell me where you’re taking me.”

  I followed them out, toward the waiting ambulance. “Can I have a minute?” I asked the orderly before he eased Galen’s stretcher inside.

  He nodded and left my patient on the slide-out rail of the transport.

  Merde. Galen was busy working a hand loose. I knew better than to think he couldn’t pull it off.

  At least I was used to delivering bad news. I placed a hand on Galen’s chest where the blanket had fallen away. I hadn’t wanted to do this out in the yard. Or heck, at all. “We’re sending you to the 4027th for additional treatment.”

  He went from confused to calculated in about one second flat. “What the hell,” he swore under his breath. “I have an honest-to-god conversation with you and you ship me out?”

  My breath caught as his eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

  “I really did see something, didn’t I?”

  He knew. We both did. A moment passed between us that I couldn’t take back. I looked into his piercing blue eyes and felt the weight of my betrayal.

  Heart pounding, I opened my mouth, then closed it again. It had to be done.

  Right now, he had no proof, but if he stuck around, there was no telling what he’d find out. Something had happened between us, and it was bad not only for me but for both of us. He was knee-deep in it, even if it wasn’t his fault, and I refused to doom him just because I had a power I hadn’t controlled.

  I’d save us both and end it right now.