Violets in February (4 page)

Jed ran his gaze over the boxes. One more crate to go. He turned to find Pete Tomkins, office manager, friend, and general pain in the butt behind him.

“Here's the last.” Pete held out the crate.

He took it. “Thanks, Pete. Should be back the day after tomorrow.” He turned to slot the crate into the back of the Ute.

“You take care, Jed. The fighting has increased in that area. It might be advisable to get the missionaries ready to evac. Or at least take someone with you.”

Jed scowled. “I work alone. And, how the heck do we evac a load of do-gooders when they ain't gonna wanna go? I'll pass the message on, but you know what they'll say. Something about God protecting them or some such rubbish. Tell you what, I'll get that Tim bloke to radio you and you can argue the toss with him.”

Pete held out a handgun and box of shells. “You got the rifle?”

Jed nodded. He didn't go anywhere without his assault rifle. It came with a thirty bullet magazine attached. Very similar to the SA80 he'd used in the forces. “In the door of the Ute, same place it always is. What do I need this for?”

“Added protection.”

Jed shook his head, but took it. “Fine.” He tucked the gun into the back of his pants and tossed the ammo into the glove box. “You'll be wanting me to take my knife, too, then?” He grinned as Pete held it out. Taking it he strapped it onto his thigh.

“Keep in radio contact. I want you reporting in every two hours.”

He whistled. “Strewth, you need to lighten up a little. Today is not a good day to die.”

“And you need to give serious thought to dying.”

Jed shuffled his feet, knocking the sand off the soles. “I faced death on a regular basis for years. It doesn't scare me.”

Pete pushed the brow of his hat back. “Maybe it should.”

Jed pushed up his shirt sleeve and pointed to the black tattooed Celtic knot band around his muscled arm with tiny initialed dog tags hanging off it. “Every single one of these is someone I've lost in battle. So don't you dare talk to me about facing death. I scoff in the face of it.”

“Then you're a fool.”

Jed shrugged. He tucked the flower pot into the crate and closed the fabric cover over the Ute. He flipped the seals down and fastened them. “That's me done. I'll see you in a couple of days.”

“Who are the violets for?”

“Personal package for one of the medics. It must be her birthday or something.” He climbed into the Ute. “Anyway, the sooner I leave, the sooner I'll be back.” He started the engine. As always, it took five attempts. And, as always, swearing at it worked. “And I want this junk heap serviced when I get back, too. Or it might quite literally be the death of me.”

~*~

Lucy reorganized the shelves in the dispensary for the fifteenth time. She'd worked constantly the past two weeks and slept little. Sleeping led to nightmares and she saw the images too many times in her waking hours without seeing them in her sleep as well. The clinic was so clean, it shone. Every single spare moment had been spent making sure that every sheet and piece of linen had been washed, folded, ironed, and mended where necessary.

She was beyond tired now, to the point where the others were fussing around her and worrying. Needlessly so, she kept telling them. She was fine. She just wished they'd stop because it simply added to her already taut and stretched nerves. And she didn't need any more stress.

She'd wrestled with the doubts in her mind over and over since the little girl died. Although familiar with death, she'd never personally lost a patient she'd been solely responsible for in the ten years she'd been qualified. And now she'd lost two. And all because of men. Bloodthirsty men who had nothing better to do than kill, maim, and assault little girls and their families, in the name of freedom and justice. She'd lost track of the number of times she'd yelled at God, wanting to know why and accusing Him of not caring.

She hadn't gotten an answer as to why. But she knew that God cared. He had to care to give up His Son to save His people. She just had to trust that He had a plan to work all this for good. And pray this war, or whatever was going on out there, kept its distance and ended soon.

Lucy stretched on her tiptoes to slot bottles and flasks to the back of the cupboard shelf.

“Careful you don't fall.” Tim's voice came from behind her at the same instant his hands grabbed her waist.

Lucy screamed and grabbed tight hold of the shelf. “Do that, Tim, and I will.”

He lifted her down. “You need to learn to ask for help.”

“I don't need help.”

He eyed her critically. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Last night,” she muttered defensively.

“I mean for more than ten minutes,” he retorted. “We've seen the lights on in here all night, every night.”

She shrugged. “Two weeks, I don't know.”

“Then go and lie down and sleep.”

“I don't need to sleep.”

Tim frowned. “I beg to differ.” He started putting the bottles back on the shelf. “You should rest at least.”

“You're doing it wrong.” Lucy pushed him out of the way and climbed back on the stool. “I don't need rest either.” She started stacking the flasks herself.

“Don't be stupid, Luce.”

“Rather than moan at me, how about handing me that stuff?”

Tim sighed and began handing them to her. “If you were one of us, or one of your patients, you'd prescribe sleeping meds and a week's rest. Maybe even arrange furlough back home.”

She slammed the bottle on the shelf, the constant anger filling her, finally spilling over. “Yeah, well, I'm not a patient,” she snapped. “I'm the doctor—your only doctor, I might add—and I don't need meds or sleep or rest. What I need is to be left alone to do my job in the way I see fit!”

The main clinic door slammed against the wall. Running footsteps echoed across the flooring. “Lucy! Tim!”

“In here, Vic.” Lucy turned to face the door, grateful for the interruption.

Vic ran in. “Men in uniform in the compound,” he panted. “One of them is bleeding profusely. They asked us to help. He needs surgery. Mani is going to prep him now.”

Lucy jumped off the stool. “On my way.”

She ran into the small theatre off the main room and started to scrub. She didn't have the facilities here for a separate scrub room. In fact, when she'd first arrived here, the main room was clinic, theatre and dispensary. Dividing the small space into three sections had taken a lot of bartering over funds and hard work, but the end result was worth it.

She glanced around the operating room, taking it all in in a single glance, and then over at the table where the man lay. “Do we know anything about him?”

Another man in uniform leaned over her. He topped her by at least a foot, if not slightly more. “He was shot. He needs help.”

Lucy froze. Shot? Were the rebels that close now? She glanced frantically at Tim, only to realize there were now several heavily armed men in the room, guns pointed at all of them. “Shot by whom?”

“That is no concern of yours.” The solider leaned down over her, his gaze moved slowly over her body, lingering in places, before he shoved his face into hers. “You're a doctor?”

“The only doctor,” she managed.

“Then you better heal him.”

Lucy folded her arms in front of her, making sure her clean, wet hands didn't touch anything. “Or what?”

“Just. Heal. Him.” The voice was low, the threat obvious.

Lucy nodded to Vic and took the gloves from him. She snapped them on and pulled up her mask. “I need to know his blood type.” She crossed over to the table and picked up the scissors. “He under?”

Mani nodded. “Life signs very low.”

Lucy cut the clothes from the soldier's chest and started examining him. “There's no exit wound.” She slid her finger into the entry point, letting her sense of touch follow the track of the bullet. If she were Jed Gorman, she would utter a few profanities at this point. But she was better than that. “The bullet is lodged in here somewhere. I need to know his blood type.”

The man in charge shrugged.

Lucy flicked over the dog tags the man was wearing, smearing blood on his upper chest. “AB positive. Vic, go find me some. A live donor if needed. This bloke is bleeding out here. Scalpel.”

Mani handed it to her. “Here.”

“Thank you.” She made the first incision. “The bullet did a lot of damage. I'm going to be here a while. You don't need to watch.”

“I don't want you killing him.”

Lucy glanced up at him over the mask. “Why would I want to kill him?”

“You treated the injured from the village. You consort with rebels.”

Lucy froze. “The village? You mean you are the people responsible for burning that village, killing the people? That girl and her father…” her voice faded.

“And what if we were? It's a war. They fight us, we defeat them.”

Bile rose in her throat and Lucy dropped the scalpel to the floor. “Excuse me.” Clamping the back of her hand over her mouth she ran from the room. She made it to the edge of the verandah before she threw up. She leaned on the wooden posts, gasping for breath.

Tim's footsteps came up behind her. “Luce?”

“Those men,” she whispered. “They killed…”

“I know,” he said. He leaned on the railing beside her. “But they're here and they need help. Your help.” He lowered his voice. “We can't get on the wrong side of them. They're armed and they outgun us. We help them now, and they might, you know…”

She frowned and pulled off her gloves. She removed the mask from around her neck. “What? Help us? I can't believe you're even thinking about it. They aren't even the real army. They're the rebels and reckon innocent people are just—”

“Lucy!” Tim cut her off.

She reluctantly faced him, keeping quiet. Psalm fifty-five verse twenty-three ran through her mind.
But thou, O God, shalt bring them down into the pit of destruction: bloody and deceitful men shall not live out half their days; but I will trust in Thee.

“Right now there are thirty heavily armed men in the compound, and we are defenseless against them. Just do what they want and fix this bloke. Our lives depend on it.”

“Fine,” she muttered.

“Luce? Do it joyfully, as to the Lord.”

“You mean Colossians three verse twenty-three? And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men.” She pushed away from the railing and headed back inside.

Vic looked at her. “Found that blood you wanted and Oscar has volunteered if we need more.”

“Let's hope that's enough.” She rewashed her hands and pulled on fresh gloves and mask. “OK, let's patch him up and pray we can save him.”

Four hours later, Lucy closed up. It had been touch and go the whole way through but it was done now. She pulled down her mask and eyed up the tall soldier who'd been barking orders. “Done. He needs to stay here for at least twelve hours. Preferably longer.”

“No. We move him now.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You move him and you will kill him.”

“We can't stay here.”

“Fine.” She stamped her foot. “You leave, he stays. Come back for him tomorrow.”

The man in front of her hefted his gun. “Do you know who he is?”

She drew herself up to her full height, even though she barely came up to the man's shoulder. “No, and to be honest with you, I really don't care. You told me to fix him and to keep him alive. Well, I did fix him, and in order to keep him alive, he stays here for a minimum of twelve hours.”

The man scowled and stomped out.

Lucy sighed and looked at Vic. “I'm going to shower. Watch him for me.”

Vic nodded. “Will do.” He perched on the stool by the bed.

She headed to her quarters at the other end of the building.

Footsteps followed her and Mani caught her arm. “I'm coming with. Stand guard inside the shower block, standing against the door.”

“What?” she demanded. Was she that tired she was mishearing things?

“Lucy, you're a woman. The only woman here amongst thirty armed mercenaries. If you think this,” he pulled her cross from underneath her scrubs, “is going to protect you, you're wrong.”

She scowled, pulling her chain from his fingers.

“Tim's orders. You go nowhere unaccompanied. Not even the shower.” He lowered his voice. “Lucy, they took a little girl, they won't think twice about taking you. Or killing any of us as we try to protect you.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “Fine. But you keep your eyes closed.”

Mani grinned. “Guard you with me eyes shut? Should be a doddle. So long as you promise to sing in tune this time.”

Despite her tiredness and dismay at having to be protected, Lucy chuckled. “Deal.”

~*~

The sun rose as Lucy checked on her patient, as she had every hour during the night. She smiled at him. “You're doing well.”

“Morning.” Tim appeared beside her.

“Morning, boss.”

“Is he fit to go?” Tim asked.

“I'd preferred he stay another—”

“I didn't ask what you preferred, doctor. I asked if he is fit to leave.” Tim cut her off, his eyes flickering, full of concern.

She followed the sideways glance to the door, seeing four armed men standing there, one rifle aimed at her. So that was the way the cookie crumbled. “Yes, but…”

“Good.” Tim turned and headed back outside.

Less than a minute later, two men came in, their boots dropping dirt and sand all over the floor. They helped her patient to his feet.

“Wait a second,” she began. “You can't just take him.”

“No time. We go now,” one of the men insisted.