Page 88 of Mayflower

“Where are you now?”

“In the medical center. Where else?”

“I know, Mila. But where?”

“In Raven’s room. Holding his hand.”

“Okay.”

An hour later, the air still feels bitter, making nurses and guards slightly nauseous. But Ayana is quiet. There is no sound of explosions or gunshots. Why does it feel like a funeral?

Dr. Hodges tells me to take a break and let Raven rest. Raven is resting, unconscious.

“It’s for your own good. You need a break,” the doctor insists. “Maddy.” He gently touches my shoulder as we walk out of Raven’s room. “Look at me.”

I am prepared to hear a warning, something about complications, about the possible turn to the worst. It’s been four hours since we brought Raven here. Finally, he is stable, wounds taken care of, his body cleared of glass shards. But I know the fateful words almost every doctor says, “It’s too early to tell what’s going to happen.”

Dr. Hodges’s eyes are tired yet smiling when he rests his hand on my shoulder. “You know how things work with injuries like his, especially the neck one. It’s too?—”

“Early to say,” I finish. “I know. I know.”

“I know you know. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, because doctors are not supposed to give false hope. But Raven will be fine. Sure, there might be infection in his hands and knees. Probably will, with the scope of the damage. But that we can easily deal with. That’s surface stuff. His gunshot wounds? That was our main concern. But he will be fine. I will look at the scans later after I do my rounds. I will call you. But Maddy?”

I bite my lip because I appreciate what Dr. Hodges says. He is not just a colleague; he is a friend. When I see his smile, tears well up in my eyes.

“He will be all right. Come here.” He pulls me into a gentle hug, and I exhale against his doctor’s coat, which smells of medication, blood, and gunpowder.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He pulls away. “You should rest.”

I chuckle sadly. “No way, Jose. There are too many patients in our little medical ward.”

Dr. Hodges smiles tiredly. “Yes, that. We’ll get through it.”

I nod and walk along the corridor to the entrance hall that accommodates the kids.

I halt as I step into a large, usually empty room now crowded with over forty people. The floor is littered with mattresses, hospital sheets and blankets, water bottles and food packages. It’s mostly children, dirty, quiet, their faces smudged with mud or whatever that war paint is.

My heart aches at the sight.

I see Little talking to one of the older boys. That must be Garrick, his best friend.

All our nurses are here. One is treating a little girl’s hand with peroxide. Another is bandaging a boy’s foot. There are several injured guards with IVs in, because the patient rooms are full.

Kat and Margot are here, opening boxes of dry foods and passing them around.

Margot catches sight of me and rushes over. “How is Raven?”

“I think he’s safe,” I say.

She’s never been so friendly. She looks like a disaster. Her yellow jumpsuit contrasts with her bright-pink bob, which is covered in blood smudges. Her sneakers are dirty and burned like she ran through a burning field.

“I thought you’d be at the Center,” I say, hugging my middle and taking a moment to get myself together before I can help out.

“Archer told me to take care of the kids when the guards intercepted them,” she says proudly as she helps a little girl to open a juice box.

“And you left the Center?” I ask, still amused.

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