Page 75 of Rage

They’re terrified and there is nothing I can do to take away their pain.

Across the room, Lily ladles steaming broth into bowls.The rich aroma fills the air, a stark contrast to the stench of fear and unwashed bodies.Some women eye the food warily, as if expecting a trick.Others gulp it down, desperation overriding caution.

My mom appears at my side, arms laden with blankets.“How are they?”she asks softly.

I shake my head.Words fail me.How do I describe this level of trauma?The physical wounds will heal, but the scars beneath the skin… those might never fade.

“Any word from Mason?”I ask, voice low.

Mom’s eyes darken.“Nothing yet.But they’ll find him, sweetheart.They’ll make him pay.”

The rage in her tone startles me.Gentle, nurturing Mom, transformed by this horror into something harder.I recognize that fury.It burns in my own veins, a constant simmer beneath the surface.

A whimper from across the room draws my attention.One of the women—God, she looks so young—curls into herself, rocking back and forth.I move toward her, heart aching.

“Hey,” I murmur, crouching beside her.“Can you tell me your name?”

She flinches at my voice.Her eyes, when they meet mine, are wild with terror.“Please,” she whispers.“Don’t hurt me.I’ll be good.I promise I’ll be good.”

My vision blurs.Tears threaten to spill over.I blink them back.These women need strength now, not my weakness.

“No one’s going to hurt you,” I promise.“You’re safe here.Can you tell me where it hurts?”

She shakes her head frantically.“Everywhere,” she chokes out.“It hurts everywhere.”

I reach for her, moving slow.She tenses but doesn’t pull away.My fingers brush her arm, featherlight.“I’m going to help you,” I say.“Is it okay if I check you over?”

A long moment passes.Then, a tiny nod.

I work my way through examining the young woman, my touch gentle as I catalog her injuries.Bruises mottle her skin in various stages of healing.Some cuts look infected.Her left wrist is swollen, likely broken and improperly set.

“What’s your name?”I ask softly as I clean a particularly nasty gash on her arm.

She hesitates, eyes darting around the room.“Emily,” she finally whispers.“I’m Emily.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Emily,” I say, forcing a smile.“I’m Dr.Beckham, but you can call me Meadow.”

Emily nods, wincing as I apply antiseptic.“Are… are you really going to help us?”

The vulnerability in her voice breaks my heart.“Yes,” I promise.“We’re going to take care of you.All of you.”

As I finish bandaging Emily’s arm, Sarah approaches us.She looks steadier now, some color returning to her cheeks.

“Dr.Beck—Meadow,” she corrects herself.“Can I help?I may not be in the best shape, but I’m still a nurse.”

Pride swells in my chest.Even after everything she’s been through, Sarah’s first instinct is to help others.I nod, grateful for the assistance.

Together, we move from woman to woman, treating injuries and offering what comfort we can.Some are more responsive than others.A few remain almost catatonic, curled into themselves.

Hours pass in a blur of bandages and quiet reassurances.My back aches from bending over patients.My eyes burn with exhaustion and unshed tears.But I can’t stop.Won’t stop.These women need me.

Mom appears at my side, pressing a bottle of water into my hands.“Drink,” she orders.“You can’t help them if you collapse.”

I obey, suddenly aware of how parched I am.As I gulp down the water, Mom’s eyes roam the room.

“Any word?”I ask, already knowing the answer.

She shakes her head.“Nothing yet.But don’t worry.Mason and the others will find that bastard.”

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