Page 52 of Of Sins and Sacrifice

We’re ushered inside the infirmary where there are some ten rows of beds on either side of the room. Out of the twenty beds, eight are occupied by patients.

“Each of you, please head to a patient,” the doctor tells us.

As I glance around the room, I realize that though there are only eight beds, there are ten of us taking the exam.

A flurry of movement ensues, and all the girls hurry toward one of the beds. It’s immediately clear that the first ones choose the easiest cases, while the last ones are left with the hardest.

I am, of course, elbowing my way forward, one step away from shoving the girl with the book to the side. Her name, as I’ve come to find out, is Lucy.

The most boring name I’ve ever heard.

I am usually quite competitive, but considering what is at stake here, I find that I must be a little ruthless, too.

I choose the patient who does not display any outward injury. With a little luck, I will only be asked to check his vitals and administer some medication.

But as my luck would have it, Lucy appears to have set her sights on that particular patient, too.

We both reach the bed at the same time, and I sway to the side while simultaneously pushing her toward the other bed. But she won’t go down easily. Oh, no. I can tell she holds a grudge for the book incident—which, if I am honest, would not have happened at all if she’d let me read over her shoulder.

She shoots me daggers with her eyes.

I do the same.

“I got here first,” I tell her, pushing my chin up.

“No. I did.” She glares at me as she takes a step forward.

I inch closer to the bed and grab onto the metal railing.

She won’t give up.

She grabs the metal railing on the other side.

“Let. Go,” I say through gritted teeth.

“You let go.”

“Girls!” the doctor yells from behind.

I pull on the bed to my side and Lucy pulls toward her side. With my powers bound, we are matched in strength, which means that every time I gain a little ground, she pulls on the bed to her side and we’re back to where we started.

The bed rattles as we push and pull.

The doctor yells in the background for us to stop.

Slow at first, but becoming louder by the second, the patient in the bed starts moaning in pain.

I blink, startled. Are we hurting him?

But just as I let go of the metal frame, Lucy pulls on it with her entire strength. With no resistance to speak of, the bed slides in her direction, and with it the patient, who’s looking quite blue in the face.

“Girls!” the doctor shouts, this time loud enough to shush everyone in the tent.

Lucy’s reaction is delayed. But the patient’s isn’t.

As he tumbles toward where Lucy is pulling on the bed, he half sits, and with a low gurgle, he throws his face forward and empties his stomach on her dress.

Silence ensues.

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