Page 50 of Healing Hazel

Dr. Laurent translated for Camila.

“Don’t worry,” Hazel told her, rubbing her friend’s arm. “Dr. Jackson and Dr. Laurent will work this all out.”

The man who had given the orders came toward them. He was lean with a long face and a shock of white hair beneath a red beret. He looked as though his skin had been carved out of wood.

He folded his arms as he spoke to Lucía, his tone leaving no room for discussion. Whatever he was telling her was an order.

After a moment, she spoke to the rest of them.

“Zhey intend to take us to zheir camp,” Dr. Laurent told Hazel when Lucía had finished. “To treat zheir wounded.”

“Surely they must know they would’ve received better medical care at the hospital,” she said.

“Zhat is what Lucía told zhem.” Dr. Laurent shrugged.

“They are afraid,” Jim said. “These men don’t trust easily.”

Hazel thought of Mikel’s father and how the prisoners were separated in the different wards. Even though the Red Cross Hospital was a neutral organization, they could not ensure a person’s safety once they left. She pulled her cape tighter around her, shivering both from cold and from fear.

The leader called a command, and a group of men approached, carrying ropes and cloth bags. When they got near, Camila cried out, drawing back.

Jim stepped in front of the women and was shoved into another man, who pulled his hands together and bound them.

Camila cried out again when a bag was pushed roughly over her head.

Seeing one of the men approaching her, Hazel ran, but she made it only a few steps before the man grabbed her arm. She slapped at him and kicked his legs.

“Do what they say, Hazel,” Jim yelled, twisting around. “Don’t make them angry.”

A bag was pushed over Jim’s head, and immediately after, Hazel felt rough fabric on her own face and choked on the smell of damp burlap. The familiar prickling sensation moved over her skin. She could see only faint light coming through the weave of the bag. Her wrists were tied, and her back was shoved roughly with what felt like the butt of a rifle. The air inside the bag was thick in her lungs, but she forced herself to take in deep breaths.Breathe in... one... two... three. Breathe out... one... two... three.She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering what Nella had said weeks earlier on the train.“Breathe, Hazel. You are needed.”

As she walked over the uneven ground, she could hear her companions’ footsteps and breathing. Occasionally she heard someone stumble. Camila sounded like she was weeping, and Hazel wished she could reach out to her. What had happened to the mules and the wagon? Had the men just left the poor animals behind?

They continued on, and Hazel lost all sense of direction and time. She fell more than once, tripping over things she couldn’t see, landing on her knees. Her bound hands could not be depended on to stop her from falling on her face, but someone was there to catch her shoulder before she fell completely forward and pull her roughly back to her feet. Her feet ached, her bruised knees hurt, and the smell of the bag was making her stomach sick.

The boots she wore were intended for indoors and gentle strolls along a beach, not the jagged mountain terrain. She felt each rock beneath her steps and sucked in a breath each time a particularly sharp one poked into the sole of her foot.

She stumbled along, trying to picture what they would find at the end of their journey. Her imagination conjured images of bleeding men lying on a rocky battleground, and in spite of her fear, she wanted to help them.

Eventually the terrain changed. Snow crunched beneath their feet, and they seemed not to be climbing any longer. When she fell again, her knees felt the cold. She reached out in the darkness, awkwardly grabbing the edges of her cape with her bound hands and trying to hold it tightly around her. Her thoughts turned to Camila and the others. Were they warm? Had Jim’s cheek stopped bleeding?

It felt like hours had passed, but Hazel had no way of knowing for certain. Her legs were shaky from climbing the steep hills, and her throat was parched. Just as she thought she couldn’t take another step, she was halted with a forceful pull on her shoulder.

The bag was taken from her head, and she blinked against the sudden brightness, breathing in the fresh air that took her by surprise with its bite. Her hands were freed, and she rubbed her wrists, wincing at the skin rubbed raw by the ropes.

Her instinct was to sink down, to find a place to sit and rest, but she remained upright. She stepped away from the man who had bound her, moving closer to her companions. Each of them looked as tired as she felt. One of Dr. Laurent’s trouser legs was covered in mud up to his hip, indicating he’d likely slipped as well. Camila and Lucía were standing next to him. They all appeared shaken but unharmed.

Jim came to her, touching the small of her back. “Are you all right, Hazel?” He spoke in a low voice, worry creasing his forehead.

“Yes.” She studied the abrasion on his face. The bleeding had stopped and the blood dried. She didn’t think he would require stitches, but it would leave a scar. And it definitely needed cleaning.

Satisfied that her friends were safe for the moment, Hazel turned and considered their surroundings. The group stood in an open field near a cluster of stone structures. She counted six of them. As she looked closer, she realized there was no road anywhere, and the structures were very small. Perhaps they were used for temporary sheepherder dwellings or some other similar purpose. She didn’t imagine they were large enough for a family to live in.

The medical personnel were urged forward by their captors, and as the group approached the structures, she got a better view of the situation.

Canvas was strung between the little buildings, giving some small protection from the elements, and when she and the others were led closer, Hazel could see the shelter served as a makeshift hospital. She drew in a sharp breath as she tried to gasp the immensity of the task ahead of them. All over the ground beneath the stretched cloth, men and boys sat or lay on mats, each bearing a wound or an illness of some kind. There were dozens of them, and the sight was overwhelming.

She looked up to see Jim’s face was drawn. His expression still bore anger, but there was concern as well. And determination.

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