Sukkari District, Aleppo, yesterday
Dr. Faulkerson was tending to Bara'ah in the makeshift tent clinic when Dr. Gupta came in. Bara'ah was the nine-year-old girl who was pulled out by the rescue team from the rubble of the hospital in al-Quds. She suffered from severe asthma, and had two broken ribs and a fractured leg. He tried his best to keep her comfortable, but he knew that she needed to be treated in a proper hospital back in the MSF's Middle East office in the United Arab Emirates.
I'm not going to let you down, Bara'ah, he thought. I won't let Dr. Maaz down, either.
Dr. Gupta's voice broke through Dr. Faulkerson's thoughts. "Ric, how is she doing?"
"She's trying to be brave as she could," Dr. Faulkerson said. "Did you bring the Extractor? I don't know if I can help with it, but let's try."
"Yes, Ric, it's here."
Dr. Gupta put a seemingly heavy suitcase down beside the seat where Dr. Faulkerson was seated, and opened it. This was the Extractor, the existence of which is only known to the both of them. Dr. Gupta takes out the needle, and the hose attached to it, and takes Dr. Faulkerson's arm.
"Ric, are you sure about this? You'll be weak for four hours if you do this."
Dr. Faulkerson looked at Dr. Gupta in the eye. "I need to. Bara'ah needs relief till we can move her out, along with the other orphans to Lebanon. Then we fly her out to our headquarters. There's no other way."
Dr. Gupta was pensive. "I know, but I heard from the locals that al-Assad's troops are coming. They heard about us setting up a makeshift clinic. Damn them all. I couldn't understand why this government treats us as enemies, just because we're right smack in rebel territory."
"I'll be fine, Sameer. Right now, she needs relief," he said, looking at Bara'ah's frail body lying on the cot.
Sameer took a deep breath, and proceeded to slowly push the needle up to Ric's spine. He heard Ric's muffled wincing, and said, "It's in. Go ahead."
Ric, then, put both his hands on top of the little girl's chest and closed his eyes. His hands started giving off a light blue glow, and they seemed to be removing something from her. Particles flowed from the girl, and went through his veins, and onto his spine, which, then, went through the needle and the hose of the Extractor.
Only Sameer knew about Ric's ability to absorb a person's pain or sickness to provide hours of temporarily relief, similar to what an anaesthesiologist does to a patient. He found out early on when they worked together in Africa. But Ric had a problem, then. While he could absorb such pain, there was no way for him to get them out of his system. Hence, the both of them experimented on ways to remove the absorbed pain from Ric's body, and came up with the Extractor. However, even with the Extractor, the whole process of absorbing the sickness left Ric weak for at least four hours, depending on the severity of the sickness.
This time, the whole process left Sameer worried for his friend. Al-Assad's men could come anytime soon. If they find Ric in a weak state, they may hold him hostage, and leave the whole rescue operation of the orphans in jeopardy. In spite of the sizeable number of allied soldiers guarding them, Sameer knew the power of the government's army. They may not stand a chance.
"I'm done," Ric said, breathing heavily. He then, slumped down to his seat, with almost all of his strength leaving him.
Sameer slowly pulled out the needle and put a gauze on the wound it made. "Man, I really need to relook into this Extractor. It doesn't seem to work as efficiently as before. It took you a longer time to remove the blockage from her lungs than the last time you did this in Kabul."
Ric, still breathing heavily, opened his eyes and looked at Sameer. "No... Not just asthma... Other things... Heart ailment..."
Sameer's eyes widened in surprise. "You idiot! Remember what we talked about? Only one sickness at a time! Only one pain at a time! My God, Ric, this will leave you all drained for at least eight hours! You could have at least waited for the blockage to wear off! What were you thinking?"
"No time," Ric said, "She's hurt... really bad... Needed... to make.... her..."
Ric's words were immediately cut off by the loud blaring of sirens outside.
"Oh no," cried Sameer. "Al-Assad's men are here! Ric! Can you stand? We have to go to the tunnels! Now!"
"T-take Bara-ah.... run... I'll hold them off... Go..."
"Are you crazy? Ric! Dr. Faulkerson! Come with me!!!"
"No... Sameer... save her... please..."
Sameer tried to get his friend up. "No, Ric, I am not leaving you here! Let's go!"
One of the allied troops went inside the makeshift clinic. "Dr. Gupta! Dr. Faulkerson! We need to go now. Al-Assad's men will be here in five minutes!!!"
"Colonel Banks! Have one of your men carry Bara'ah. Help me with Dr. Faulkerson!"
Colonel Banks called one of his men, who, then proceeded to gently, but swiftly, carry the little girl out of her cot and into the tunnels. Sameer, together with Colonel Banks, tried to get Ric up, but he refused.
"The children... they need you... I can pretend to be dead... They won't harm a dead doctor. Go. Now..."
Sameer knew that tone of voice. That was the voice of a stubborn doctor who wouldn't budge. He had no choice. He can't fail his friend in this mission. He signalled Colonel Banks to move out of the tent.
"I'll be back for you, Ric, you'd better be alive when I'm back." And Sameer ran out of the tent.
Ric positioned himself to be facedown, posing as a dead doctor. He did this before in Kabul, and he thought he could do it again here. He knew that soldiers like those of Al-Assad's took pleasure in inflicting their 'justice' on living souls, and just passed by dead ones.
He heard the gunshots. He heard the thrashing of tents. He heard the scuffling of boots. They are all the same, he thought, while lying there, waiting for them to have their fill of their 'fun'.
He then, heard footsteps approaching the tent. He held his breath, and did not move.
"Akir! Over here! There's this illegal doctor in the tent."
Another soldier came rushing in. "Houmam! What you call me for, huh? You see that he's dead! There's no glory in killing a rebel's doctor if he's already dead!"
Houmam hit Akir on the head. "How would they know he's already dead, huh? Let's empty the syringe and bring it back to 'prove' to them that we killed one!"
Akir smiled, "Ha, Houmam, I never thought you'd be that clever. All right, then, let's 'kill' a doctor."
Akir, then, took out a syringe, filled it with the contents of a vial that Houmam gave him, and went near Ric. He grabbed Ric's arm and jabbed the contents of the syringe in his vein. Then, both Akir and Houmam went out of the tent, laughing at how clever they were.
Ric waited until all was quiet, until he couldn't hear any other sound, before getting up. But he felt weaker than before and could only crawl about. He looked for the syringe to see if he could figure out what exactly did they stab him with.
He was able to get hold of the empty vial that Akir and Houmam left.
To his horror, he knew exactly what the syringe contained.
And he started feeling the effects of the jab.
Ric, then, managed to grab hold of his necklace, a small, silver medallion, and put it to his lips.
"Help me. Please."
And all went black.
Akir jabbed him with a concentrated strain of the coronavirus.
