Vulnerable

One

She forced her hands to steady as she threaded the last stitch. As she pushed through the inflamed flesh a soft moan escaped her patient. He or she was doing surprisingly well considering that she had no morphine or painkillers of any kind left. She ran out days ago. She knotted the wire and cut of the excess as close as she dared. She needed the rest for the other patients.

She opened a packet of kiddy plasters. She found to her dismay that she only had three left. She stood up the plasters in hand and walked out to the corridor. Citizens lined the hallway. The grimy yellow light flickered across dirt and bloodstained faces. They all looked the same. She couldn't even tell man apart from woman. Some looked hopefully at her, thinking that she was calling the next patient. Others simply sat against the dirty walls half dead. Several coughed and tried to reassure their children.

She looked back at her patient lying on the table and then back at the packet she clutched in her hand. She knew that this dilemma was coming. She would have to start patching wounds with torn fabric soon. She contemplated asking the other makeshift nurses if they had any left, but decided against it. Everybody had been given the exact same amount and she had been the most sparingly.

She went back in and pulled off the scarf around her mouth. She knelt by the table and lifted up one eyelid. His pupil dilated. The he, apparently, didn't have a concussion from when she knocked him out with a chair leg. His eyes had life. Good. He would heal. She tore off a piece of cotton wool and using tape stuck it over the stitched cut. The plasters she would spare lay discarded in a cardboard box under the table.

She shook him awake and helped him out to the corridor. He staggered but was able to clear his head . A helper took him from there. She nodded to a guard with a shotgun standing next to her doorway. He nodded back and yelled to the people hunched in dispair.

"Next one."

They immediately sprang up and charged to the door. They guard yelled and cursed, pushing people back.

"Most injured first! Take your seat! I said most injured first!"

People clawed at his face and his broad shoulders barely kept them from running her over.

"For Sanity 's sake!"

He fired a shot and they immediately backed away.

"I said take your seat or bring the most injured!"

A little boy ran forward and dodged under the guard. He looked up at her and took the hem of her sweater in his grimy little hand.

He tugged downwards and motioned for her to come closer. She knelt down. He whispered softly into her ear.

"Flying man hurt. Need help. But keep secret."

She looked at him questioningly, but he only tugged her forward. She gave in and followed him through the thick crowd. Another guard called for the people and they immediately dispersed.

She followed him down the dimly lit corridor. They walked past tear streaked faces and stepped over fallen bodies. She looked back. They had died because she hadn't been able to get to them in time. None had. Some simply couldn't be saved. She didn't feel guilty. She didn't feel anything now. There was nothing that could be done and she didn't dare cry over something like this.

He began running at the sight of a crouched woman and she jogged to keep up with his tiny legs. He tapped the woman on the shoulder and then pointed to her.

"Help for flying man."

The woman turned around and looked at her. A small tear escaped from the woman's eye but she immediately wiped it away. She studied the woman. She wasn't as dirty as the rest of them. Her dark red hair had been tied in a low ponytail and her pencil skirt looked to be clean. Her white blouse however was covered in blood, as if she had been clutching a bloody football to her chest. The woman then nodded toward the boy.