The Bleeding Crowd (8 page)

“I’m not picky.” He continued to watch her.
“Don’t you have to work?”

“I was on call for pretty much all last
weekend. That killed all my clinic hours.”

“Do you think you’re making sense right now?”
He smiled.

She just sent him a look.

He shrugged. “You don’t want to just get
something delivered, then? No use heading out if you don’t have
to.”

“I need to take a walk.” Dahlia pulled the
curtain aside to look outside.

“It looks grey.” Ben stood, moving next to
her to look. “Like rain.”

“We could use it,” Dahlia said and swallowed
the lump forming in her throat. “It would clear the air. It’s been
so humid lately.”

“You don’t need to tell me. The barracks
aren’t as climate controlled as here.”

She glanced at him and just settled for
nodding.

“You know, you don’t have to run from me,” he
said. “I didn’t mean to knock your nose out of joint.”

Dahlia frowned. “There’s no joint in your
nose.”

“It’s a saying.”

“It still doesn’t make sense.”

“Since when have sayings had to make
sense?”

Dahlia released a breath, trying to relax the
tension in her shoulders with him so near. “You know, you aren’t
anything like I thought you would be.”

“I believe you’ve said that.”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“You’ve thought about me often then?” He
smiled at her.

She looked out the window, staring at the
fountain in the courtyard as a weak distraction. “Well, the royal
you. Men in general.”

He placed a hand on the small of her
back.

She tensed, jerked away slightly before she
could consider it. “Please don’t touch me.”

Ben shrugged. “I like touching you.”

She sidestepped away from him. “Will you stop
looking at me like that? It’s creepy.”

He shrugged, moving back to the bed to pull
on his shirt.

She stared him, disconcerted.

“Yes?” He didn’t look at her.

She took her time and then swallowed again.
“Are you happy with your life, Ben?”

“What?”

She looked out the window and studied the
fountain for another moment as if waiting for it to do something,
before turning to him. “Are you happy? Contented?”

He looked her with caution. “Why do you
ask?”

“I’m just trying to picture what it’s like
being you.”

Ben studied her for another moment before
shrugging. “Like I’ve said before, things aren’t horrible.
Especially for me. There are a ton of men who have it worse
off.”

“There are always people worse off than you
in some way.” Dahlia crossed her arms, pulling them tight against
her stomach. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who was worse off
in every way possible. It doesn’t answer my question, though. Are
you happy with your life? I didn’t ask about anyone else.”

He shrugged. “I don’t need a lot.”

“It’s a yes or no question, Ben.”

He looked at her, held her gaze. “What do you
think?”

She pressed her lips together before nodding
and turning towards her dresser. “I’m going out to get something to
eat. I’ll be back in ten, fifteen minutes.”

* * * *

The hospital had been unnaturally quiet for
over a week. Dahlia was more than willing to take the chance to
work out in the garden. Most of the herbs had been harvested to
keep them safe from the early frosts, and the essential ones
transplanted to the greenhouse, but there still always seemed to be
work to be done. She set down the basket she had taken out with her
and looked at what was still green and growing. Carefully she
pruned a few of the plants, collecting the leaves and flowers in
the basket to store for her own use.

When nothing else was happening at the
hospital and she couldn’t stand to look at another slide or test
tube, Dahlia found the garden she had all but put together from the
ground up, fair game to be used for her own purposes. She wasn’t
collecting poisons, and most of the plants had been brought in at
her request. Taking a few was only her due, especially when they
were going to die anyway.

The equipment they used to turn those plants
into pills, lotions, ointments, and infusions likewise seemed fair
game. Her bag and office had to be the best stocked of any in the
hospital. It was a point of pride. There was really no point in
being a doctor if she couldn’t take care of any patient anywhere
because of a lack of supplies.

Besides, it was almost cathartic watching the
machines crush, mash, squeeze, and flash dry the herbs.

“Using hospital resources for your own means
again?” Zoë leaned against the doorframe.

“Hmm?” Dahlia turned to look at her.

“You’re only ever in here when you’ve stuck
your own stuff in those.” Zoë nodded at the machines.

“Well, things are crawling along everywhere
else.” Dahlia looked at the basket sitting on the ground near her.
“I have some lavender. Think some more scented lotion will be
enough of a bribe to keep you from reporting me to the hospital
admins?”

“I think so.” Zoë sat down on the stool next
to Dahlia. “It’s a ghost town up in geriatrics. I thought I’d see
if there was anything going on anywhere else.”

“Well, we don’t deal a lot with patients here
anyway, but yeah, clinic let me off early. Most I did was wrap up a
sprain. Only thing going on here now is me feeding the machines
and, while I know that everything I do is fascinating...”

“Undoubtedly,” Zoë said. “You want to go over
to the pedigree room. I’m going to get you over all your misguided
antipathy if it’s the death of me.”

“I don’t know.” Dahlia frowned. “All those
charts give me headaches.”

“And you’re a doctor?”

“Anyway.” Dahlia ignored her. “I could care
less about finding out where those who share my genetic material
ended. Not all of us had a sister in our age group to track.”

Zoë smiled, good natured as always. “Well it
would have been hard for me to lose Audrey. We sort of look the
same if you haven’t noticed. I think a girl walking around with my
face would have gotten my attention at any rate.”

“Think about it though.” Dahlia grabbed a
handful of lavender from the basket and fed several more sprigs
into the machine. “The girls in genetics figure out gynocentric
reproduction, and you might be in the final generation of twins.
Under a controlled environment it would be far less likely to have
the zygote cleave to the extent necessary for identical twins.”

“It’s not bad to have a twin in my opinion,”
Zoë said. “You have someone like you who generally has to put up
with you without having to try so hard when you’re little.”

Dahlia smiled. “We all tend to find our
niches, twin or not.”

“Well, we’re relationship builders.” Zoë
nodded. “It’s what we do.”

Chewing on her cheek, Dahlia nodded back. “Do
you think men ever build relationships?”

Zoë frowned. “What?”

“Well, they have language like we do. That
would suggest they’re still social creatures even if on a primitive
level. Do you think they form groups like we do?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they had groups,”
Zoë conceded. “I doubt they’d be anything like ours though. I don’t
think they have anything close to the emotional complexity required
for that.”

“That would make sense,” Dahlia said,
sounding less than sure even to her own ears. “They probably have
the basic safety in numbers instinct.”

“Any reason you’re wondering?”

“I just don’t get them.” Dahlia shook her
head. “You know how helpless I am around a mystery.”

“True.” Zoë smiled and patted her knee. “No
need to worry about it too much.”

Dahlia forced a smile back. “I suppose
not.”

* * * *

Ben held his arm close to his side, bending
it slightly so the guards wouldn’t hit it as they scanned him and
let him into Dahlia’s room. The lights turned on as the door
opened, then clicked and locked behind him. He seemed to be
alone.

“Dahlia?”

No one answered. He moved to the bed, wincing
slightly before unbuttoning his shirt with his right hand. He
shrugged the sleeve off his right arm, and pulled the fabric off
the wet, dark spot that was forming on the left side. Most of the
blood had congealed around the gash, the bright red already turning
maroon and brown. Just a line oozing red beads in the mess of dried
blood. He hissed, balling the shirt around the damp spot and
pressed it to the still inflamed cut.

The door slid open.

Dahlia placed her bag by the door and turned.
Her head snapped to the side as her body jumped. “Jeezum!” She
placed a hand to her chest, taking a deep breath before speaking
again. “Ben? What are you...?”

“Needed some help.” Ben gave a tense
smile.

She moved closer. “What?”

“Well, at the moment I seem to be bleeding
rather a bit.” He held up his arm.

Dahlia sucked in a quick breath, stopped, and
then turned, walking towards the bathroom with purpose. “How long
have you been bleeding?”

“I don’t know. Half an hour maybe? It’s
slowing down I think.”

“Do you feel lightheaded?”

“Not really.”

She came back with a washcloth and bowl in
hand. “I’m going to wash it to get the excess blood off. It’s going
to sting a little.”

Ben nodded, flinching slightly at the first
touch, but remaining silent.

Dahlia washed the wound gently, working
quickly and professionally, then studied the cut. “It’s deep.”

“That bad?”

“Well, you don’t generally bleed when it’s
good.” Dahlia shot a look at him. “It might need stitches. You
should go to the hospital.”

“You’re a doctor.”

“I’m not a surgeon.” Dahlia shook her head,
pressing the cloth back on it as more blood began to bead along the
surface. “I don’t generally sew people up.”

He fought back a grimace. “I can’t exactly
just stroll over to the hospital.”

“Don’t you have one at the camp?”

“Please
, Lia.”

She pressed her lips together for a long
moment before releasing a shaky breath and moving to her medical
bag. She pulled out a jar, handing it to him. “Rub this on the
site. Just a thin layer, don’t move the skin too much.”

He did as directed, watching her as she
pulled out a syringe. “You’re going to give me a shot?”

“It’s a weak local anesthetic. I’m sorry, but
I don’t have anything stronger that isn’t also a blood thinner,
which is the last thing you need right now. They regulate the
stronger stuff, you know, to stop drug abuse.” She found a small
vial. “I’m going to inject near the wound. Hopefully, it will dull
the nerves a little and make it a little less painful.”

He nodded, looking away as she readied the
syringe and injected the painkiller into his arm. She got up,
wrapping the syringe in plastic, pausing for a second, and then
dropping it in her trash can. “I’m going to let that sit for a few
minutes so it can take effect. Tell me when the wound doesn’t start
to hurt as much.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t have to put on a strong face.”
Dahlia frowned at him. “A cut like that has to hurt.”

“I’ve felt worse.”

She shook her head, pulling out a thread and
needle. “Are all men like this?”

He attempted a smile, ended up with something
more like a grimace. “Perhaps.”

She threaded the needle quickly. “I don’t
have any surgical thread... or needles for that matter, so I’m
going to have to do this the old fashioned way.”

“Yeah?”

She didn’t respond, but pulled her hair back
and sat down. She looked at the cut and then back up at him.
“You’re sure you want me to do this?”

He nodded. “I’m just not going to look.”

“I...” She ended up just shaking her head and
set to work as he did his best not to flinch each time she passed
the needle through his skin. She finally finished, tying off the
thread and smoothing some salve on the cut skin before she wrapped
it in gauze.

“Done?” He glanced at her.

“Yes. Be careful not to move your arm too
much, you don’t want to rip out the stitches and have us have to do
that all over again.”

He nodded shortly.

She studied his face. “Are you all right?
You’re very pale.”

“I’m fine.”

She looked at him for another moment before
moving. She pulled the pillow out from under the covers and stacked
them behind him. “Lay back.”

He didn’t argue and leaned back with a sigh,
letting her clean up.

She replaced everything she had used, dumping
out the bloody water, throwing out the needle, and setting her bag
back by the door. She couldn’t put it off any longer. “So?”

He turned his head to look at her. “So?”

“So,” she repeated, “what happened?”

“Minor turf war broke out.” He shrugged with
his right shoulder. “I... the guards broke it up pretty quickly,
but Eli—this jackass who is intent on fucking me over—somehow got a
goddamn switchblade. I’m lucky he only got my arm.”

“I’m sorry, were you speaking English?”

“What else would I be speaking?”

She just looked at him, waiting for him to
explain.

He managed a smile. “Another guy that me and
my friends have issues with pulled a knife on me. Got my arm.”

“My friends and I,” she said.

“What?”

“Never mind.” She waved it off. “Well, you
were lucky he didn’t cut deeper. Another couple millimeters and you
could have bled out.”

“Lucky then,” he said.

She crossed her arms. “You’re going to have a
scar.”

“I have enough of them.”

She studied him for a long moment, critiquing
him. “You feel all right then?”

“A little dizzy now,” he said. “I think that
pain killer’s doing its job though.”

She nodded and picked up a piece of chocolate
from her desk. She unwrapped it and offered it to him. “Here. You
need to get your blood sugar up.”