Stella grinned and asked, "Rosie, do you like the life you're living now?"
Without skipping a beat, Rosie replied, "I do."
Sure, there was some backstabbing among colleagues, but she had learned to handle it with ease, sometimes even finding joy in the challenge. The job was tough, but it allowed her to find her own worth.
"I think it's pretty great, sis," she said.
People always have their own agendas, but it was undeniable that everyone was striving toward a better future, believing that life would get better.
Stella smiled, feeling ready for a new beginning herself.
Later that evening, when Jasper came home and saw Stella packing, he couldn't help but ask, "How was the hospital today?"
The understaffed and under-equipped hospital was as you'd expect. But with Collin’s presence, there was a newfound sense of hope.
Stella felt a pang of regret. "Dr. Garcia was pretty old when he joined the Kindle Society and fell ill soon after. Sadly, he didn't make it."
Dr. Garcia had been a towering figure in traditional medicine, and his formula for combating the smog virus had saved countless lives during the disasters. His passing was a great loss. If he had still been around, the restoration of traditional medicine would have been much faster.
Learning Stella had decided to work at the hospital, Jasper was thrilled. Nobody knew whether the disasters had truly ended, but life had to go on. Having a job could really ground a person.
"That's fantastic. We can commute together from now on."
Stella sighed, having always said she wouldn't work a day in her life, yet here she was, back at a job. Used to sleeping in, she found it hard to wake up early.
Limp as a ragdoll, Stella was coaxed out of bed by Jasper, who handed her a toothbrush slathered with toothpaste. "You can't be late on your first day."
Only then did she fully wake up, rushing around as if she were going into battle. They barely caught the ferry, Stella collapsing onto Jasper's shoulder and falling asleep during the ride.
Arriving at Area A with time to spare, Jasper dropped her off at the hospital entrance. "I’ll pick you up after work."
There were two heads at the hospital, one in charge of administration and the other of academic affairs. Collin had worked late into the night, getting a handle on the hospital's situation and setting tasks for Stella.
He had dedicated his life to traditional medicine and knew little about Western medicine. Stella, having spent some time with Hugh, couldn't claim to shoulder everything, but she was capable of handling basic surgical emergencies. As the base was under construction, there were frequent cases of trauma that traditional medicine alone couldn't treat.
The best approach was to combine Western and traditional medicine to save as many patients as possible. Stella had reviewed the inventory of medical supplies the previous day. There wasn't an abundance of emergency surgical equipment or medications, but there was enough to last a year or so.
Thus, the mentor and student divided the responsibilities: Collin would oversee traditional medicine, and Stella would be in charge of general surgery. Stella hadn't anticipated patients arriving so soon, but by late morning, an injured worker was rushed in with a deep gash in his leg, bleeding profusely. Already in poor health, his face was ashen. Without the facilities for a transfusion, they had to act quickly to stop the bleeding and suture the wound to prevent life-threatening blood loss.
Accompanied by a few medical staff, they boarded the ferry to Area F. Area F was guarded by military personnel and currently housed over three hundred people, divided into four sections. These people all had severe mental illnesses; some were irritable and prone to attacking others, some lurked in a gloomy state watching others, while others had infections resulting in physical abnormalities, among other issues...
In short, they not only lacked the ability to work but also suffered from various complex diseases. To prevent them from attacking others, the activity areas were reinforced with protective barriers. Collin wasn't a psychiatrist, but today he was focused on those whose physical alterations were caused by viral infections.
The medical room was separated by two layers of fences to protect the medical staff from patient attacks. When word got around that Collin and his team were visiting, the facility's manager cherry-picked over a dozen patients who epitomized the breadth of the outbreak. Soldiers on duty were tasked with escorting each one in turn.
The symptoms were a motley crew: joints swollen and contorted like gnarled oak trees, skin dotted with bumps and rashes like abstract art, organs failing as if they'd given up the ghost. Illness has a way of bulldozing the spirit. Many of the afflicted were beyond tears, their voices raw with desperation. "Doc, can you fix me up? I swear I'd skip the fish 'n chips if I could, but when your belly's howlin'...it ain't easy."
"Please, I'm beggin' ya, save me. My little girl's out there alone; I gotta find her. I can't cash in my chips now..."
Each soul clung to a reason to keep on keepin' on. Some collapsed into sobs; others lunged at the fence, reaching through the bars with grasping hands. "I haven't touched fish, I swear it!"
Stella kept her head down, diligently organizing medical records, occasionally exchanging a few words with Collin. Truth be told, without fancy gizmos to run tests, they were fumbling in the dark, trying to cross a river by feeling for stones. And with resources stretched thinner than a dime, every step felt like wading through quicksand.
"Stella?"
The voice cut through the gloom, unexpected as a clap of thunder.
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: 18 Floors Above the Apocalypse