Fantasy Totum revolutum

[Featherstone]

His mind worked through every observation as if it were gold and he a beggar. Remembering the symbols, the colors, the attire, the nature of the woman's movements and the hides and the poles. It took discipline to keep from lagging behind the girl. He almost stalled upon the man's approach until the girl ushered him onwards and, deciding that getting between them wasn't his place, and it would likely be useless anyways given that he didn't know their primitive tongue, he obeyed and went to the tent. Why the ritual would make him more welcome rather than less, he wasn't sure--perhaps, he mused, it had less to do with him and more the fact that they needed this person to live until evening. That was likely the nature of such specific, strange timing. He was probably necessary for some part of the ritual and no other doctors were available.

He pulled the tent flap aside and, gripping his back, quietly stepped within.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

Who Noah saw inside - or maybe what he saw - was probably not what he expected. Smouldering coal in large stone bowls gave enough light to show weaved mats and bone effigies hanging from the ceiling, large bowls filled with wal- and hazelnuts, fish and meat on the drying racks. And then, there was a... thing. Calling it a man was a far-fetched idea, as, asides for being humanoid, it didn't really look like a human being. It was large, swollen, and white as a sheet, with no discernible features - more like a soft gelatinous creature, like some sort of a dead, swollen dolphin, ready to burst under the sun. What happened to the poor creature to look that way, was a question in a need of answering. Noah himself never saw this, but he heard war stories about the survivors of flamethrower attacks that turned into similar smooth, bulbous things as their skin melted over their bodies, getting the glossy texture, and turning people into crude wax figures. They didn't usually live, but this one did - albeit, barely. Still in some ragged clothes, it shivered, groaning and moaning, pressing its dirty fingerless hands to its stomach, oozing blood that formed a large puddle beneath it. Noah could see a large, dirty, jagged slash across its abdomen, drops of fat falling out, and guts almost escaping the cut. The reason was right there on the ground few feet away: an old butcher's knife, probably used to cut meat seen around the tent.

 

[Featherstone]

How in the living hell someone could end up resembling a survivor of a flamethrower out here, Noah had not the faintest, but he didn't take the time to wonder. Not a second passed from his entrance to his swift approach and his bag's hasty opening, the snatching of gauze from its contents, and then dropping down next to his patient and starting to pack the wound. His mind didn't drift, for once: it wasn't on the rationing and the orderly's concerns and the potential riot; not on Norah or the orphans or her dying brother; not on the crow that kept creeping in at the edges of his reality. The doctor pressed his free hand to the wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding while he packed, setting his weight unmercifully over his arm. It was likely to be a painful procedure but medicine wasn't pleasant--just life-saving, when done well.

How long had the person been here already, bleeding out? Injured and made this grotesque mimic of the human form? No time to ask; no time to puzzle. Just to hold pressure, pack, and hope that he could actually save them, however far gone they already were. A part of him wondered if it was even the right thing to do, crippled as they were. Was it worth living in such a state?

 

[kevintheradioguy]

Blood was gushing out the cut, right onto the man's hands. Looking closer, he saw severe damage to inner organs, slashes going across them, arteries ruined. In his current condition he'd survive for maybe an hour. Two if he's really lucky. He could've just bandaged it, sure, but that wouldn't stop the bleeding, instead, lock it within the man's sliced gut. He could operate, of course, but he'd need at least one needle, lots of silk thread, few hemostats, and a lot of painkillers considering the man's size so he won't die of shock - morphine as a perfect solution - and maybe more alcohol than he had, just in case. On top of what he already had.

Problem was, he was prepared for an epidemic, not wounds like that. On his way here, he could remember an apothecary sign, however, the door was closed, with an armed guard on the front, looking like one of the more experienced of militia, wielding a rifle and a padded jacket - something obviously happened there, and it was doubtful Noah would be let inside - at least, the usual way. At least, as long as he was officially dead, and all the power to dismiss the militia was in hands of the Judge, who, of course, didn't want to cooperate in his delusion. It was a hard situation to manage.

 

[Featherstone]

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Realizing that the packing might do more harm than good, he retracted enough of the gauze to keep it from becoming a lid keeping the blood inside. Grabbing his bag and holding it shut with his hand rather than taking the time to buckle it, Noah sprinted back outside, hands already coated in crimson. He didn't have time to go arguing with the militia over letting him inside, but he did need supplies. Catgut would do if he couldn't find silk, but he needed more than he had. He had less than an hour to pull this off, or one just barely, and that was with some luck; that time would be reduced to none if he idled long.

His eyes fell on the girl, and although he didn't stall to converse, he did utter a two-word explanation for his hasty retreat--"surgical supplies"--as he broke into a run, sprinting back the way he'd come to the apothecary's. When he approached it, he slowed his gait, not wanting to make himself immediately noticed by the guard. Getting in was going to be the hardest part of this, and making the man realize he was standing there was likely going to make it significantly more difficult to obtain his entrance. The doctor scanned the building, seeking any alternative entrance, sources he could use to create some sort of distraction, or even any particular weakness in the guard himself. The options were, in Noah's mind, down to three broad categories: sneak his way in, fight his way in, or talk his way in. Talking was a waste of valuable time. So, sneak or fight, although if it came to the latter, he thought he might resort to attempting dialogue first. Avoiding detection would be preferable.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

The girl did try to respond, but her voice got lost in the whooshing of the grass Noah had to run through, as he climbed up the hill once more, heading towards the apothecary, scaring people off without even realising it. His hand were all bloodied, some of it soaked his shirt, which scared most of the citizen away from him. He'd be lucky if they wouldn't call anyone from the law enforcement to stop and question him - even though he was a doctor.

The apothecary didn't have a back entrance - it was situated on the ground floor of the apartment house, after all, created by a local pharmacist no less instead of being built as one, and thus, held only one entrance. There were windows around the building, sure, but they had two problems. One: they were extremely thick. Most of the windows in the area were, local craftsmen and architects not being stingy on glass, and it was at least an inch-thick, saving people from the cold during winters. He'd absolutely damage something if he tries to break it up close, or cut himself on shards. Secondly, this would be loud, and attract attention, and Noah knew from his own experience that attracting attention of someone with a rifle was a bad, bad idea.

However, he might've had options. As the man circled around the house, he realised he wasn't the only one eyeing it for robbery. There was also a young man - a boy even - and like many people of his age, with no school to go to, and probably no parents left, seeing how many orphans this epidemic left behind, he was sneaking into houses to steal something valuable, and trade it for food, knickknacks, or objects of self-defence. He was alone here too, with no friends, but had an experienced eye, but, unfortunately for Noah, a disappointed one.

 

[Featherstone]

Noah buckled his bag shut as he stalled and surveyed, finally putting it back over his shoulder instead of grasping it in his fingers. When his attention fell to the boy, he made the decision to approach, raising his finger to his lips in a gesture to keep quiet and not draw attention to either one of them, which served twofold: first, it would hopefully keep the kid from doing anything that could make the guard realize their presence; second, it'd hopefully indicate and be understood that he wasn't approaching to rat the child out or otherwise do him harm. He kept his footsteps light and motions neither jerky nor swift, not wanting to catch the guard's eye; kept his hands low, to keep the red from drawing attention, shoulder turned towards the militia man to prevent him from seeing the blood.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

The child did notice Noah, but seemed to be unimpressed by both him approaching, and trying to shush him. He looked Noah up and down, and as the man made a few steps forward, he took a few back. "Oi, chief, what's wrong?", he asked. "Did'ja kill someone or what?", he asked, looking at Noah's bloodied hands. Of course, this was not a good look for the man: trying to keep a lonely child quiet as he came closer while having blood all over him. There was, of course, no time to wash up, but that also didn't mean the kid didn't make his own conclusions about what happened. However wrong they were in this specific situation, it was a good call that would keep him safe in the future.

 

[Featherstone]

"To the contrary, I'm trying to save someone on a rather tight clock," he said, stopping when the boy started moving back. "I need medical supplies, quickly, but I've a suspicion that we're both encountering a similar problem in obtaining anything the apothecary has." Stealing didn't quite sit right with Noah. He, unlike his brother, was adverse to the illegal, but when he weighed the price of a life and petty theft, he found himself flexing the ethical standards of society more than his ethical standards of being a doctor with someone's life in the balance--and, quite possibly, the best chance he had at getting any answers from the people that had done the best job of preventing the plague so far. Life or law, and life won, however begrudgingly. Besides, the day before he could've simply dismissed the militia, and it wasn't as if he was planning on taking anything unnecessary. It was a similar rationalizing to his method when he'd made his choice about the orphans: weighing of the pros and cons, and choosing life over all else. Wasn't that his duty as a doctor?

 

[kevintheradioguy]

The child looked him up and down again, evaluating Noah like a merchandise. He seemed to be relatively satisfied, though the blood on the man's hands didn't really give him too much hope. "Them locked the place up, they did.", he s aid in a quiet, hoarse voice. "Say it's been infected or something, and nothin' can leave the house, yanno? Until twenny-four hours passes. But why would a sickness cling to medicine, yanno? Medicine's supposed to kill sickness.", his words were naive, but he sounded absolutely sure in his words. "The blackheads came to take a look this mornin', I don't know if them found anythin', but still, the guy searched them on the way out. One was tryin' to steal some pills or whatever, and it got confiscated and put in the box.", he did not explain what box that was.

"Then Piggy tried to climb the pipe on th' back to get in, bu' it broke and he hurt his ankle, an' now I'm all alone. So, yanno, if you can get in for some reason, maybe dress like one o' them blackheads or soemthin', there's a window over at the back, on the third floor. It's like, broken or whatever. I can be standin' under it, catching whatever you're throwin' down so it ain't gettin' broken, right? An' then you can jus' walk outta front door, get searched, the guy will find nothin' taken from there, and then we jus' share whatever you threw down equally." This time the price for any medicine would be enormous. Matches spoke earlier about nuts as if they were drugs, this kid looked to be into earning some money like this... kids here overall seemed to be very business-y. But perhaps they just had nothing better to do with everything locked up or used as infirmaries. No schools, or gardens, no playgrounds. Nothing better to do but delinquent behaviour and petty theft.

 

[Featherstone]

Taking on the face of an orderly wasn't a bad idea. It was, however, a time-consuming one, and that was one resource that Noah was incredibly short on. Drying blood notwithstanding, he was the only local doctor, and the one who'd been spearheading this plague since his arrival. If an orderly was able to enter, it was reasonable that he could, and once he was in, he just had to put some trust in the kid not to take off with the supplies. He didn't like that trust but wasn't sure how picky he could be at the moment. If he had the opportunity to be selective, he wouldn't have been planning to steal in the first place.

God, this whole thing was so beyond fucked.

Noah glanced back towards the guard, mind racing through the options. Making up his mind, the doctor shrugged his coat off, flipping it inside-out and then pulling it back on to hide the blood over his sleeves and the front of his shirt. This was followed by the donning of the gloves he'd shoved into his pocket initially upon his departure, and then he settled his bag over his shoulder.

"I'm going to try to talk him into letting me inside. You go to the window and wait there," he explained quietly. If that didn't work, his only other option was finding another way to get past the guard--a diversion, perhaps. He didn't want to get into anything physical with the man, firstly because he didn't want to literally bring a knife to a gun fight, and secondly because he didn't fancy the idea of hurting someone, much less get into a conflict with the militia. Morals kept him from it as much as practicality did: the town was already tense, and him turning against the Judge's authority with violence would set wolves on him quickly as anything. He turned, then paused, glancing back to the youth.

"Do you know anything about what happened in there?" The more details he had, the better he could craft his lie. The thought set his teeth on edge. What the hell did he think he was doing? Lying to the law and stealing and passing off drugs to some kid who was going to sell them on the street? Leaving orphans to die?

 

[kevintheradioguy]

"Sure thing, chief. You go back there when you finished, we gonna divide everything equally. Like brothers!", from everything the kid said thus far, this phrase was the most coherent. He whether was really going to save some medicine for Noah and was excited by the prospect of getting just a little bit richer, or was trying his best to convince Noah. When seeing the older man starting to redress, the kid perked up, and darted away along the street, making a huge detour not to arise suspicion. Noah's eye caught his blond head peeking through the grasses and shrubs near the apothecary a minute later, as he snuck behind the stone walls of the store.

The man on the watch visibly strained seeing someone approach, but as soon as he noticed who that was, he relaxed, albeit didn't let go of the gun, almost as if it was his prized possession. He wore an old, red, wool coat that looked suspiciously familiar, and moments later Noah recognized an old, remade uniform jacket not unlike the one he himself owned at some point. It was slightly longer than his own, though - the man was probably an officer. Given low education levels in this town, a rank gotten in a field, probably. No more and an lieutenant... captain, maybe? This man - not just because of the clothes or the way he handled a gun, but also based on the way he stood, and looked around, was a veteran not unlike Noah, coming home probably a few years before the doctor himself got into this town. Hearing the question, a shade of surprise ran across his face, as if he was confused about why Noah asked that. Perhaps, someone used his name to lock the place up, or he thought that Noah knew of goings on. However, the man didn't voice his concerns, giving a small, curt nod, and replying in a voice a bit too loud. "Yes, sir. There was a murder here last night. The old hunchback got killed for crimes too vile to speak of in educated society. And then it turned out he was storing something contagious in his basement, and when your folks came in to take the corpse, they turned it upside down, and now everything's contaminated. The building is quarantined to prevent the spread of disease by the order of Chief Executor Stritski.", he paused. "And your blessing, mind you."

 

[Featherstone]

"Mm. I'd overheard rumors, but I was hoping they were false, in light of all the other ill fortune that has befallen us of late," Noah answered, glancing up to the building pensively, mind flipping through any leverage he had. Of course, his name held some weight here, but he couldn't do anything that would draw suspicion. Going in also carried danger. He would have to be incredibly careful about what he touched and be mindful that he made contact with nothing inadvertently--he'd have to use the alcohol he had in his bag to disinfect whatever he passed down to the kid, as well as his own hands and shoes, lest he carry more sickness. The last thing anyone needed was for he, himself to be come a vector or, worse, fall ill.

Two options rose to the forefront of his mind. One was truth, an explanation that he needed medicine and had what he needed to disinfect it, and could he please be allowed in. The second was some sort of deception involving his needing to know something about the contagion and therefore it being necessary that he enter himself. However, once he chose a tact, he'd have to stick with it, and if it failed...Breaking in would be difficult and although an intelligent man, he was no practiced liar. Coming up with some other reason and trying to stick to it seemed to be foolish, and he hoped that he wasn't blinding himself with whatever conscience he had left.

He stamped down the hesitation, the fear of what his failure here would mean; there was no time for waffling and what-ifs. "Truth be told, sir, I need medicine, and am on an incredibly tight timetable. I understand protocol and have alcohol with me to disinfect whatever I touch. Might you be willing to allow me entrance? My goals are only, as always, to preserve life, and I will take every precaution as to not become an agent of its spread, but I have a man dying as we speak and little time to waste--it is a matter of urgency, or I would go elsewhere."

It was still stealing, really, but it wasn't as if they were being used elsewhere and the man who'd had this place as his living was now dead, so it seemed no harm was done. If he was allowed in, he could find something non-addictive and of some value to give the kid for his troubles. Otherwise...well. He wasn't sure yet. Strange, how such a short time ago he could've made such a cruel decision regarding childrens' lives and now was caught up about honesty, but both ultimately served the same purpose: save life the best he knew how. A matter of simple mathematics. A balance. Maybe it was only that the weight of the former was too burdensome to take in its entirety and so seemed to feel less, but he didn't hang onto that thought for very long. Regret was a dangerous path to go down.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

Feeling slightly touched by the remark - even if not understanding his own emotions - the guard nodded in agreement, slightly frowning his brows, and making deep wrinkles more visible. War did that to people. They aged. The became emaciated. Sickly. It took its toll. "Fortune hasn't been smiling at us lately indeed. But in these lands they say 'Misfortune never comes singly', and this is, indeed, true for all the wrong reasons." While people might have thought about such things as of actual lack of luck or a curse, the reasons for things being bad like that were much more pragmatic and real. In this case, the sickness brought fear with it, and fear brought anger. Anger poured into the streets with violent crimes and robberies, drunk brawls and racism towards aboriginals. Whatever the crime of the hunchback living here was, it surely was just one of the signs of the epidemic - a symptom if one so wills.

Compassionate agreement of the man washed away quickly, however, as Noah spoke about his reasons of being here. He clutched the rifle harder, as if it was giving him strength; though perhaps it actually did, seeing his military background. One was used to rely on it so much in the field, it was a habit hard broken. It was like an infinite source of courage, and the tighter one gripped it, the more it flowed inside, filling tired body with determination. "I'm sorry, sire, I cannot.", he shook his head. "I was given strict orders, and a good explanation of what would happen if anything spreads out of here. Were you not the one who created this Noah's ark around us too?" He looked around the small stone district on an elevated island, hanging over others like, indeed, an ark. "That if even a single person really falls sick, we're all doomed? We might need to spare a couple of lives to let at least these few folk survive." His gaze stopped at one of the smaller annoyed crowds. Just a few of them noticed the doctor standing there, talking, and they watched Noah like wolves ready to pounce. He sighed, shaking his head. "I mean, I respect you. As any person should respect someone who does something they never knew how to do, and never will. But my orders were clear, and neither I want to be responsible for people falling to illness, nor to get court-marshalled..." he cut himself short. "Or... however it is called here. If it's an inspection, I can let you or any orderly in, but nothing is to be taken out, and I will have to search you thoroughly when you come out. I have already found out a few of the orderlies trying to sneak out stimulants to no doubt sell to the people, and it would be a way of contagion we cannot allow. It is... it was really bad there."

This was a hard situation indeed. The building was tall, with only one way in, and windows of thick glass that could only be opened from the inside and on the top floors to prevent thieves from getting in and out easily. So would Noah have to break a window and make a lot of noise if he wanted to get inside or outside... and then probably get shot. As the little scheming younger offering his robbery plan to Noah said earlier, they have tried to get in through an open window on the top floor, but the drain pipe used broke down, cutting off that way as well. Not to mention the lockdown had a point: they still didn't know all the ways disease spread. It was air, blood, food, water, so why not medicine? And without knowing what exactly happened there, it was hard to tell if the latter would've been contagious now as well.

 

[Featherstone]

There were valid points raised by this man in a uniform Noah once shared. He was correct in that, should any member of this last sanctum fall ill, there would be ineffable consequences—ones that could lead to the death of all. This awful nightmare conjured recollections of too many soldiers' nihilistic sentiments—sentiments some of his own men, the near-dozen of them he commanded, largely shared. Everyone was on a clock. Getting shot or sick only turned it forwards more quickly. Father said something like that when he was preaching God and a much younger Noah, defiant and bitter, did not listen. It was a situation of impossible options. The pest would, sooner or later, make it through the walls. Disease was not an army laying siege to impregnable walls. It was like water or smoke. It got everywhere, eventually.

Understanding what spared the alleged barbarians could be the key to a cure. If he failed in this, they might never let him near enough to figure it out, and even if he did that was far from certain. They were reasonably distrustful of foreigners. If he did not make a cure then it was, perhaps, as Gregor Caine and that goddamned corvid said: inevitable and indomitable.

And he had a man dying, now, besides. A man he might be able to save—actually save—if he had what he needed. Hadn't she said something as he fled?

At least this guard fellow was cordial. Certainly moreso than the mob—was the food rationing going according to plan, anyways, or was he relying on the wrong people?—and that thought only made his shoulders slump underneath another leaden weight. He was a doctor. In war, he'd commanded a squad, not an army. This was more than he was prepared for. More than he knew how to handle. Carter would've known what to do; Carter always did, always figured it out, eccentric as he was. But Noah was no genius or prodigy. Just a man, cheating death and spitting in God's face, trying to un-do gravity that he might fly.

"I understand," he finally said, and if the exhaustion made itself known in the low timbre of his voice then he could not be blamed for it. "Might I be admitted, then, to assess the situation for myself? I will fully cooperate with any necessary search, I have no desire to thwart you or jeopardize your position." He'd just have to get the medicine out the window to the boy and hope the child didn't take the opportunity to screw him over. Like brothers.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

With a short nod, the guard obliged, taking half a step to the side, as if to let the man in. The door was locked however, and he did not reach for the key just yet.

"Would you mind leaving any bags out here?" He asked, nodding to what used to be a lovely little bench at the stone-paved road leading to the house, now covered in a layer of thick leaves and dirt brought by the rains. What little has been seen through this nature cover, was cut and scribbled with a knife or some other sharp object. Little hearts between names, someone noting that some person named Han ruled, a few less polite images of sexual organs - judging by the off anatomy, clearly scribbled by local kids. They all looked relatively fresh - the district was relatively well-off, so it is obvious that petty crimes and hooliganism was at its low. At least, before the epidemic hit.

"I'd rather not desecrate the privacy of another man by rummaging through his private things if he's not taking anything with him anyway. I can watch out for it." He explained. The guard gave it some thought, before adding in a lower, uneasy voice, as if trying not to be heard by anyone else:

"I know you aren't an investigator per se, but if you find something about that... thing... that the hunchback did there, do try to report it to some of the authorities. I have no idea why he did what he did, but I had a sister about her age, and..." His voice trailed off, and the next thing Noah knew, the man coughed loudly, putting a stop to the train of thought, not willing to proceed. His back straightened, and he almost stood at attention.

"Anyhow! I shall not keep you waiting. But do be careful out there. I wouldn't touch anything even mildly suspicious if I were you. But then, I'm not a doctor myself." He said, fishing out a key from one of the deep pockets in his service pants, and with a loud rustle putting it into the keyhole. With a small amount of effort, the lock clicked, and the painted door opened with a creak into the blackness of a locked up house. Even from the porch it could be seen that what few rays of light got in reflected from the small flakes of dust and cobwebs, swirling around in a sudden draft.

 

[Featherstone]

Concealing the relief he felt at his ruse's success was not a difficult proposition—it was easy for exhaustion and sobriety to be the most prominent emotions written on his face, given everything. Clearly, the guard was averse to explaining what, precisely, this 'thing' that could not be spoken of was. Given the abominable and grotesque happenings dying like flies on poisoned meat around them that people didtalk about, it had to have been truly awful. A sister. Her age. How old was that? Too young for whatever had gone on—that was certain—like far too many that fell to the sick and twisted minds of broken men.

He didn't bother trying to press the guard for more details, unwilling to push his luck. Noah was a hardened soldier and a brutal pragmatist even as a doctor—but not a practiced criminal. The most lies he'd told were to his father as a boy, in the hopes of escaping whatever cultish lecture about what God thought and why his unwilling son did not meet such a bar, and most certainly not to circumvent a quarantine as an illicit means to obtain medication. What authorities this man hoped might take care of the situation, the doctor hadn't the faintest, and there seemed a distinct possibility that the guard didn't either, so he only nodded in nonverbal assent as he shrugged off his bag, then coat and left them on the indicated bench.

"Thank you, mister. I'll be careful."

What would Carter say about all this? Absentmindedly, his fingers rotated the ring around his finger. A moment or two elapsed while he only peered into the tenebrous depths of the hunchback's home. Then, stirring himself from the momentary reverie, Noah dipped his head once more to the guard in wordless gratitude and stepped inside, careful that he didn't accidentally brush anything.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

Luck seemed to be smiling upon Noah, as the first thing he saw, going inside the building - after his eyes adjusted to the darkness, of course - was a long L-shaped table of a store to the right of him. A pyramid of weights lay dusty on the further side, rows of medicine cabinets behind it. A small blackboard held a table with weirdly-scribbled names of common drugs sold in the apothecary, but scribbled so badly, it was impossible to decipher it. Was that... morphine? Twice the price as in capital? Painkillers? It was hard to tell: whoever wrote the table surely had doctor's handwriting.

Bad news was, there were signs of struggle out there. Cabinets broken, a large dimple in them the same size as an adult man. Pills and tablets scattered on the floor like colourful caltrops. Bottles laying crushed on the floor, the odour of alcohol and medicine obvious in the air. That, and something else, something more... gruesome. Like rotten blood or spoiled meat, coming from the backrooms, through an open door behind the center with large yellow sign with a weird, but understandable symbol: a man in doctor's gown entering the door, and a silhouette of a common person with no discerning features standing behind: staff only.

The door to the other side of the place was bolted shut, a number of thick wooden planks across them, and seemed to be i this condition for quite a while: soft crunch of wood-eating grubs was obvious there, a sound Noah knew all too well from one of the hospitals he worked in, in which a large stuffed snake that had to symbolize pharmacy was coiling on a piece of wood - and it seemed to be infected with such wood-eating grubs, munching it from the inside for months before their life cycle ended.

Beautiful polished double stairs of red wood led to the second floor, and soft squeaks were heard from above. Too even and quiet to be steps. Draft playing with an open door? Or maybe, a window?

 

[Featherstone]

It was dark enough to be unnerving to the man—even as a boy he'd balked at shadows, and now he'd only gotten braver, not less afraid. Maybe the war hadn't helped with that. The fevered dreams and corvid-people certainly weren't. His gaze lingered on the messy writing, illegible enough that it compared to Carter's, who had a scrawl so crooked and irregular that often, even he could not tell what he'd written. But there was no time to wonder or to investigate; he had a patient in critical condition, in agony, back in the camp.

Noah's attention turned to the scattered pills and bottles, immediately scanning for what he sought—alcohol or disinfectant, anesthetics, bandages. If any other medications he lacked in were readily available, he'd take them, too, so long as the containers were closed and he could clean them. He'd already crossed the line into illicit activity. He may as well ensure that he put as much to proper use as possible, rather than leaving it to go bad or be stolen and sold as street drugs.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

By the colour and the acidic smell, it became clear that most of the pills left were no more than vitamins. Which made sense. The climate was dry and hot - too dry and hot to grow a lot of fruits, but not dry and hot enough to grow any citrus. The locals needed vitamins.

This wasn't the capital, however. It wasn't organised and safe. And although the guard stood at the entrance, it was quite obvious that the place was not only destroyed through the fighting, but also robbed. Possibly by those who arrested the man. Were they the one to take anything contaminated from here, and bring the plague in? The boxes with bandages stood emptied, lying on the floor. Tourniquets, needles and thread, alcohol - almost everything gone. With a lot of effort Noah managed to fish a cracked, but not shattered small capsule of Novocaine, but it wasn't nearly enough. One small hank of thread lay under the counter, surrounded by dust and rat droppings. Bottles of alcohol didn't survive the fight, lying in heaps on the floor, the smell of ethyl still obvious. Hand-made cloth mask hung seemingly untouched on the door handle to the back room. He wasn't allowed to take anything, but there was nothing to take. Maybe but some vitamins fit for kid. Not in the store, anyway. Of course, the man could've hidden something under the floor boards, the back rooms, his own apartment, but the question was, did whoever make an arrest take those as well? Did they have time to? Of curse they did, this happened days ago, after all...