Horde (Razorland #3)(21)

A glance across the room told me no tables were vacant. As Tegan came up beside me, I picked one at random with a few empty seats. The men shoveling their food down didn’t look up as we sat, merely kept eating with a single-minded focus that seemed unnatural to me now. I had gotten used to small courtesies in Salvation, I supposed, as down below, we devoured our meals as fast as we got them, fearing somebody might decide we didn’t merit that much food after all.

Tegan cocked a brow at me. “It must be good.”

“It’s terrible,” one said. “But edible, and we know better than to dally in the mess.”

I repeated the last three words with a question in my voice.

“Short for mess hall,” another man clarified.

That didn’t help me, but Tegan made the connection. “Is this a military facility?”

The question earned her a strange look, but the soldier proved willing to answer. “A long, long time ago, it was just a small town. After the first outbreaks, the army stationed men here, provisioned a base to receive and support survivors.”

“Outbreaks of what?” I asked.

Before the man could answer, a bell went off. I tensed—had my knives in my hands and was on my feet before anyone else at the table responded. Tegan just looked worried, but she still had her spoon halfway to her mouth.

Then someone laughed. “You’re skittish, girl. That’s just the signal that breakfast is over and those of us on duty need to get on with training, the work roster, or patrols, depending on what we’ve been assigned.”

“Good to know,” Tegan murmured, going back to her breakfast.


Once the room cleared out, I said, “It sounds like they know more about what happened than the townsfolk did in Salvation, something more real than religious stories.”

“No history is ever unbiased.”

I considered that, eating a bite of the brown-and-white lumpy food. It wasn’t horrible, but it seemed like it needed something else, so I spooned some onto my wedge of bread, then took an experimental bite. Better.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been a long time, but my mom used to teach me, before people got sick. There were books all over the university, and she read to me, explained things as best she could.”

“And she said history is biased?” I wasn’t positive what a bias was. From school, I knew history was the study of things that happened in the past, but I couldn’t understand what Tegan was getting at. Surely something was either true, or it wasn’t.

“Not on purpose. But people see things differently. So I might see a blue flower growing below an apple tree and write all about the blue flower whereas you might see only the apples. Your account would contain information about the fruit, never mentioning the flower.”

“Because the food would matter to me more,” I said in sudden comprehension. “So it’s not that the people in Salvation are trying to lie. They just include the part of the stories that they care about.”

“Exactly. Since they’re devout people, they interpreted the terrible things that happened in the world as punishment from God for their sins. I don’t think we’ll find that bias here.”

Now I understood. Thoughtful, I ate my breakfast in silence, considering all we might learn in Soldier’s Pond.

First, though, we had wounded to tend.

Verdict

The rest of the day, I helped Tegan.

Not only did the bandages need to be changed, cuts and burns had to be tended. There were broken bones too and once we’d dealt with the long process of treating them, they also needed food and broth. I’d never seen myself as a caregiver, but since Tegan needed my hands, I was willing. I didn’t know as much as she did but I followed directions well enough.

“No, hold that with your left hand,” she said briskly. “Don’t move.”

She was so good with the injured, offering endless patience and kindness. I had less of her natural aptitude, but since I was only her assistant, not the doctor, my skill didn’t matter as much.

By nightfall, I was as exhausted as I had been after the battle outside the Salvation gates.

“How many of them do you think will live?” I asked Tegan.

The room was starting to reek of putrid wounds, masked lightly by antiseptic and healing salve. In some cases, her proficiency and desire to help wouldn’t be enough. I felt sorry for those poor souls because a slow death was the worst kind.

She puffed out a weary sigh. “Half, I hope.”

That was even fewer than I expected. “It must be hard.”

“I wish Papa Doc was here,” she whispered. “He could probably save more.”

“You’re doing your best.”

“It’s not enough,” she said, stalking off.

I didn’t take it personally. Tegan wanted to save everyone but life didn’t work that way, no matter how much I wished otherwise.

As I came out of the granary, I ran into Stalker; he had fallen in with the scouts and went out regularly with them. He didn’t look as if he’d rested much, his bones sharp beneath his skin and dark circles cradling his eyes. He jerked a nod, then moved to push past me. I stayed him with an abortive movement, not quite touching him. I suspected by his taut expression that there would be no more quiet moments between us, and that was for the best. False encouragement would be wrong when my heart belonged so completely to Fade.