Master of None: A Wings of Fire fanfiction

20.

Content warning: depiction of an epidemic/plague, depiction of a famine, violence

Clearsight

I've been thinking in circles. There's not much else to do, over the weeks of isolation. I ran out of scrolls to read within the first few days; and there's only so much deep-cleaning and organization you can do in one tiny house. Only so long I can run from my worries.

Did Sharp-eyes bring the plague back?

Or was it just an inevitable consequence, of tripling the population of a city overnight?

It's hard to believe this was a coincidence somehow.

There's something about Darkstalker's story that doesn't make any sense. All those absences–why would a border guard's schedule be so strange?

What if he doesn't live? How good can his odds be?

What if I'm really alone, forever? What if I don't even get to say goodbye?

What if I never see my dragonets again?

What if I die in this city, alone?

***

It feels strange to leave the house, after three weeks spent living inside four walls.

The streets are so much quieter, door after door marked with a red X. Other doors, like mine, are painted in black–someone who's been exposed to the plague, but hasn't gotten sick yet. On the doors, tally marks have been scrawled–days spent in isolation. There are more doors on this street that have been painted than not. I make eye contact with a little dragonet, face pressed to the window.

First on the agenda is to get to the hospital, and figure out what they want to do with me now.

Second is to track down where Darkstalker is.

I pass by the oasis. I would kill for a drink of water, just a sip. Something to take the edge off the dizzy-hot sun beating down on my back. I want to throw myself into the pool and drown in it. But the water is so low, it looks more like a puddle than the pool it was a few weeks ago. 

A sign on a haphazard fence declares: oasis closed until further notice.

I keep on moving.

***

The hospital is so much quieter than I remember. Curtains are drawn all around the beds, sunlight streaming in through the windows. A dragon at the door checks our IDs, instructs us to leave all our things by the door, and makes sure we all wash our talons for what feels like an eternity.

Poppy is working in the plague ward. There's a new head nurse in charge; someone named Ash, who can't be much older than I am. She gives me and a few other hospital staff a long debriefing.

"This isn't a plague unit–and in fact, it's in our interest to keep the plague from getting anywhere near this hospital," she says with a sigh. "So: before admitting anyone, you need to do a screening. The plague makes you completely delirious–some dragons even start to hallucinate. Their muscles would be weak, their hearts would be beating way too fast. And, obviously, the black rash–but don't let that be the first thing you're looking for; it comes as one of the last symptoms. I've given you all a checklist to go over."

"So, if we see any of those things..." another nurse asks.

"Then you send a message to the soldiers around the corner, and have them make sure that dragon either gets to the plague unit or is completely isolated in their home–they can only do that if they don't have anyone living with them. Then, you go through decontamination and wait it off at home for three weeks."