Gasoline | Ben Parish

2

IT'S easy to see why the little kids stared at me the way they did on the bus. I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror as a nurse leads me into a showering stall. My face is streaked in mud and blood, as are all my clothes. My hair is knotted and wild, leaves and twigs sticking up in it. There's even something about my eyes, too; they've become slightly sunken, with dark circles and an even darker presence within them.

I used to be beautiful. I used to have silky dark hair and big brown eyes and soft, inviting skin. Now I look like something out of a nightmare.

The nurse draws back a shower curtain and tells me to strip.

"Can't I have a little privacy?" I ask, arching a brow.

"Not with a wound like that," she inclines her head to my arm. "I need to stay with you and make sure you don't pass out again. You're also in no condition to wash your hair – and we want to make sure you're squeaky clean."

So I stand there under the running water, naked, with a nurse's hands scrubbing diligently at my scalp and digging her nails into my skin. My time in the wilderness is washed away, into a swirling mess at my feet, slipping down the drain.

I'm almost embarrassed as I feel her move to my hips, thumbs pressing harshly against the supple skin. I turn to look at her – and maybe even make some smart remark about getting her jollies or something – when I catch sight of my arm.

It's bright red. Blood is still oozing, slower than before. I can see the puncture wounds clearly.

That's definitely going to leave a mark.

The nurse helps me step out and towels me off. She helps me slip into a white robe and motions for me to exit the room. "Dr. Pam should be ready to see you now," she says.

Only she isn't. I sit on the edge of the examination table for five minutes, swinging my feet and keeping my arm close to my chest. Where the hell is she? What's taking so long? I realize that there probably aren't a lot of doctors around to be with every patient immediately, but you would think they would say 'chick has rabies, better get her set up with medical care.'

Just as I'm considering getting up and going back to the nurse who felt me up – okay, not really, but I'm still bitter that she didn't let me do anything myself – the door opens, and a woman with a stethoscope around her neck steps in.

"Hi," she greets with a smile. "I'm so sorry for the wait; a lot of children have just arrived. I'm Dr. Pam. What's your name?"

"Mary."

"It's wonderful to meet you, Mary." She actually sounds sincere. "How are you?"

"Cold," I tell her honestly. "These robes are crap. Also, I nearly got my arm bitten off today."

She shakes her head. "Sounds like you've had a rough day."

I snort. "More like a rough past few months."

Dr. Pam nods very understandingly. "I can only imagine. I would hate to be anywhere but Camp Haven, and I pity those who aren't here."

I purse my lips. "Then why only bring the children?"

"What do you mean?" She asks as she pulls out my injured arm.

I let out a hiss and squeeze my eyes shut. Crap, I hope it's not infected. "If you want to bring more people to safety, then why only bring the kids? Why break up families like that?"