frosting and what he hoped was cake. Chad, perched on a stool next to her, was licking white goop off his hands.
Oh, boy. Zoe’ll be back soon. Zoe’ll be back soon.
“Make sure your brother doesn’t fall,” Ben said, pointing at Chad for emphasis. Man. At least they knew not to open the door to strangers.
Ben reached the front door and swung it wide, not in the mood for visitors, but half expecting Zoe’s parents. Grandma could handle the goop.
The ground rippled beneath his feet when he saw the uniforms. His adrenaline jacked into high gear.
He was overreacting. Maybe this time PTSD had won out. They were probably just door-to-door fund-raising. They still did that, right? He scratched impatiently at his forehead, irritated with himself for going into battle mode.
“Yes, officers?”
“Sir, is this the home of Zoe Corallis?”
Is this the home of Zoe Corallis?
An icy cold bled across his chest. He shook his head, refusing to listen to what instinct told him they were going to say. This wasn’t right. This was supposed to be home.
Ben’s chest heaved, and his knuckles whitened against the door frame. The officer’s words blistered in his ears. Is this the home of Zoe Corallis? Car accident... We’re sorry.
“No. No.” He shook his head emphatically, his words sounding like military orders even to himself. He fisted his shirt, where Zoe’s touch still lingered.
“Maddie, take Chad to Ryan’s room and stay there until I say.” He turned to be sure they obeyed and was met with stunned looks. “Now! Go!”
Maddie helped her brother down and they disappeared like frightened prey. Ben braced his hands against the door frame, trying to process what was happening, then, like the friends he’d seen pelleted with shrapnel, he buckled and hit the floor.
Zoe.
Dear Diary,
They said writing to you would help. I’m not sure. I can’t tell anyone what I did. Not even you. If anyone finds out, I could go to jail...or hell.
HOPE ALWANGA STRIPPED off her bloody gloves and gown, then rushed from the room, but there was no escaping the merciless, coppery smell that had penetrated her sinuses. She pressed the crook of her elbow to her nose to shield against the added assault from the sweaty, desperate crowd still waiting to be seen and made her way to the back of the emergency room. A steady stream of patients was expected at any of Nairobi’s public hospitals—she saw it as added experience during her internship year—but this? This was pure chaos. And she’d been forced to do procedures she’d never done before.
She needed a minute to sit. Just one.
She collapsed onto a stool near a half-empty medical supply closet, leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
“Go home.”
“No,” she said, jerking her head up and pushing off the stool. The floor tilted, and her hands shot out reflexively for balance. “I’m fine. I just needed a second.”
Zamir, her supervising doctor, put a gentle hand on her shoulder and urged her back onto the stool.
“Take that second and then go home. That’s an order,” he said.
“I haven’t eaten anything. That’s all it is.” That and no sleep.
“Don’t argue with your superior.”
Hope rolled her eyes. Zamir could never nail a harsh tone when it came to her. He was closer in age to her much-older brother, and, given that he’d grown up as a family friend, he often teetered between his role as her supervising medical officer and a caring friend. A lot. Only, he knew full well that Hope wasn’t interested in anything but focusing on her education and career. Hope brushed his hand aside and stood, taking a deep, readying breath.
“You need me here. We’ve lost two patients already this morning, and there has been no news of the rest of the staff coming back. I’m not going anywhere.”
For two days now, they’d been running on bare threads. It was bad enough that, under normal circumstances, Nairobi’s public hospitals were grossly underequipped. Only months into her internship, she’d already witnessed patients either dying or being turned away due to lack of medical equipment and supplies alone. Even children. God, the children broke her heart. Now, to add insult to an already critical situation, delayed government paychecks had spurred a strike by the majority of their medical staff. As an intern, her pay was barely worth counting anyway, but she wasn’t here for money. She was here to help, but this...this was like asking a gnat to save a drowning shrew.
She turned to head back toward the main area. Failure wasn’t an option. Not for an Alwanga.
“Hope, don’t be stubborn,” Zamir said, stepping in front of her. “You need to get some sleep or you’ll be useless. You’ll start to make mistakes. I can’t have that happen. Stay and I’ll write you up.”
Hope stopped dead in her tracks, then looked right at him. Her pulse drummed at the base of her throat.
“That man did not die because of me,” she said, pointing down the hall toward the patient they’d just lost. “I did everything—”
“I didn’t mean him,” Zamir said, shaking his head and holding up his palms. “You were brilliant in there. Hope, that man had been thrown from a boda-boda. He didn’t have a chance. Not with what we have here. But I need you to get some rest before I end up having to resuscitate you. Or before you do make a human mistake.”
Hope pressed her lips together and cringed at the mental image of Zamir resuscitating her. He’d love that, wouldn’t he? Zamir to the rescue. Always looking out for her. That was exactly why her parents loved him so much.
But he was right. Anyone who dared hitch a ride on Kenya’s motorcycle-styled taxis, manned by an array of notoriously reckless drivers, was gambling with death. She’d done what she could, stepping in to assist Zamir in the absence of more experienced doctors and nurses. But her trained immunity to the stench of violent death had failed her today. The lack of sleep really was doing a number on her senses, and the last cup of lukewarm coffee she’d guzzled hadn’t done much to help. She ran both hands back over her chin-length waves. She still wasn’t used to the texture after her mom insisted she have it relaxed a few weeks ago. “Fine,” she said. “Just for a few hours.”
“Don’t come back until tomorrow. I’ll find someone to help. Maybe the strike will be over by then,” he said, twisting his lips. Neither of them was holding out hope on that count. Even if it did end, the suffering and loss would have still happened. The supplies and equipment needed to better serve the majority of locals too poor to seek help from private hospitals or doctors—such as her parents—would still be an issue.
Hope nodded and walked away, too tired to argue anymore. What was the point? After finishing
