𝙍𝙀𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙔- [MAJOR EDITING]

PROLOGUE

HOW TO TREAT A DEAD MAN

september 3rd 2010: afghanistan

Following the dry season came violent rain, and amidst the fighting, there were men, women and children dying. Only thick mud remained where dry sands had been several hours earlier, but Doctor Isadora-Michelle Moore strode through it, eager to meet those who needed her help.

Her skin was hot and clammy beneath her doctor's uniform- even the deep brown complexion she had inherited from her parents had not protected her from the harsh heat and debris of Afghanistan. And despite the tight braids that she worked on each night, Isadora's curls frizzed with the heat and humidity of the place.

Isadora's eyes met with a teenage boy across the street, who evidently noticed her doctor's uniform, and ushered her over. He stood in the doorway to what was left of his home, desperation in his eyes as he shouted for her to come quick.

Isadora made her way over, her partner Dr Adrianne Valentina swiftly behind her. The rain continued to pour as they ducked through the doorway, and the boy showed them over to where another child lay- this one was much smaller, a girl, no older than ten. Isadora had never seen a wound so horrifically infected. It stretched across the child's abdomen, exposing part of her large intestine, cloudy discharge all around it.

"Please... help." The boy whispered, his voice timid.

"We're going to do all that we can," she assured him in broken Arabic, as Dr Valentina handed her gloves out of their large bag of medicine supplies. "What is her name?"

"Layla."

"Okay, Layla?" She called clearly. "My name is Doctor Moore, I am going to treat your cut, okay? You're a very brave girl, you're doing great."

Isadora pulled the gloves on, and began her examination. The wound was old, at least two days old, so there was no excessive bleeding to worry about- she pressed gently on the surrounding area but the girl instantly cried out in pain, and Isadora pulled her hands away, turning to her partner.

"The surrounding area is swollen, red and hot to the touch," she told her colleague, in English now. "No movement in the area, exposed organs. How are her vitals?"

"Not good," Dr Valentina sighed, removing her stethoscope from her ears. "Her pulse rate is far too high- one hundred and thirty beats per minute and she has an elevated temperature. Her breathing rate is accelerated too."

Isadora turned back to the patient, feeling her hands and feet. Ice cold. "Well, the wound is definitely septic, this seems to be a surgical case, so what's our approach, Adrianne?"

"We should get it clean and closed as quickly as possible," Valentina said, checking the bag once more. "But we're out of nearly all of our supplies, and I have no instruments for this procedure. I'm going to contact base, see if they can send a van out."

With that, Dr Valentina ducked out of the room, communicator in hand, leaving Isadora alone to monitor the patient. Five minutes passed before Layla began to convulse- the portable heart monitor Isadora had attached beeped erratically- cardiac arrest.

Isadora lunged into action, immediately performing child CPR, as calmly and purposefully as she could. A billion thoughts crossed her mind as Dr Valentina burst back into a room, placing a portable oxygen mask over the child's face.

"Where's that van?" Isadora panted, urgently.

"The ETA is fifteen minutes," Dr Valentina told her, voice laced with annoyance.

"She may not last that long!" Isadora said, and in tragic irony, the heart monitor prompted her: primary pulse lost. Stop CPR. "No!" She said, continuing chest compressions, regardless of the message. "No!"