The Everburning City

Interlude I, Worse than the Wait

The other group were physicians and surgeons, the nurses and hospice workers, for whom cleanliness was a key part of saving lives.

The group in white waited as the soldiers and civilians began to stream past, like a rock left in an irrigation trench. The distance the medics were given was quite a bit wider than most crowds gave, as if they were afraid to draw close.

Candice knew she should get up now. The next train was likely to take her on to the City, where she could return home to her family. Safe, in the sky gardens of High Central, with all the City standing between her and that monster of stone that had breached the last wall.

Only, she didn't. It wasn't that she couldn't make her legs push her up off the bench. But something kept her in her seat, a bitter stubbornness that she didn't know she possessed. It held her legs still, even as the last of the soldiers and her fellow prisoners marched out the train.

Only when the men and women in white started to stream into the train, did Candice stand up. She kept to the side of the train, well clear of the door, to leave space for the first few people who came inside carrying trunks and crates. The first dozen people who passed her didn't remark on her presence, but a stern looking elderly woman stopped in front of Candice and looked her up and down.

"This train isn't going back to the City, child," the old woman said, and she jabbed Candice in the shoulder with a finger that felt more like the end of a metal rod.

"I know," Candice replied in a feeble whisper. She coughed to clear her throat. "I..."

"Should use that door over there." The old woman pointed out at the station platform with her thumb. "This isn't a place for a coddled scion of High Central."

Candice took a deep breath, and clenched the hem of her shirt with her hands. "I don't want to go back."

"Look kid, this isn't a good place to hide from disapproving parents," the old woman said, her voice growing terse and angry as she spoke. "This is going to be ugly."

It wasn't the casual shot at her privileged childhood that suddenly made her blood boil. It took her a moment, but she realized it was how badly this woman misunderstood why she was standing here. "I'm not burning afraid of my parents!" Candice's voice was a harsh rasp, and she pointed back at the wall, away from the City. "I'm afraid of that!"

The old woman's sneer faded, and she looked in the direction Candice was pointing. "You have me mostly right," Candice said, as the woman's head was turned. "Coddled little High Central girl, sent to a work camp in the fringes to get scared straight by dirt and hard work. Well, it worked burning better than anyone could have hoped. I've seen what's coming for us all."

The old woman pointed back at the train doors, but her indignation seemed to have faded. Her lips no longer wore her harsh sneer, her eyes were gentler, and she finally met Candice's gaze. "That's better, kid. But I don't have a use for you. If you want to stay and help, volunteer with the messenger corps."

"I'm afraid, but I'm also ashamed," Candice admitted. "It took me all these hours to do what I should have done back at the last wall. There's a boy I'm kinda fond of, who just volunteered with the army. Our caretaker at the work camp did the same. And it's taken me four burning hours to realize that I wanted to do the same."

"Then go enlist with the-"

"Why can't you use me?" Candice asked, cutting the old woman off.

The old woman's head jerked back as if she'd been slapped. She blinked, shook her head, and looked at Candice as if she hadn't seen her before.

"Do you have any medical expertise, kid?" the woman asked eventually.

Dozens of people were now moving around, stepping in and through the train car. Some were carrying supplies, some were opening crates to inspect tools, others were setting up tables and shelves. This company of people, all with jobs, focus, and purpose.

Candice had never envied anyone quite as completely.

"I don't, ma'am," Candice admitted, and she stood as straight as she could, emulating the soldiers that had saved her life.

"Have you ever seen someone bleed a great deal? Or seen bones or organs? More than a few people just can't handle seeing people's insides," the old woman asked. "No shame in it, but tell me now."

"I haven't seen that much blood," Candice admitted.

"Have you seen death?"

Candice swallowed. "I've seen what happens after death, if the Gloam takes us."

The old woman's eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded. "And you're still standing here, asking me to put you to work." She sighed, and rubbed her nose with her fingers. "Fine, kid. But I reserve the right to have you tossed off the side if I feel like you can't pull your weight."

"Fair," Candice said, and she held out her hand. "I'm Candice Itamas."

"Physician Farah Eridwen," the old woman said, and she shook Candice's hand. With her other hand, she waved over a tall man carrying several buckets, mops, and a distillery jar. "I'm head of this trauma crew. For now, go with Michael to the tail car, we're setting up our surgical room there. We'll need to sterilize the room. He'll walk you through the basics."

"I, yes ma'am!" Candice nearly shouted, before she dashed away to follow the big man with the supplies.

Candice was practically whistling as she walked across the length of one train car, and then another. She listened with rapt attention as the big worker, Michael, talked her through cleaning the walls and windows. The headache from the fumes of the chemicals they used was almost a pleasant relief, as it drowned out the fear.

There was a surprising joy in having more to do, than just huddle at home and wait for the end of the world.