A Wasteful Death by Sylvain St-Pierre

Author:Sylvain St-Pierre
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sylvain St-Pierre
Published: 2019-09-26T20:51:15+00:00

Chapter 20

Urion was pacing in front of the clinic when Marlot parked. He stopped in his tracks and looked at the car.

He hadn’t moved again by the time Marlot got out. He slammed the door, making the ram jump. “Is this going to be a problem?”

Urion took a step back. “No, no. Of course not. What you do is your own business.” His voice trembled.

“Too bad others don’t think like that,” Trembor said.

“Where’s Lamia’s house?” Marlot asked.

“It’s by the south field.” He paused and looked around at the sheep eying Marlot’s car. A few of them were moving around it, looking to be reading every slur written on it. “It might be best if we take mine. I don’t want a crowd to form by her house.” He indicated the truck parked a few spots away.

“Sure.” Marlot looked into the covered back, and there was some medical equipment there, as well as a low examination table. With the top open, Urion could work on a patient there. The cabin was small, and they had to squeeze in.

Ten minutes later the ram was parking in front of one of the three-dozen identical box-like buildings in the area, only their colors distinguishing them. They were one-level, and if Marlot remembered the plans his father had kept on his office wall, had four bedrooms, a family room, and the kitchen/dining room. They were arranged in a large circle, with the field around them and a park of low grass in the middle. This house was sky blue.

Urion was the first one to reach the door, and knocked. He knocked two more times before Marlot reached him. The ram pounded on the door, but no one answered.

“Let’s go around the back,” he said. “It’s nice today, so she might be resting outside.” He guided them between the houses. They were close enough that they wouldn’t fit if two of them walked side by side. They did find her outside, as he predicted, but she wasn’t resting.

The sheep looked up from the garden she was knelt in. “Medic Roundpoint. Did we have an appointment?” She looked at Marlot and Trembor and tilted an ear.

“No. What are you doing? I told you to rest.”

She smiled and stood, rubbing her dirt-covered hands on the rough-fabric gray pants she wore. “I am resting. Tending to my garden relaxes me.”

Urion took her hand and guided her to a lounging chair. “Spending your day bent overstresses your stomach. Your pregnancy is already precarious. You don’t want to complicate things, do you?” He forced her to sit.

She sat, then slapped the medic’s hand away. “I’m fine. You don’t need to fuss over me; I’m sturdier than you think.”

“I’ll remind you that last week you were bleeding. With Na’ego dead, I don’t want to risk having you bleed again. I haven’t been able to find another medic to look at you.”

“None of the surrounding towns can spare one?” Trembor asked.

The ram shook his head while he gently pushed Lamia on her back. “They’re busy with their own people.

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