Soulstar by C. L. Polk

Author:C. L. Polk [Polk, C. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781250203564
Google: dsrdDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: 1250203570
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2021-02-16T00:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

Parade Day

Sixteen beds wouldn’t be enough.

People waved scarlet handkerchiefs and cheered loud enough to drown out the music in the streets, music to set your feet itching to move to the beat, to shuffle and stamp your heels. Citizens dashed into the street to give a soldier an apple and sometimes a kiss, darting back to pluck another fruit from the baskets lining the raised walks. They cheered; they laughed; they danced with arms raised.

I stood still in my uniform and counted the uninfected men. Each square was sixty-four soldiers, marching, waving, kissing girls, eating apples. That square had fifteen. The next, twelve. That one, eighteen. The rest were crowned with writhing clouds of dried blood, and I fancied their smiles strained, their joviality the mask they knew they should wear.

Discipline kept me standing even as my insides roiled. This was a disaster. I had to do something, spread the news among the staff—but what could they do? Why would they do anything? I had no proof, and a success story I didn’t want prodded.

That one had nine. The job in front of me mounted higher, threatening to spill. I had to find the cause. I had to find the cure. I’d have to take my mask off and shout it from the rooftops. A mouse couldn’t make the medical community listen.

I turned my face away and paid attention to the crowd—those who had waited for family and loved ones to return. Only soldiers had the miasma. The civilians had head colds, indigestion, ailments I could ease with a touch. The crowd glanced disapprovingly at a young parent with a crying infant. The baby had an ear infection, and her face streaked with tears and snot as she screamed her inconsolable pain.

I shuffled closer, made eye contact with the child’s mother. She gave me an apologetic smile. I stroked the child’s curls, cupped her ear, and she quieted.

“What did you do?” her mother asked.

“She’s overtired. The noise,” I shouted. “Keep her ears covered, or better, take her home and let her sleep.”

“We’re looking for her uncle. He’s in the parade.” She picked up her baby’s hand and waved it at the marching soldiers. The baby endured this with a wide-eyed look at me.

“I hope you see him soon. I’d better go back inside.”

“Say bye-bye, Mary.” She shook her daughter’s paw at me.

I caught a hug from a pretty girl who gave me a kiss on the cheek and an apple.

“You look a little pale, Captain.” She gave me a grin and sashayed into the street. I bit into the apple with gratitude. It was barely a healing, but the fruit was juicy, sweet with a drop of acid tartness. It crunched, firm and the perfect thing to chase away the tremors.

A chill ran down my neck, the hairs rising to shout alarm. I checked sight lines. Too many in the trees. The crowd cheered the soldiers home, but one face turned pale and pinch-lipped toward me.

Dr. Crosby glared hot enough to set my cap on fire, the downward twist of his mouth suppressing revulsion.

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