Eight months after receiving her nursing diploma—a diploma earned with only average grades; anatomy and certain medical procedures were not her strengths, and she didn't handle criticism well—Annie Jenkins found a perfect fit in a small hospital.
Her caring and empathetic nature was well-suited to the patients' minor ailments, and she managed most problems easily. The ER lacked the sophistication of a large city hospital, but this was more than adequate for the low-acuity patients. The ER was equipped with gurneys, basic supplies, a CT machine, X-ray, sonogram, and a doctor on call 24 hours a day—sometimes more than one, if necessary.
However, the young woman who had just collapsed was alarming. This seemed to be an actual emergency, a rarity, really, in this hospital. Worst that the nurse could recall was when one old guy had accidentally struck a nail through his fingers. Thin as a skeleton, yet burning with fever, her gaunt face was pale and cadaverous, and she emitted a terrible odor. Her whispered claim that there were others sent a jolt through Nurse Jenkins's heart.
She yelled, "I need help, Doctor Latimer!"
The doctor's firm footsteps soon approached, and he practically ran into the room, exclaiming, "Oh my god, where did she come from, and what is that awful smell?"
He crouched, feeling for a pulse—a faint, fluttering beat—at her slender neck.
"She said, just before fainting, that there were others in the car," Nurse Jenkins reported.
Several janitors rushed in.
"Go check the car; there are more patients," the doctor instructed. "Bring them in. We'll assess them and call for backup—this isn't human."
His expression was stern, but he was not anti-supernatural; he had just recognized a tortured victim, and it made his blood boil. He wanted those pro-human radicals under arrest.
As the doctor and nurse carefully lifted the emaciated woman onto a gurney, the janitor rushed back in, cradling another frail, sick-looking woman.
"There are more," he gasped, "four women and a man, all unconscious and in awful shape. We're bringing them in as soon as we can."
The doctor raised his eyebrows. He was older, contemplating retirement, but this work had always been his calling. This small, quiet hospital suited him perfectly—a far cry from the bustling ER of a big city. He knew most of these people—he'd delivered their babies, watched them grow, and knew their families.
This influx doubled the hospital's patient load, and he knew it wasn't ideal, but he needed to stabilize them before considering anything else.
The first woman was barely alive, clearly tortured. Her face was gaunt and pale, her skin burning hot, yet she was slightly shivering—a high fever. This was dire, and he would do everything he could.
"Start a cannulation," he instructed the nurse, "the largest vein you can find. Don't worry about sterility, just do it quickly. Hang a liter of saline and let it drip. I'll assess the others. Let's see if we can identify them or find someone conscious enough to tell us what happened."
The nurse nodded, hurrying to retrieve an IV cart. The doctor moved to the next woman. Her short, uneven reddish-brown hair framed a skeletal frame, almost as thin as the first, but taller, with limbs awkwardly contracted as if she'd been held in that position for months.
She had numerous stitches and staples, a greenish discharge oozing from her vagina, and was just as feverish. He hadn't assigned them names yet; he was simply gathering facts, rapidly assessing how best to help before reinforcements arrived.
He watched as the nurse cannulated the first woman; the fluids would give her a little boost, at least he hoped so. He then moved on to the next woman, who had just been brought in. His medical training kicked in, even though this was a highly unusual situation.
He proceeded based on what he could glean from the situation and improvised from there. His expertise and long career as a doctor were invaluable.
The nurse felt her pulse racing; for the first time, she felt less insecure about her skills, though her hands still trembled from adrenaline. Collecting the necessary supplies, she approached the skinny woman.
Acting instinctively, she lifted the foot of the bed to improve venous pressure, as the woman had very low blood pressure, making vascular access challenging. However, she had always been able to cannulate even the most difficult veins.
She went straight for the crook of her elbow, placing a pillow under the arm and fastening the tourniquet. Pleased to see a plump vein, she selected a larger-lumen cannula and inserted it on the first attempt.
After securing the cannula, she was slightly surprised to see the woman's skin fusing to it, but she used her drapes anyway. She hung the saline bag and watched it flow into the patient's vein. Feeling the woman's heat, she hesitated to cover her before moving on to the next woman and continuing with her work.
By the time she began cannulating the fourth woman, two more nurses from the wards had arrived. The doctor directed them to clean and undress the remaining women, putting them into patient gowns and removing as much of the awful greenish, bloody mass as possible. Of course, they all wore full personal protective equipment; Nurse Jenkins did too. They had no idea whether the substance was infectious to humans.
Older nurses were unhappy; she was the one cannulating, but they understood this was the biggest emergency the hospital had seen in their careers. The doctor made a brief call, activating a protocol that requested assistance from the nearest supernatural doctor—someone who could treat these patients, advise him, and possibly find them new accommodations.
Stabilizing them was paramount; all had extremely low blood pressure, horrific wounds, and infected staples and stitches. He'd heard of such places, but never seen anything like it until now.
The phone rang seemingly forever before a cheerful male voice said, "This is Will Peyton. What can I do for you?"
The doctor cleared his throat. "Hello, we have a situation here. My name is Joshua Latimer, chief medical officer at Greater Mercy Hospital in Utah. We're more of a clinic, normally seeing fewer than ten patients, but less than an hour ago, a woman ran in, collapsing before I arrived. One of my nurses got to her; she managed to say there were others—five more females and a male—all supernatural. I've never seen anything like this. I swear, the first one weighs less than twenty kilos—tiny, skeletal, with blood red hair but alive. The females seem to have some gynecological issue—greenish bloody discharge, high fever (106-108°F)—and we're cannulating them, administering saline. They're all unconscious, covered in staples and stitches."
Will swallowed. This sounded like Mimi's encounter with a nasty place—the greenish mass, the high fever. He didn't know of any other supernatural beings who'd experienced a miscarriage like that, in such a frail state. He needed help, but had no idea what the rest of the pack was doing.
Quickly, he browsed his phone, sent pictures of Mimi and Mariella to the doctor's phone, and asked, "I've sent you pictures. Are any of the females either of them?"
The doctor watched an incoming message appear on his display and opened it. The picture showed two women; the shorter one had a stern expression, while the taller one smiled.
"Both are here," the doctor said in a short while. "Do you have their identities or care instructions? I'm unsure if this is the best location, but they appear to be in critical condition."
Remaining calm, Will explained, "Keep them calm. If one wakes, avoid threatening them—even in their weakened state, they're dangerous. I'll call for backup, but it will take time. Do not use iodine on their wounds; use saline. Flush the green mass out with saline. They have two wombs, so there's a significant amount. It's a type of abortion—they've been raped by humans. Human drugs aren't working on Mimi, the smaller, more powerful one, but they might work on Mariella, the taller one. I'm unsure about others. I'm trying to locate the rest of their 30-person pack. The male sounds like Bran Cornick, so he's likely not part of the pack."
The doctor listened attentively, jotting down notes and addresses. Will's instructions, though broad, provided a starting point: full-body CT scans. Next would be fluids, wound cleaning (Will had authorized removing infected stitches and staples), and careful wound covering.
He would then coordinate additional staff and doctors from nearby hospitals, as Will had suggested. Excited to treat supernatural beings—especially the legendary Mimi Salvatore—the doctor immediately began giving orders.
Will ran a hand through his red mop of hair, pausing to consider his next move. This was a mess, and he was in charge, but he knew he couldn't handle it alone. Pack males seemed oblivious to the females' plight, so instead of contacting them, he opened his phone, selected Samuel Cornick's number, and hit call.
Samuel would surely have some insight. He hoped feverishly that Samuel was available, as Colin was now part of the pack, and whatever had happened to the men had removed him from the picture as well. The phone rang just as Samuel entered the break room for coffee.
He answered, his voice weary, "Yeah, this is Samuel. What's up, Will?" He sat down.
Will hesitated slightly before saying, "As you know, I'm one of the on-call supernatural doctors. I got a call today—it's about Mimi and her pack. Do you know where the men are? Mimi, Mariella, Katherine, Elena, wolves, and Bran are in a rural Utah hospital—more like a clinic—unconscious, infected, and apparently tortured. I was wondering if you could come?"
Samuel leaned back, cursed inwardly, and said, "It'll take time; I'm in Austria. I can get temporary coverage here quickly, then fly to the States. You go there and start treatment. I'll bring more supplies. Based on what you've said, they're in rough shape; moving them now might make things worse. I'll also try to find those men. This is Bran's fault, damn it."
He offered no further explanation.
Will replied, "They have a CT machine, so I've ordered scans. I'll pick up supplies from a few bases along the way, and some medical personnel. I'll keep you updated. Let me know when you think you'll arrive."
Samuel grunted, then said, "At best 72 hours, but more likely longer. I need to assess the pack's situation and resupply before we make a plan for relocation. They have a large, mostly unused mansion in Utah; I've outfitted a medical bay there, but let's avoid stressing them with an immediate move. We should stabilize them, get the men back, and then proceed. However, be warned—this will be chaotic."
Will rolled his eyes. "I've been with Mimi during infections; I can handle chaos. I'll let you know about the results. Should I get a portable blood analyzer, or will a standard human one suffice?"
Samuel replied, "Take the portable green one; it's more reliable and secure. Standard equipment might miss things, and if that place is small, their equipment is probably subpar."
After a few more questions, Will ended the call. It was time to contact the older doctor, outlining the next steps and necessary preparations. He also requested spare keys to one of Mimi's or the pack's nearby houses to gather supplies—food, padding, and medical equipment. He knew the next few days would be a whirlwind of activity, leaving him no time for idle contemplation.
Will called the old doctor, saying, "Hi, this is Will. Listen, backup's coming, but it'll be at least a few days. I'll be there in under 24 hours with more supplies. Since the patients are so thin, please pad the beds very well and try to ensure their skin isn't rubbed or irritated. Find the best position for each to prevent worsening sores or wounds. They're not infectious to humans, so don't worry. If one wakes up, explain that Will—that's me—and Samuel are coming. Samuel will help the males. Inform patients if they're awake, and if you can ask them to describe what happened. If not, it's fine."
The old doctor grunted, "I have four more doctors and four nurses coming. We have patients here, but we can manage."
Will replied, "I'll be bringing in more people; they'll need a lot of staff. Don't worry, it might be chaotic before we can transfer them, but we'll get there."
The old doctor said, "We're currently scanning them. I'll direct the nurses to start padding the bed sides, and we'll find the best positions and chart their skin condition for you."
Will then provided names for the female patients so official records could be made. He wasn't sure if human access to their real records would be helpful—it might just confuse the doctors, and this wasn't the time for confusion.
After giving a few more instructions, Will ended the call, mentioning that additional staff might arrive before him and would provide further guidance. The old doctor was about to receive a crash course in treating some of the world's most challenging patients.
One by one, patients were scanned, and the scans were uploaded to the system via portable tablets. Meanwhile, nurses and other doctors assessed each patient—a time-consuming process. The old doctor removed staples and stitches from Bran, a male patient whose oozing abdominal wound required numerous dressings.
Will had warned of a significant infection, necessitating thorough cleaning. The doctor flushed the wound repeatedly until the thick pus ceased, then applied supportive, heavily padded dressings, avoiding silver-impregnated ones due to their painfulness. Hydrogel dressings proved ideal, prompting a few nurses to fetch more from the pharmacy.
The doctor then turned his attention to Mimi, gathering his supplies and examining the frail, skeletal patient. Heavy hydration, followed by TPN solutions, appeared to be helping. Even so, the stench from the massive vaginal discharge resulting from a horrific abortion was overwhelming; CT scans revealed significant remaining infected tissue.
Surgery was likely necessary, but the old doctor deemed Mimi too weak at present. After washing his hands, donning a fresh gown and sterile gloves, he prepared to treat her, knowing he could address some medical issues.
However, the thought of the rape and its gruesome consequences filled him with disgust and a rare desire to see the perpetrators brought to justice, publicly shamed, and given maximum penalties. While unlikely, he clung to the hope of a better future.