Five packs of antibiotics sat inside the splintery drawer of my wooden desk; and it stared back at me with as much despondency as I had been feeling the past few months. I knew it would hurt to peek, but peek I did towards the ratty calendar—hanging on by the remaining lifeforce of a rusty nail. Two days ago, I gave up marking the passing days. It has now officially been three weeks, inching towards a month, since the scheduled supply delivery from the Capital. While this was not the first time they had been tardy, it has never been delayed for this long before.
I snatched one pack before my shaky breath could manifest into hesitation, although my momentary pause was more than enough for Mr. Douglas to notice something’s wrong. Probably because there was nothing else to focus on in this room except for my wobbly desk and the unnerving lack of windows.
“Y’know these new city medicines make my stomach all funny, I don’t think I want to keep taking ‘em anymore, Doc.” He said with an attempt at a toothy smile despite the clear lack of such.
“But I know how much it helps with your back problems.”
“I’m gettin’ old, I don’t need them fancy new pills.”
“Just take this one pack, for the last time, how does that sound?” I shot him a pleading smile hoping he’d let it go, and when he dropped his shoulders I knew he would.
“S’alright then. How ‘bout I take ‘em if you give Martha a ‘lil visit?”
My heart panged at the bargain. Mr. Douglas’ family had been the first ones to welcome me to the village and had been trying to constantly feed me ever since. They have so little yet always offer so much.
”Sure.” I answered with a tight lip.
He shoved the pack of antibiotics in his pocket before putting his straw hat back on and tipping it towards me. I walked him out of my makeshift clinic and watched his silhouette disappear past the thinning rows of cornfields. Agriculture was already growing sparse when I moved here but the lack of crops has started to become even more apparent than it did before.
Nobody really notices the creeping threat of famine until harvest becomes scarce and at that point, it would already be too late to do anything. I was no farmer, and I had grown up in the city center my whole life. So the only support I could offer the struggling village is to heal its people of their ailments.
Before I could even close the door, I heard the sound of metallic boot steps coming from the other side of my outpost. I stepped outside to greet the only person who I know it could be:
“Good morning, Sir Garrison.” I greeted in anticipation with forced mirth.
“Commander. Commander Garrison.” He corrected me, “And I wish I could say the same thing, Miss Cohan, but if I am not mistaken, I think I just saw Frederick Douglas leave your clinic despite me telling you to stop seeing him.”
Doctor. Doctor Cohan. I say in my head because at some point I had gotten tired of correcting him. Usually, I had a tendency to flinch at his harsh tone, but his current disposition distracted me enough to not cower.
I noticed the bags under his grey eyes more prominently than before, his skin blemished with stress, and his usually clean-swept hair had just the tiniest strand out of place. He may not look entirely worn but it was a noticeable distinction to his usual state. He had always carried himself with the highest of standards, which could only mean that the stress of recent events are starting to affect higher ups.
“I apologize, Si–I mean, Commander. But this will be the last time.” I was uncertain whether I was trying to convince him or myself.
“Were you, under the orders of the Capital, told that you had to provide aid to the villagefolk or were you told to be a stand-by surgeon for injured soldiers?”
I slowly inhaled a deep breath since he refused to drop the hard-ass persona—there was no point in arguing. “The latter.”
“Then act like it.” He enunciated the command with a resolute step, his narrowed eyes making me feel even smaller under his judging gaze.
“Yes, Commander.” Just when I thought the conversation was over, he welcomed himself into the clinic and sat on the patient chair. I followed quickly behind him.
“Is there anything else you wanted to talk about, Commander?”
“Close the door, we have more important matters to discuss.”
I promptly followed his orders and stood in front of him. “Is there another issue of sorts?”
“I–” He hesitated. The first time I had seen him do so. “I am uncertain whether there will be another supply delivery from the Capital.”
I had already been expecting this sort of news, it was already a reality–one I was eager to ignore–but hearing it materialized into words made my breath stop for a second. It felt like the world was in a standstill, and at first, I was able to delude myself into thinking that was just how drab farmlife was.
But hearing the news from a man who knows nothing else but to be a stickler meant I was forced to face the misfortune that lay in waiting. “How are the conditions there, will we ever be able to manage?” I asked instinctively, a nervous tremor took over my hands.
“The Capital can barely keep themselves afloat, much less keep sending support to remote villages. We will have to make do with what we have. I don’t have an answer for you. You stick to your duties, and I stick with mine.”
“But how would I be able to help everyone if we do not have the proper materials and supplies?”
The storm in his eyes came back at full force, it was as if he refused to wallow in moments of weakness. “Well, perhaps, if you could remember who you are supposed to be helping, you would not be stuck in a dilemma of your own design.”
His last words stuck to me like a stubborn sap. Who am I to be the judge, jury, and executioner of people’s lives? I had always believed that everyone deserved help. Now, my arm’s being twisted as I am constantly forced to discriminate.
He straightened himself off the chair, not even a momentary pause to collect himself. As if all he needed was a single switch to spur himself back to action. Whilst I have never been fond of his crudish demeanor, a part of me respected his work ethic as fellow professionals who vowed to uphold our civic duties.
I gave myself a light smack on the cheek, the sting helped clear my head of the thoughts threatening to take over. Out of habit, I grabbed a pen and paper to air out my feelings to the one person I knew would always understand.
Doctor Molloy,
I had been told that a remote transfer was what I needed to be a better practitioner. While I still cannot understand the purpose of such a transfer, I have found myself being called upon for the same purpose that I had felt as a physician in the Capital. The people here need me for I am the only one they have left to vouch for their safety. The Capital has turned its back on the same people that carry the burden of providing for the city.
Our resources grow sparse while the situation stays on its grim tracks. I know this may be an incredulous ask, but I hope to ask for your support in my endeavors.
Much respect,
Doctor Cohan
The rest of the letter is filled with empty pleasantries because they go nowhere else but to the growing pile of sealed envelopes on the corner of my desk. Commander Garrison had made it clear on my first day that I had no way to send communication to the Capital.