Up close, he could see that the generator was in much worse shape then he thought. One of the panels had been smashed in with a sledge, causing the panel to grind against the motor as it spun. The wires were frayed, gasoline spurted into a puddle at the side, and something inside was smoking. Clarke placed his hand on top of the machine and used his knowledge of mechanics to repair it. Within seconds, the panels flattened, the smoke dissipated and the irritating grinding sound stopped. The generator looked brand new.

Clarke took a seat in front of it and crossed his arms, trying to get as comfortable as he could, but leaning against the noisy machine on the cold, hard ground didn’t make it easy.

“Don’t forget about me out here,” he called to the good doctor.

“I won’t,” she said, smiling. “And thank you so much for this! You have no idea how much this helps us!”

Doctor Hall ran back inside to continue her work, leaving Clarke with nothing to do but wait.

XXXXXXXX

Hours passed quickly. The advantage of Clarke’s age was that time held no real meaning to him. All he used to judge time was when he had to eat. Unfortunately, that time had long passed by, and Clarke’s stomach showed no sign of giving in.

“The things I sacrifice for strangers,” Clarke muttered to himself. Darkness was stretching over the horizon. All Clarke had for light were a few windows from the hospital. The only thing he had to keep himself occupied was growing grass in the dead earth around himself, then picking it blade by blade. He placed it in a pile before him, replicating his own scent. It kept him at peace.

However, that peace did not last long enough. As night rolled around, three thugs from a local gang approached the hospital generator. They all wore sagging jeans and had several stains on their undershirts, many of which were blood. One of them had a green bandana wrapped around his head and pushed himself to the front of the group like he was the leader.

“Well, this is some bitch-ass security here,” the lead thug said. “They put a homeless guy to defend the place?”

Clarke merely glanced up, not paying much attention to the thugs, but he kept an eye on them nonetheless.

“What’re you gonna do hero-man?” another thug taunted. “Piss youself ‘til we leave?”

Clarke was in something of a bind. If he approached the thugs, the generator might break down. The sudden degeneration that it would suffer when he moved away might cause further damage. However, if he did nothing, they might go inside and start terrorizing the staff and patients. In other words, he needed the thugs to all come to him.

“Lookit him!” the lead thug laughed. “Bitch is so scared that he can’t even talk!”