Doctor Mahfouz was always yammering on about how everyone had humanity in them. From Mahlia’s experience, the doctor was sliding high, but now, as she looked at this sergeant named Ocho, she wondered if there was some bit of softness in this hard scarred boy that she might be able to work.

She went back to the stitching. “How come they call you Ocho?”

He grunted as the needle plunged through his skin. “Took eight of the enemy. Knifed them all. They had guns, but I cut all their throats.” He touched the deep burn brand of the UPF in his cheek. Colonel Glenn Stern’s mark. “Got my full bars because of it. Legendary.”

The soldier boys who were gathered around all nodded. “Legendary eight,” they echoed. “Legendary.”

“How’d you do that?” Mahlia asked.

“None of your business, castoff.”

And just like that, the softness snuffed out. Whatever good had been there was gone, his voice turned hard and brutal as concrete. “Get your stitching done and quit your talk.”

“I—”

“I’ll fry your tongue in oil, if you don’t shut up. Cook it and eat it myself.”

Cold as bone, that fast. Just another killer with footprints of blood behind him, and a river of it ahead.

Mahlia ducked her head and focused on the job, suddenly hoping for nothing other than to be forgotten.

At last she and the doctor sat back. “There,” the doctor said. “You’ll mend.” Mahlia’s neck and arm were cramped with the work. It was awkward to share the labor this way, but it was the only way.

Ocho studied his closed wound. “That’s some tidy stitching.” He called out. “Hey, boys, look at me. All sewed up.”

Yeah. You’re sewed up. Now get the hell out so I can get the meds and get out, too, Mahlia thought.

If she could just get these warboys gone, she could still make her way back through the swamps to Mouse. Even in the dark, she had a pretty good sense of where he was waiting. She’d bring the doctor. They’d make the trade and Mouse wouldn’t die.

The lieutenant stalked over. “How you doing, Sergeant?”

“Right as rain.” Ocho dragged himself upright. Under his dark skin, he was pale, but he made it to his feet. “Ready to march.”

His leader shook his head sharply. “Sit down, soldier. We’re not going anywhere. We’re going to set up search patterns, base out of here. No reason to live in the swamps when we got this fat little town to feed us.” He set his hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “Now, where’s your antibiotics?”

Mahlia’s heart skipped. No. Those are mine. Mouse’s.