“We don’t have any,” the doctor said. “Don’t worry. It’s a clean wound. Very clean. There shouldn’t be complications. Everything was sterilized well. We used sterilized water and alcohol to swab it as we worked.”

The lieutenant jerked the doctor close. “You think I’m some dumb war maggot? Animal’s got dirty claws. Dirt needs meds.”

Mahlia cleared her throat. “I thought you said it was a pig.”

Quick as a snake, the lieutenant grabbed Mahlia and spun her about. He looped his arm around her throat, choking off her oxygen. The doctor cried out, but the other soldiers grabbed him and pulled him back.

“Ain’t you the hair-splitter?” the lieutenant said. “How ’bout I take you with us? Make you Ocho’s nurse? My sergeant lives, I might even send you back with that left hand of yours still attached.” His breath was hot on her cheek. “You like that idea? Or maybe I cut it off and string it around your neck. That way you still get to keep it close.”

Mahlia couldn’t breathe. The man had completely cut off her air. He lifted and her feet came off the floor.

“Or maybe I just stand here and feel you kick. I like it when a pretty girl kicks.”

Stars filled Mahlia’s vision. From a distance she heard Doctor Mahfouz begging. “Please. We only have a little, for true emergencies. It’s so difficult to acquire.”

“My soldier ain’t an emergency?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Get your meds, doc. Your girl’s running out of air.”

Beaten, Doctor Mahfouz scrambled up the ladder and into the squat. Only when he came down again, with pills in hand, did Lieutenant Sayle drop Mahlia to the floor.

She stumbled away, gasping, her hand on her throat. Air felt like fire as it sawed in and out.

The soldiers caught her and shoved her back toward where Sergeant Ocho lay. Mahlia fell to her knees beside the wounded boy.

Behind her, she heard the lieutenant say, “Dig in, boys. Get that perimeter secure. We’ll be here awhile.”

No.

9

INFECTION RAGED THROUGH Tool’s body like an invading army. Delirium hazed his vision. Darkness had overtaken the swamps. Cricket chirps and the high whine of mosquitoes filled the night.

Tool cracked his one good eye, observing the red-haired boy. Moonlight outlined his skinny form as he pried up a sharp stone the size of an egg.

Tool almost smiled. Human children were always the same. Ribs and hollows sewn together by the barest coverings of flesh. Scarecrows, begging to be torn apart and scattered to the wind, like grass dolls.

It didn’t matter what continent he fought on; it was always the same. This one hopped about like a pale, freckled grasshopper, checking every rock in the hopes of finding one that would bash in Tool’s head, but he was the same as all the rest.