Amesbury, Day 1
Amesbury has never been on the mobile clinic circuit before, as they have a resident doctor -- arguably two, as Dr. Beyerle's senior assistant Sidris Hahn has had fifteen years of on-the-job instruction despite never having attended medical school. It's a small community; two doctors, or one and a half, is plenty for their day-to-day needs.
This would be too much for them even if Hahn were still alive, even if Beyerle weren't trying to ignore the aftereffects of half a dozen poison darts and the side effects of the antidote. And by the time Simon's shuttle lands, shortly after local sunrise, it's already been almost fourteen hours since the attack and Beyerle hasn't slept for more than four, and his junior assistant Whitaker hasn't slept at all. Simon's fresh, and bringing supplies, and Whitaker's voice cracks when he says thank God you're here.
His help isn't enough, as he knew it wouldn't be. There are still too many injuries, just too many.
Here a man with arms and legs and jaw broken, and ragged strips of flesh torn from his buttocks and shoulders. Here a woman with one calf gnawed nearly to the bone -- all of her the Reavers could reach in the cranny she found to hide. Here a boy of twelve who lies face down with his eyes locked open, minutely trembling, and doesn't make a sound even when they have to peel away the first hasty half-dried bandages from the horrific gashes along his back and sides.
River prowls the perimeter of the huge room they've set up as a surgical ward, silent and watchful. Kaylee stays close by and hands him instruments when he needs it, carries water and messages, talks quietly to patients waiting their turns, runs interference for their families outside, just as though this were any other stop on the circuit.
There aren't many deaths on the table or in recovery, at least. And even that's two-sided: there aren't many deaths now because most of the deaths happened before the Reavers departed, or shortly after. Before any help could get to them. Or shortly after.
He knows too much about Reavers to think that means it was quick.
About eight hours after their arrival, the flood of work has slowed to the point where they can finally persuade Beyerle to lie down for another four hours of sleep. By the time he returns, four hours having stretched into six, things have quieted down even further; some of the injured may even be able to go home tonight, to sleep in their own beds the best they can.
Beyerle's suggestion that Simon do the same is unexpected, but reasonable. He'd thought to stay overnight, but by this time it's becoming clear that returning in the morning will be enough. And the last thing he wants to do at this point is put anybody to the inconvenience of putting them up for the night.
And given how subdued Kaylee has started to look ... Simon has in mind to suggest to her that she might want to stay on Serenity tomorrow, and see to whatever strain the engines took in getting them here overnight.
They'll sleep in their own bed tonight; and he hopes he won't dream badly enough to wake her with it.
This would be too much for them even if Hahn were still alive, even if Beyerle weren't trying to ignore the aftereffects of half a dozen poison darts and the side effects of the antidote. And by the time Simon's shuttle lands, shortly after local sunrise, it's already been almost fourteen hours since the attack and Beyerle hasn't slept for more than four, and his junior assistant Whitaker hasn't slept at all. Simon's fresh, and bringing supplies, and Whitaker's voice cracks when he says thank God you're here.
His help isn't enough, as he knew it wouldn't be. There are still too many injuries, just too many.
Here a man with arms and legs and jaw broken, and ragged strips of flesh torn from his buttocks and shoulders. Here a woman with one calf gnawed nearly to the bone -- all of her the Reavers could reach in the cranny she found to hide. Here a boy of twelve who lies face down with his eyes locked open, minutely trembling, and doesn't make a sound even when they have to peel away the first hasty half-dried bandages from the horrific gashes along his back and sides.
River prowls the perimeter of the huge room they've set up as a surgical ward, silent and watchful. Kaylee stays close by and hands him instruments when he needs it, carries water and messages, talks quietly to patients waiting their turns, runs interference for their families outside, just as though this were any other stop on the circuit.
There aren't many deaths on the table or in recovery, at least. And even that's two-sided: there aren't many deaths now because most of the deaths happened before the Reavers departed, or shortly after. Before any help could get to them. Or shortly after.
He knows too much about Reavers to think that means it was quick.
About eight hours after their arrival, the flood of work has slowed to the point where they can finally persuade Beyerle to lie down for another four hours of sleep. By the time he returns, four hours having stretched into six, things have quieted down even further; some of the injured may even be able to go home tonight, to sleep in their own beds the best they can.
Beyerle's suggestion that Simon do the same is unexpected, but reasonable. He'd thought to stay overnight, but by this time it's becoming clear that returning in the morning will be enough. And the last thing he wants to do at this point is put anybody to the inconvenience of putting them up for the night.
And given how subdued Kaylee has started to look ... Simon has in mind to suggest to her that she might want to stay on Serenity tomorrow, and see to whatever strain the engines took in getting them here overnight.
They'll sleep in their own bed tonight; and he hopes he won't dream badly enough to wake her with it.