In case it wasn’t already obvious, Mr. Garço Broliguez had done an excellent job of making a desperate, chaotic situation even more so. The air resounded with human screams, on all sides. The nurses ended up operating on Mr. Broliguez in the middle of the garden, dragging him into the nearest tent where they set him down on a plastic cot and extracted the bullet from his stomach before sealing it up with wound epoxy.

It did not take much to convince everyone that we needed to bring Mr. Broliguez and his family into the hospital. I’d never seen healthcare workers so excited to see a man get shot in the stomach. Yes, he’d been a jerk, but that wasn’t what they were celebrating. No: they were thrilled that, finally, here was something that they knew how to treat, and could treat, and would. Beds and stretchers arrived on scene in moments, and I helped the very nurses Mr. Broliguez had been accosting carry the man—a husband and father of three—onto a bed to roll him off to Ward E for further treatment.

I managed to accomplish all this by declaring Nina and her family my patients. I’d already had Nina’s younger brother on the record as being one of my patients, and, being a member of Ward E’s CMT, I was fully empowered to claim the Broliguezes as my responsibility right then and there. (Truly, the perks of being a CMT member would never get old.) We took them into Ward E on the double. We managed to get all four of them—Nina, Garço, Nina’s older brother Quatémo, and her mother Miyali—in a single room: E17.

E17 was an example of what the staff was now calling “family rooms”. Because of the almost unshakeable conviction that there was nothing we could do for the Green Death’s victims, a policy (at first, unspoken, then, later, made official) had developed overnight, in which we devoted as many of our multi-bed rooms as possible to housing individual families, so that, when they died, at least they would be with their loved ones. Also, it was worth mentioning that, when families were together, they helped keep each other’s memories intact for longer than could be expected if the family member had been housed in separate rooms.

Though we wanted this to be a kindness—and, in many ways, it was—the fungus still managed to find a way to twist it into a cruel pain. Whatever comfort the dying felt in being surrounded by their loved ones was matched by the despair of having to watch their loved ones die in agony, one by one.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that some of the nurses and doctors were, with their patients’ permission, assisting them in committing voluntary suicide. I wanted to be angry with them for doing that, but I couldn’t bring myself to argue against it.

The patients were so scared. The pain was…

Ugh.

Let’s just say we were under inhuman amounts of pressure. The strain wore away at us, mind, body, and soul, to say nothing of the demands put on the hospital—its facilities and supplies. WeElMed had the good fortune of sitting atop not just a massive supply reserve, but also an industrial-scale matter printer facility, and still, the Green Death was brutalizing us at every turn.

It will never cease to amaze me that, even with zombies in the streets, people would continue to trickle into the hospital from all over the city. WeElMed had become more than a place of healing. It was now a house of farewells.

In hindsight, it was amazing that management—specifically, Director Hobwell—had lasted as long as it had. I couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been for the higher-ups to decide the impossible and choose how to allocate our ever-dwindling reserves of matter printer fuel-stuff. Which mattered more, having beds for patients, or analgesics to keep the pain from driving them mad? I guess that made me thankful that ALICE was now on the job. As far as I knew, she wasn’t capable of feeling guilt, so, in taking over the hospital’s administration, she spared our remaining superiors the pain of having to make the choices themselves.

While we were getting the Broliguez family situated—Miyali on a morphine drip, Garço and Quatémo on ventilators—I did something I probably shouldn’t have done. I let slip the fact that we would soon be testing out our experimental mycophage treatment for NFP-20. It hadn’t been an accident. It was entirely intentional.

I did it for Nina.

The way things were shaping up, it was only a matter of time before legend came to life and the world was swept up in battles of mythic proportions as the forces of Good and Evil warred over human souls.

Would there be dragons?, I wondered.

Only time could tell.

Knowing that, in all likelihood, Nina was going to have to walk in the Lass’ footsteps, and use her divinely granted powers to combat Hell and its legions, it was in everyone’s interest that she didn’t die. I mean, if the Godhead’s chosen could die, we were probably screwed no matter what we did, but, even then, I’d rather have the Blessèd on my side, alive—no matter how fragile they might be—rather than dead and in the grave. More help meant more souls saved, and when the alternative was eternal torment in Hell, bending the rules a little to save a girl didn’t seem like that big of a deal. As for the rest of Nina’s family, saving them was just icing on the cake.

I figured my soul (did wyrms even have souls?) could benefit from having a few more good deeds like that on my record.

Unfortunately, all of this was easier said than done.

For starters, it turned out that bureaucracy had outlived civilization. With ALICE running the show, the bureaucratic protocols embedded in her programming had free rein. Case in point: of the four Broliguzes suffering from Type One cases of the Green Death, only Nina and her mother were able to file requests to volunteer for the mycophage trials, because you had to be conscious to do to that, and Quatémo and Garço weren’t.

I helped Miyali fill out the necessary form on her console. It took all of five minutes, and, by the end, the woman was weeping with joy. She treated me like I was a Lucent, or maybe even the next Lassedite. Yes, there was still the matter of the protocol-mandated pre-trial check-up, but, other than that, everything was taken care of.

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All that remained was, well… Nina. I imagined she had quite the story to tell.

I know I did.

After we finished the paperwork, the good regard I’d earned from Mrs. Broliguez proved to be a big help when I pulled Nina aside to discuss what needed to be discussed. In any other situation, I imagined a mother in her position might have objected to a grown man like me pulling her daughter aside for a private conversation, but, fortunately, Miyali didn’t pry.

We stepped out into one of the corners of Ward E’s main lobby, disappearing into the edge of a sea of human misery.

At this point, I have to make a confession: I was becoming something of a pathological rule-breaker. You see, I hadn’t just sinned by blabbing about our secret experimental treatment (possibly also committing the arguably worse sin of giving Nina and her mother a false sense of hope). No, there was more.

It would be fair to say that my relationship with “The Rules” was approaching an all-time nadir. Though I would probably have to break quite a few more rules (or break a few, very unbreakable rules) before I finally hit rock-bottom, once I did—if I did–I imagined I’d make quite the splash.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

“What is it?” Nina asked, breathlessly, staring me in the eye.

“I made a promise to help your brother,” I said, “and as much as it pains me to admit it… I failed. Maybe in more ways than one.” I sighed. “A lot has happened since you were last here. To me. To everyone. And it involves you. To give you the gist of it, remember how I said you might be one of the Blessèd Chosen?”

“Come to guide the righteous to Paradise in the tumult of the Last Days?” she said.

I smiled—at least, as much as you could smile in a situation like this. “I see you’ve been studying,” I said.

And Nina smiled back at me, tears glinting in her eyes. “Like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Beast’s teeth…” I muttered.

What a choice of words.

I sighed. “Well, as I was saying… I’ve upgraded you from maybe being one of the Blessèd to absolutely being one of the Blessèd. And you’re not the only one. This goes far deeper than any of us could have ever known.”

That reminded me: I needed to arrange a private meeting between her and Dr. Horosha ASAP.

“So?” she said. “What else?”

I lowered my head in shame, but not before glancing at Andalon and staring her in the eyes.

She, too, lowered her head in shame.

Andalon could read my thoughts. She knew what thoughts were currently going through my head.

“No one asked me if I wanted to get pulled into this,” I explained. “I never got a chance to accept the offer of my own free will. It was just thrust into my hands.” I sighed.

I knew there was no point in dwelling on what-ifs, but habits like that were hard to shake. Darned hard.

“I let you down,” I said, “so, I figure I owe you, especially considering what you’re going to have to do in the near future.”

I thought back to the feats Suisei had done in our encounter with Ichigo and Yuta in their room. Who knows what kinds of miracles Suisei could teach Nina to use?

“So,” I said, “I’m going to give you a freebie. It’s something you derisive to know—to see for yourself.” I swallowed hard. “I’m going to take you to see Lopé.”

Nina’s eyes lit up at my words.

“He’s… he’s still alive?” she whispered.

“Yes, and,” I glanced at the door to the Broliguezes’ room, “I imagine it would help placate your father if you saw him for yourself. I might be a neuropsychiatrist, but you know your father better than I do. I figure you could do a better job of breaking the news to him than I could—though, if you ever need help, you know where to call.”

So, yeah, I was taking her to see Lopé.

If I’d been completely bereft of any scruples—i.e., if my name was Jonan Derric—I could have easily forged a positive Type Two test result in Nina’s medical record and used that as an excuse to have her transferred to Room 268. There was still some room left over. But that would have meant separating Nina from her family, and that… that I was not willing to do. So, I had to resort to Plan B.

I turned to Nina. “Stay close to me,” I muttered.

She tried to shoot out a deprecating laugh, but it drowned in a minor coughing fit. Dark stains splattered on the inner surface of the translucent F-99 mask I’d procured for her, but it wasn’t enough to stop her snark.

I bet she got that part of her personality from her Dad.

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere on my own anytime soon,” she said, flashing a bitter smile from behind her mask.

A nurse stared at us with bloodshot eyes as she rolled an occupied bed down the hallway. I didn’t need to use my mental abilities to replay the nurse’s tired stare to notice the fungal hyphae creeping across her corneas. Her body glowed with fungal aura as she passed through the dedicated spot of wyrmsight on my field of vision. She glowed like radioactive goop, straight out of a comic book, only rainbow-over-magenta colored, rather than electric green.

As we walked, I noticed—to my dismay—that Nina was getting winded, and so I stopped, leaning against a wall while I waited for her to catch her breath. For my own emotional benefit, I’d hyperphantasized a cowl and poncho over Nina’s blue and white hospital gown, and let imaginary oaks and elms grow from the walls of the hallway. The hallucinated scenery was purely decorative, but it lent the moment a much-needed sense of adventure. Standing in my hazmat suit, I felt like a grizzled mercenary hired to transport a magic child across a desolate, deadly landscape.

Andalon stared at it with wonder, quietly muttering, “Wowwww…” as she took it all in.

Nina looked around wearily. Her hyperphantasized cowl clipped through her forehead as she, though—of course—Nina neither saw nor felt anything.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked.

“You’re clearly getting winded,” I said.

“That’s no reason to stop,” she said, with a cough.

Up ahead, around the corner, an elevator dinged.

“It is when we need to high tail it to get into the elevator,” I said.

Blinking, Nina shook her head. “What?”

Though the fungus had yet to rob her of her memories, there was no doubt it was already eating away at her mental acuity. It was like her reactions were coming from behind a layer of fog.

After a second of thought—glancing around, sight and wyrmsight, and seeing no one nearby—I decided to risk using my powers. Weaving the metallic blues and golds of a pataphysical plexus around my hands, I made a pair of magic gloves for myself; basically, a pair of Gloves of Valley Giant Strength. Then, turning around, I grabbed Nina—my hands on her sides—and used the psychokinetic boost to lift her off the ground.

She moaned and yelped in the same breath.

“Sorry about this,” I muttered.

I waddled down the hall as quickly as I could, hasting my steps with little psychic pushes. I used my powers to push the buttons from a distance, and set the girl down inside the elevator as soon as the doors opened—and, mercifully, the elevator had been empty.

I pressed the button for the second floor. The hyperphantasia trees fell beneath us as the elevator rose. We passed from the vinyl of the forest floor to the vinyl of its leafy, sunlit canopies. Unreal birds twittered in the branches overhead.

Meanwhile, Nina was busy processing my magicked manhandling.

All things considered, she was doing a pretty good job.

The teenage girl had backed into the corner of the elevator. She braced her arms against the walls at either side of her, and had fixed on me with a bug-eyed stare and a mouth agape in shock.