The Toll {Book 2}

4. Rest- Ferdinand

We walked through a narrow hallway that dissected the building, passing by the large room where meals were served. It was empty at the moment, but I caught a glimpse of a kitchen and many tables set up with chairs, waiting for their occupants. My stomach roiled at the thought of food, but the ache in my ribs and ankle were stronger.

The boy passed by the doors without pausing, and pushed out through another door and into a shady courtyard. There was only a narrow gap between the squat building and the buildings behind it, and it was mostly paved over anyway. Trees grew in little circles of dirt, their branches stretching out and creating natural canopies for children to play under.

We crossed to a twisting staircase in the block of apartments directly behind the squat building. I counted three stories, and then the boy stepped off onto a landing and walked us down a hallway to a door about halfway down. Someone had painted the number 189 in sloppy yellow paint on the door.

The room was small and cramped, even without much furniture. A large stove sat in the back, taking up most of the space, and a curtain divided the room up. At the moment, it was drawn back and we were greeted with the sight of a family of six. They sat on cots pressed right up next to each other, and were playing cards. The children stared in open curiosity, but the parents tried to be discreet. I barely paid them attention as Nadia led me into the room and over to a cot.

Not being able to speak to us, the boy didn't linger for long. He disappeared into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. The family began to speak to themselves, drawing my gaze. They had the same tanned skin and dark hair as Nadia, but their language was no Rumonin. I guessed it might be the dialect of the nomadic people that lived near Prest, but I wasn't sure. At any rate, they didn't seem that interested in us at all, and the mother got up to whip the curtain closed between our two sides of the room.

"Are you comfortable?" Nadia asked, her delicate hands running over my shoulders and down my arms. I wasn't comfortable in the least, but I could tell her any lie in the book if it meant she'd stay close like this.

Unfortunately, a moment later the door opened and an older man with no hair stepped into the room. "Mr. and Mrs. Popov?" he asked in Rumoni.

Nadia stammered an affirmative as he marched across the small space between the door and us. With an air of authority, he pulled up one of the chairs that sat around the tiny table in the corner, and plopped it down in front of me.

"I am Doctor Hirom. The Committee informed me that you were injured in Rumonin?"

I bristled a bit at his brisk tone, but knew he was only trying to help. I relayed an abbreviated version of our escape. I told him of the flight through a broken window and over the perimeter fence, but left out any explanation of the injuries I'd collected while fighting for the Vigilant Men, or after I'd been arrested for desertion. Let him think all my injuries came from tumbling over the fence. I didn't want to admit my part in their bloody plan, and as much as the Flaunsians seemed to be helpful, the sight of those emerald uniforms on the bus had put me on edge.

My history was now mine alone, and I'd carry it with me into the grave with as few people knowing it's dark secrets as I could.

"Well, these ribs are broken," the Doctor said, after poking and prodding me. Each time he touched me, it burned in pain, but I tried to not to show much. I didn't want Nadia getting worried. The Doctor, as a result, didn't know to be gentle. "The good news is, they seem to be well on the mend. The ankle was merely sprained, and with some rest you should have use of it again. They will all be tender for a few months yet, but nothing that will impede you from your regular activities within a few weeks."