The soldiers are marching again, with the heavy sound of drums quick to follow.
Everyone in the town who knows what is coming stays silent and tries to hide, praying that they won't stop here, in Woodson.
And it's every week now that they pick a new...
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For the first time in the week since I've got here, I can feel high tension in the air.
The women are fretting about nervously, busing themselves with something every moment in the medical tent such as getting supplies stocked and pushing recovered men out the doors.
With all of the commotion, I haven't gotten to see Andres as much as I'd like to, but I've recently met his newly acquired friend. His name is Ari, and he comes from a district west of Woodson. Also recruited from the draft, Ari is the same age as Andres, and they seem to get along well.
Glad that my brother has made a friend, I think to myself while my hands move under me on their own accord. I've become pretty acquainted with all of the supplies and what they do during my first week here, and so I don't doubt myself anymore as I redress a patient's wound.
Rumors from the nurses I gathered suggest that Other troops are coming soon, and we should start preparing beds.
"Attention!" Yells a general from far away outside the nursing tent.
At the noise, doctors and nurses peek their heads out of the tent, and once I finish dressing a knife wound, I also step outside.
The sun is high in the sky, but as I look forty feet to my right, Nation soldiers spread out onto the field in the wide area between the women's work area and the army base.
Nervously, I grab onto the edge of my pale brown blouse and wait for the news to come.
I already know what the Nation general is going to say, and it makes my stomach turn. Clearing his throat, the rude blond general from Woodson who, at least at the camp, is known as Hawk, walks up cockily to the front row of soldiers.
"All of you will be fighting tomorrow."
General Hawk pauses and scans the crowd - an animal trying to root out fear.
The hint of a smile on his face and his neat buzzcut glows like fire as he inspects us, waiting for a reaction.
Under pressure, the men are eerily quiet, as trained to be when their superiors are speaking. But beside me, the women here burst into frantic whispers.
Is Andres terrified right now? I wonder, scanning the lines of troops for a familiar face. My entire being is mixed with both anger and despair at the idea of Andres dying so suddenly.
All of the soldiers in line blend in with each other because of their matching green uniforms, so much that each individual body becomes blurry, morphing into one muscled machine.
I have to force my mouth shut to keep myself from calling out to my brother in the distance. The urge to protect him is always too strong.
Scooting closer to the mass of boys than the other women dare to venture, I find myself alone leaning against the edge of the medical tent, no emotion displayed on my pale face.
