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“I don’t understand…”
“Have you been living under a rock? Gang violence, my dear. Lots of innocent people are getting hurt. The police can barely get a lid on the situation.”
“I’m sorry, but… Whose territory am I in?”
The woman blinks at me, suddenly suspicious. “This business is under the protection of the Antonovs. Youarewith the Antonovs, are you not?”
I nod furiously, hope blooming within me. “Yes. Yes, I am!”
“Come,” she says hastily. “I will take you to see Dr. Chekov.”
She moves quickly, closing the front door to the convenience store and locking it. Olga flicks off the light and flips the sign toSorry, We’re Closed. She ushers me to the back entrance. “Move, move! There’s no time.”
It’s honestly a miracle I don’t pass out on her. I’ve pushed myself to the limit. Between the blood loss and the hunger, I’m surprised my legs haven’t folded out from under me.
As we make our way through the cramped streets, I’m recognize the havoc around me. The blaring wail of sirens are never ending. There’s a noticeably jittery quality to all the pedestrians we pass. Several shop windows have been shattered, a few of them boarded up, while others have been left in shambles. It’s a war zone, nothing but destruction and chaos.
“Here it is,” Olga says, waving me over. The two of us stand outside a small clinic, its outsides painted a dull grey. It doesn’t exactly strike me as a doctor’s office. If I’d been passing by on my own, I’m sure I would have missed this place entirely.
I knock on the glass of the door, huffing and puffing. I can barely see straight. “H-hello?” I call out.No answer.
Olgra frowns. “How strange. She’s not supposed to be closed for another two hours.”
“Is the doctor still here?” I try again.
“I’m sorry, I’m closed!” I hear a woman’s muffled voice from the inside.
“Please, I… I really need to see a doctor. It’s an emergency.”
I’m not sure how long it takes, but the door eventually opens. A woman with light blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes peeks out, her brows knitted together into a frown. “I’m sorry, but if you need medical attention, you’ll have to—” She spots my bloody shoulder, the messy state I’m in. “Good God, what happened?”
“I need… Please, I just need…”
She ushers me in hurriedly, supporting my good arm. “It’s going to be okay. Let’s get you to the exam room. Just keep breathing slowly for me, alright?”
“Alright.”
“This is where I leave you,” Olga says. “Good luck, my dear.”
“Thank you so much. I won’t forget this kindness.”
“What’s your name?” the doctor asks me as she helps me inside.
“Alina.”
“Nice to meet you, Alina. I’m Dr. Chekov. Natalya.”
“Pretty,” I mumble, so loopy my voice sounds foreign to my own ears.
I let out a massive sigh of relief when I’m finally able to lie down. The examination table is covered in some sort of foam, a thin sheet of paper rolled over the top for sanitary purposes.
“I need you to take your shirt off, Alina,” Natalya says. “So I can take a better look at the wound.”
I do as she asks. I don’t have the energy to argue or worry about looking suspicious. She helps me peel my shirt up and over my head, the fabric sticking to my shoulder.
“How did this happen?” Natalya asks me.
I chew on the inside of my cheek. I’m not sure what I can and cannot tell her. “Olga said you don’t ask questions.”
