Accidental Surrogate for Alpha
Chapter 402

#Chapter 402 – The Children’s Tent Ella

There are dozens of children in this tent – maybe hundreds – and my heart breaks as I look them over. Each of the children is laying in on a medical cot, being tended to by a very tiny staff of medical and social workers who look run off their feet. “Oh my god, Isabel,” I murmur, my heart going immediately into my throat.

“Who are…who are all of these children…” “They’re the pups of the camp who are sick,” she says quietly. “Some of them have parents,” she says, nodding to a couple who are sitting quietly by their daughter’s bed, reading her a book even though the little girl can barely pay attention because she’s whimpering with pain. ” But a lot of them,” Isabel says, taking my hand and drawing my attention back to her, “a lot of them are alone.

The rest of the orphans have already gone to the adoption center in the city, but these ones -” “They need help,” I say, my voice tight, determined. “Yes,” she says quietly. And then she turns her eyes to Cora. “Can you…would you be willing to spend some time here? We can use all the hands we’ve got.” ” You’ll want both of us,” Cora says, turning to me to consult. And I nod to her, but turn back to Isabel first. “Are there children like this in the human camp as well?”

I ask quietly. “Yes,” she replies. “A tent as big as this, filled. Maybe bigger.” “Okay,” I say, my heart breaking. But that resolve in me that started earlier, it hardens. “Here today? The other camp tomorrow?” I ask, looking up at Cora, who twists her lips, judging the number of people in the room. “It depends on the severity of the cases,” she murmurs, crossing her arms. “What are you talking about?” Isabel asks, looking between us and then up at Conner, frowning. You’re about to see something very cool,” Conner replies, giving her a soft smile.

“But just… let them work. They’ve got their own system.” Isabel turns to me with a frown, but I just dip a little kiss to my baby’s head and then get started. Cora and I fall immediately into the routine we set up when we were healing the men in the bunker after their battles. She begins by speaking with one of the doctors about the worst cases and as I put Conner to work as a nurse – my old job going bed to bed and speaking to the children and their families (if they have them) with a notepad, noting those who seem most in danger or in the most pain. I move around too, mostly saying hello to people, letting them see the baby, getting the feel of the room with Isabel at my side to show me how things work. But that doesn’t last long, because Cora comes back to me pretty fast. “Come on, Ella,” she says, taking my hand and leading me to the far corner of the tent. “We need to act now. This one is…very bad.” And so we get to work.

The time slips by very quickly as we go from bed to bed, coordinating with the doctors and social workers already on staff to ensure that we’re doing the best work that we can in the short time that we have available. But generally, we fall into a pretty stable routine of me healing the children while Cora and Isabel consult to determine who is next. Conner takes Rafe while I heal, ensuring that he’s content when he’s away from me.

“He’s a really good baby,” Conner murmurs to me the fifth or sixth time that he takes Rafe from me and tucks him happily away in the crook of his arm. “He’s…very chill. I wasn’t expecting that.” “Well,” I sigh, smiling up at him, “Rafe likes his dad better than me and you probably remind him of Sinclair. You’re both…” I wave a hand towards Conner’s large, muscular frame, “gigantic and stuff. Probably thinks he’s right at home!” “I can’t believe that’s true,” Conner says casually, grinning down at Rafe.”

Everyone loves the Luna.” As if in confirmation, Rafe gives a happy little squeal and reaches out a hand to me, which I kiss. I look back up at Conner.” You’ll let me know? If he needs anything?” “Always,” Conner murmurs, giving me a little wink and stepping away with the baby, who tucks his face away against Conner’s chest, apparently getting ready for a nap. And so I turn my attention away, heading over to the little girl who looks up at me with wide eyes in a pale face. “Hi,” I say, smiling and sitting next to her, taking her hand. “What’s your name?”

“Leah,” she says, the word barely audible as it escapes through her cracked lips. “Well, Leah,” I say, smiling as I lean closer. “I know you’ve been feeling pretty badly lately, but I’m going to help you feel better, if that’s okay with you.” Slowly, Leah nods and closes her eyes, leaning back against her pillows. I squeeze her hand a little as I glance towards the empty chair next to her, my heart breaking as I consider that she has no parent to come sit with her.

But I brush my grief for this little girl aside, because it’s not going to do her any good, and then I close my eyes and access my mother’s gift, letting it sweep through me first and then into her, where I replace…quite a lot of damage done. “This one might take a while,” I say, feeling Isabel’s presence by my side. “That’s all right, Luna,” she replies quietly, and I smile a little to hear her say that name. “You take your time.”

Leah’s injuries are extensive she’s battered and bruised from her experiences either during the war or from her time here in the camp. But I also replace something…darker, deeper within her. I don’t know anything, really, about biology or what organs I’m sensing in her as ill (and I make a mental note to immediately get some books or take some courses on the subject) but it doesn’t really matter.

The gift, in its grace, can sense when something is wrong – and it knows how to fix it. I’m really, in all things, just the conduit. But as I put the gift to work, I’m so, so grateful to my mother for letting me be the conduit forthisparticular gift. It’s almost as if she knew it would bring me a personal joy to be able to help in this way.

It does take a long time for the gift to do its work, to heal a long lesion within what I think is – maybe? – Leah’s liver. And then, when that’s all patched up, the gift flows through her body and slowly knits up all the cuts and bruises on her and at the last works to gently eradicate what feel like…well, tiny little dots in her body, which are justwrong. Oroff.

I don’t know how else to explain it. When I finally open my eyes, I look down at Leah’s hand still in my own and smile to see that it’s already warmer than it was when I started. And I look up, my smile deepening when I see that she’s peacefully asleep, a little smile on her face. My heart squeezes as I hope that she’s dreaming, and that her dreams are wonderful.

“Okay,” I murmur, sighing and standing up, surprised to replace my body stiff. “Let’s let her rest.” I turn then and am a little surprised to see Isabel standing there, staring at me in shock. “What…” she mutters, “what did you just do?” “I healed her,” I say simply, giving a little shrug, understanding that it’s going to take her some time to comprehend. We told her about the Goddess’ gift before we got started but I’m well aware that it’s one thing to hear about it and quite another to see it work. “How long was I …out?” “Over an hour,” Cora snaps, striding over to us and giving me a little glare. “What?” I ask, my eyes going wide. And then I groan a little, because that’s…that’s way too long. If I spend an hour on each of these children…

“Well, if you’d simply did what I told you to do,” Cora says, glaring at me some more, “andjusthealed her liver- her body could have done the rest over the next few days, or we could have come back -”

“There’s no way,” I say, my voice shaking a little with emotion as I return Cora’s glare, “absolutelyno wayI was letting this little girl suffer for one more moment.”

“Well,” Cora says, opening her eyes wide and waving a hand to encompass the rest of the room. “You healed her, every little bump and bruise, and in doing so let all the seother children continue to suffer. Some of which reallyneedyou, Ella.”

And my heart sinks as I look around and realize that she’s right. My eyes snap back to my sister’s and the guilt overtakes me, knocking out my anger like a tidal wave as I think of every little kid in each of these beds, quietly suffering, waiting for me – And quite suddenly, I burst into tears.