"Gods ... are you sure?"
She nodded, her pale face drawn and solemn. The alarm had first been raised when the rash had appeared on the face of the boy now almost comatose with pain and fever. Not more than three hours ago, another child had begun to show the first signs of the same illness, and now the doctor they had called to Rose House had confirmed their worst fears.
"Completely sure," the young teacher said quietly. "Rose House has the pox."
*~*~*
Torn up inside, Ro lovingly drew the soiled sheet over the face of the latest victim to succumb. Over the last 3 months, they had lost five of their eight young charges to the ravages of the adapted smallpox virus which had taken root in the orphanage. Every time they thought they had everything under control, another of the little ones would go down with the disease. It was a wonder none of the staff had succumbed themselves.
They'd had no contact with the outside world since the disease had been confirmed. Doors and windows had been boarded up for three months; not even the members of the Rail had been allowed in to see how things were progressing. For three months, only Ro and Beni had been shut inside with the sick children, unable to leave even if they had wanted to.
Food was left for them in the hidden basement, along with notes from their friends and loved ones. They had not dared to send anything back, for fear of releasing the horrific illness into the city. If that was allowed to happen, there would be no going back - the hospitals and clinics would be overwhelmed as the population of the city decreased by anything up to 62%, at the mercy of a virus that should not have re-emerged at all.
It was heartbreaking to be in here, to hear the sounds of the Shambles outside quiet as the people passed Rose House on the far side of the street. Everyone knew that the pox was here ... it would be a long time before anyone even considered visiting the orphanage, much less allowing their children to come to school here. She didn't hold out much hope for any adoptions anytime soon.
Beni reached over and squeezed Ro's hand gently.
"Get some sleep," she said quietly. "I can lay him out myself."
Ro opened her mouth to disagree, to point out that Beni was as worn-out and stressed as she was, but there was nothing to argue. She had laid out two of the children by herself only a few days ago, and she trusted Beni to give this little one the dignity he'd been denied in his last hours of life. Wearily she nodded, pausing just long enough to kiss the covered forehead before she left the room.
The house was so quiet. It was eerie, unpleasant, wrong. Even though those children who had survived the disease were so young, they were cowed by the sickness that had taken their friends and companions, by how terse and business-like she and Beni had had to be in order to care for them all. Penelope, Seren, Phineas ... only three survivors from a house that had been filled with laughter and healing and happy children before Christmas.
Ro collapsed into one of the chairs in the common room, fingering the familiar furniture as her throat tightened. Everything would have to be replaced before they could be given the all-clear - furniture, fittings, carpets, curtains, clothes, everything. And before the new could be brought in, the whole house would have to be disinfected from top to bottom to a standard that the doctors over at the Shambles Clinic would approve of. Then, and only then, could they reopen their doors, and try to rebuild from this chance disaster.
Even from here, she could hear Beni singing quietly as she cleaned and clothed the little body, soft voice harsh with weariness and heartache. Neither of them had even seen anyone but one another since the pox had broken out, though they had recieved letters from their friends with each delivery of fresh food and supplies. But a letter wasn't enough. Ro missed the companionship of her friends, the simple comfort of a hug or a smile. As much as she loved the children, each time she looked at them now she felt a little piece of herself die. These three, these precious three, were proof that she was not good enough at what she did - there should have been more of them left to greet the world now that the pox had passed.
They'd bury Samuel tonight, in the garden with the others. Thankfully, their shouted conversations with the priest across the road had convinced him to consecrate the ground from the neighbouring balcony, and he had been speaking prayers over each new grave as it appeared. But tonight would be hard.
Tomorrow, the real work would begin - the burning of everything contaminated by the virus, followed by the scrubbing with that sickly sweet-smelling disinfectant of every surface in the place, be it visible or not. From the secrecy of the attic and the basement, right through to the schoolrooms, the bathroom, the bedrooms, the kitchen. And then they would have to scrub themselves, and the children, and hope that the Rail remembered to leave them fresh clothing, mattresses and bedding with the next delivery.
Once that was done, a doctor could be called to inspect the premises and the survivors, and if they were very lucky, they would be given the all-clear. And then life could begin again. But for now ...
Ro gathered a cushion to her chest, curling up as tightly as she could. She didn't dare let the children hear her, but some things just couldn't be held in forever. Alone in the empty common room, with nothing to hear but the quiet sounds of a friend preparing the body of a boy not yet five years old for burial, Rowena Millard mourned all her lost children in bitter, penitent rage.
http://i849.photobucket.com/albums/ab51/RhyDinLittleTheatre/Rose%20House/Grief.jpg
She nodded, her pale face drawn and solemn. The alarm had first been raised when the rash had appeared on the face of the boy now almost comatose with pain and fever. Not more than three hours ago, another child had begun to show the first signs of the same illness, and now the doctor they had called to Rose House had confirmed their worst fears.
"Completely sure," the young teacher said quietly. "Rose House has the pox."
*~*~*
Torn up inside, Ro lovingly drew the soiled sheet over the face of the latest victim to succumb. Over the last 3 months, they had lost five of their eight young charges to the ravages of the adapted smallpox virus which had taken root in the orphanage. Every time they thought they had everything under control, another of the little ones would go down with the disease. It was a wonder none of the staff had succumbed themselves.
They'd had no contact with the outside world since the disease had been confirmed. Doors and windows had been boarded up for three months; not even the members of the Rail had been allowed in to see how things were progressing. For three months, only Ro and Beni had been shut inside with the sick children, unable to leave even if they had wanted to.
Food was left for them in the hidden basement, along with notes from their friends and loved ones. They had not dared to send anything back, for fear of releasing the horrific illness into the city. If that was allowed to happen, there would be no going back - the hospitals and clinics would be overwhelmed as the population of the city decreased by anything up to 62%, at the mercy of a virus that should not have re-emerged at all.
It was heartbreaking to be in here, to hear the sounds of the Shambles outside quiet as the people passed Rose House on the far side of the street. Everyone knew that the pox was here ... it would be a long time before anyone even considered visiting the orphanage, much less allowing their children to come to school here. She didn't hold out much hope for any adoptions anytime soon.
Beni reached over and squeezed Ro's hand gently.
"Get some sleep," she said quietly. "I can lay him out myself."
Ro opened her mouth to disagree, to point out that Beni was as worn-out and stressed as she was, but there was nothing to argue. She had laid out two of the children by herself only a few days ago, and she trusted Beni to give this little one the dignity he'd been denied in his last hours of life. Wearily she nodded, pausing just long enough to kiss the covered forehead before she left the room.
The house was so quiet. It was eerie, unpleasant, wrong. Even though those children who had survived the disease were so young, they were cowed by the sickness that had taken their friends and companions, by how terse and business-like she and Beni had had to be in order to care for them all. Penelope, Seren, Phineas ... only three survivors from a house that had been filled with laughter and healing and happy children before Christmas.
Ro collapsed into one of the chairs in the common room, fingering the familiar furniture as her throat tightened. Everything would have to be replaced before they could be given the all-clear - furniture, fittings, carpets, curtains, clothes, everything. And before the new could be brought in, the whole house would have to be disinfected from top to bottom to a standard that the doctors over at the Shambles Clinic would approve of. Then, and only then, could they reopen their doors, and try to rebuild from this chance disaster.
Even from here, she could hear Beni singing quietly as she cleaned and clothed the little body, soft voice harsh with weariness and heartache. Neither of them had even seen anyone but one another since the pox had broken out, though they had recieved letters from their friends with each delivery of fresh food and supplies. But a letter wasn't enough. Ro missed the companionship of her friends, the simple comfort of a hug or a smile. As much as she loved the children, each time she looked at them now she felt a little piece of herself die. These three, these precious three, were proof that she was not good enough at what she did - there should have been more of them left to greet the world now that the pox had passed.
They'd bury Samuel tonight, in the garden with the others. Thankfully, their shouted conversations with the priest across the road had convinced him to consecrate the ground from the neighbouring balcony, and he had been speaking prayers over each new grave as it appeared. But tonight would be hard.
Tomorrow, the real work would begin - the burning of everything contaminated by the virus, followed by the scrubbing with that sickly sweet-smelling disinfectant of every surface in the place, be it visible or not. From the secrecy of the attic and the basement, right through to the schoolrooms, the bathroom, the bedrooms, the kitchen. And then they would have to scrub themselves, and the children, and hope that the Rail remembered to leave them fresh clothing, mattresses and bedding with the next delivery.
Once that was done, a doctor could be called to inspect the premises and the survivors, and if they were very lucky, they would be given the all-clear. And then life could begin again. But for now ...
Ro gathered a cushion to her chest, curling up as tightly as she could. She didn't dare let the children hear her, but some things just couldn't be held in forever. Alone in the empty common room, with nothing to hear but the quiet sounds of a friend preparing the body of a boy not yet five years old for burial, Rowena Millard mourned all her lost children in bitter, penitent rage.
http://i849.photobucket.com/albums/ab51/RhyDinLittleTheatre/Rose%20House/Grief.jpg