A Great and Powerful Tyranny

One

THE MAN’S FEMUR WAS brOKEN CLEANLY IN TWO. UNCONSCIOUS, HE seemed more asleep than in pain, but there was enough blood seeping from the open wound, red muscles peeled back from the surgical cut, to turn stomachs. Luckily, Thia’s was made of iron.

Thia might have laughed under other circumstances, but her attention was too fixed to the procedure. Both mere high school students, she and Riley were stuck to the far wall, permitted to view but not interfere.

Dr. Bowen, the surgeon administering the procedure, held out a hand to the assisting doctor on her left. “Screws.”

Thia shifted her notebook and clutched her pen a little tighter. “Brace yourself,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

The assisting doctor eyed the wound with a grimace.

“We’re lucky there’s no damage to the femoral artery with that break.

” He paused and looked at the two medical interns—those who had actually completed med school, unlike Thia and Riley, who were part of an advanced, prospective pre-med high school program.

“What can you tell me about injuries to the femoral artery in relation to a broken femur?”

The intern closest to the table raised a hand. “Without proper treatment, a patient could bleed out in as little as three minutes, depending on the severity of the injury.”

The doctor nodded, and Thia scribbled the answer as quickly as she could. “He’s lucky. Working out in the fields, he didn’t have three minutes.”

The man had somehow managed to run himself over with his tractor while stopped to clear a fallen branch out of its path. It was an hour before someone had found him, and another to reach the hospital.

The surgeon raised her drill, and the doctor fell silent.

Beside Thia, Riley closed his eyes, blowing out a slow breath.

It was awful, the whine of the drill, high and grating as it dug into bone.

But that didn’t bother Thia. No, it was her mind that plagued her, reminding her of everything that could go abruptly and horribly wrong.

The surgeon could damage his nerves. The bones could fracture further from the surgical instruments.

She could hit that artery he was so lucky to still have intact.

Riley said Thia had a tendency to catastrophize, but then, someone had died in their first week. Her fears were entirely founded.

Then it was over. The screws were in place. Thia expelled a long breath as the surgeon began to close the wound. She hoped the bones weren’t misaligned. And that he stayed infection-free.

Riley slumped back against the wall, wearing a weary grin. “Remind me why I’m doing this again?” he whispered.

She joined him, the thick ridge of her mahogany braid cushioning her head as she leaned back a little too hard. “To save lives?”

He chuckled softly. “Right, that.” He rubbed his forehead, wiping away some of the shine.

The doctor dismissed them, and she followed her friend out the door and down the hall to the dressing room.

“So, for the bonfire,” Riley started, glancing back over his shoulder as she scrambled to keep up with his much longer legs. “Everyone’s meeting at nine. Pick me up?”

Thia chewed the inside of her cheek, smoothing her bushy locks, even though they were still neatly confined.

Riley lived for the bonfire—the welcome party their class threw every year during the first week back from summer holidays.

She, on the other hand, did not. She wasn’t shy, not with Riley by her side to smooth the way with his exaggerated charm, but most of her hobbies were the solitary sort, at her desk, with a computer.

The bonfire was something she’d agreed to when Riley told her she was going to die of a vitamin D deficiency, and she was inclined to believe him.

Topeka was a sunny city, but that was a moot point if you never went outside.

Now that it was upon her again, she was regretting saying yes. She had an extra credit report due in three days that she’d barely started. Not to mention her grammy hated when she went out late.

They reached the dressing room, and Riley held open the door, only to release it abruptly and fish a buzzing phone from his pocket.

“Hey,” she reprimanded, catching it just before it smashed her nose. “Asshole.”

He ignored her and brandished the screen. “Chelsea will be there.” Chelsea. Thia’s crush, if you could call it that, when they’d had a total of two conversations and she wasn’t even sure if the girl was gay.

“How’d you even find that out?”

He held the phone back up to his face, skimming the rest of the message. “I have my sources.” He tossed her a grin before twirling away to his locker.

She turned the key in her own and ran a hand over the photo of her parents she’d taped to the inside, as was her ritual.

Her mother was in a cap and gown, having just graduated medical school at the University of Kansas, vibrant red hair a splash against the navy fabric.

Her dad’s arm was slung around her waist, pale cheeks beaming a secret smile that foretold of the proposal he would make later that night.

They’d died only a few years after that.

Grandma Winnie always said it was the last day everything was perfect, save for when Thia was born.

She reached for her backpack as her own phone buzzed. She registered her grammy’s text, then caught sight of the time. “Shit.”

“What?”

Thia flew into high gear, peeling her scrubs off so fast she nearly tripped and shoving them into her locker.

“I’m late.” It was a sixteen-minute drive from the hospital to the job that actually paid her, a part-time gig shelving returns at Topeka’s biggest library. And her shift started in fifteen.

Swearing again, she slammed her locker door and shouldered her backpack.

“Bye,” Riley called pointedly when she hastened for the door without further comment.

She flipped him off over her shoulder and was rewarded with his laugh.

“And wear something cute for once!” he demanded, just before the door swung shut behind her.

She probably wouldn’t have time to go home and change between the library and the party. God. She resisted the urge to rub her forehead and pulled out her phone to read it properly as she sprint-walked for the exit.

Call me. Odd. Usually her Grammy was more loquacious.

Out in the parking lot, the sky was a bright blue. A classic August evening in Kansas, it was warm, though there was an unusually strong breeze. She brushed back a curl as it escaped her braid, before scooping her keys out of their designated spot in the outer pocket of her backpack.

Her car, a beat-up Chevy Sonic she’d bought second (or probably third, fourth, or fifth) hand, was one of the last in the lot.

She climbed in and hooked up her phone, preparing to call her grammy, when it rang, beating her to the punch.

But it wasn’t her grammy’s name that flashed with the first ring. It was her boss.

“Hi, Mr. Wilson.” Had she somehow gotten her schedule wrong? “I’m nearly there.” She turned her keys in the ignition and pulled out of the lot.

“No, no, don’t come in. That’s why I’m calling. Didn’t you see the storm warning?”

“Just finished at the hospital.”

“You work too hard, kid.”

“You could pay me more. Then I wouldn’t have to.”

He barked a laugh. After two years, they had a good rapport, and there was nothing Mr. Wilson loved more than dry humor.

“Would that I could, Thia. Would that I could.” A voice sounded in the background, too soft for Thia to make out the words.

Then Mr. Wilson added, “Anyway, I gotta go. We’re closin’ up early here, so get home and stay safe! ”

“Thanks, Mr. W—” He was already gone.

Storm warning. It must have been bad for them to close. That explained her grammy’s text. She used a gas station to turn around and commanded her phone to dial Grandma Winnie next.

Her grandma picked up on the second ring. “Dr. Sanbrooke! How was the shift?” Her voice had a unique blend of rasp and pep, like a cheerleader who smoked six packs a day.

“I watched Dr. Bowen’s femur fracture open reduction and internal fixation surgery. It went well, though Riley nearly upchucked.”

“Hey,” Grandma Winnie said with a distracted tone, letting Thia know she hadn’t registered any of her granddaughter’s comments. “You’re not heading to the library, are you?”

Thia turned right, leaving the density of the city center for the rolling greens and yellows of farmland that lay between urbanity and her home on Topeka’s outskirts. “No, they’re closing early.”

“Good,” her grammy said. “You heard about the storm.”

“Tornado?”

“Nah. But lightning probably. Some trees might come down.” Grandma Winnie paused, and Thia could make out what sounded like a box thudding against the ground. “I’m checking our emergency medical supplies.”

If there was no tornado, hiding in the cellar was overkill, but her grammy was weird about storms—likely a side effect of losing her only daughter to one.

She was probably already prepping the cellar to lock them in for the night.

It wasn’t a bad way to spend an evening; the space was renovated into a cozy hideaway set with sofas, a plush rug, and enough snacks to last until the end of days.

But if the power was out, Thia couldn’t do research for her report, and that meant she would just be sitting there, wasting time she didn’t have.

“Thia?”

“Sorry.” She hit the gas a little harder. “I’ll hurry.”

Thirty minutes later, Thia pulled into the driveway, wind rattling the decrepit shell of her car. She dashed for the house, only to be nearly blown back off the porch as a particularly strong gust slammed into her.

The front door opened before Thia could wrangle her keys, Grandma Winnie appearing in the gap. She must have been watching from the window. She ushered Thia inside with a tug on her arm and pressed the door shut. “Hey, sweetums.”