Chapter 2 #2
Adult Orcs were basically superhuman. Post-puberty, their immune systems were powerhouses, their healing rates nearly triple that of humans.
But then I hit a caveat, highlighted in bold like a warning.
"Pre-pubescent and elderly Orc populations show immune response and healing rates comparable to human equivalents. "
My chest tightened.
Another study, this one focused on pediatric Orc medicine, spelled it out even more clearly.
Young Orcs—before puberty hit around twelve or thirteen—were just as fragile as human children.
Maybe more so, considering most Orc settlements existed in medical deserts, cut off from modern healthcare, their immune systems naive to diseases humans had been vaccinated against for generations.
Ruka had said Ardin was six summers old.
Six. His body wouldn't have any of those miraculous Orc advantages yet.
He was just a little boy who'd been shot, sent home without antibiotics, without pain management, without any of the follow-up care that could mean the difference between recovery and sepsis.
The laptop screen blurred. I blinked hard and closed it.
The mountains stared back at me, their peaks sharp against the morning sky.
Somewhere out there, hidden in all that wilderness, was a six-year-old boy fighting an infection with nothing but his father's desperate hope to protect him.
A father who'd swallowed every ounce of pride to bring his son to people who'd treated him like something scraped off their shoes.
The decision didn't feel like a decision at all. It felt inevitable, like gravity.
I had to find them.
The shower ran hot enough to turn my skin pink, steam filling the bathroom until I could barely see my reflection in the mirror.
Good. I didn't want to see the doubt there, the voice asking what the hell I thought I was doing.
I dressed quickly—jeans worn soft at the knees, a faded sweatshirt that had seen better days, hiking boots.
Real clothes. Not the scrubs that now carried the stain of Nadine's cruelty like a bloodstain that wouldn't wash out.
My light brown hair hung in damp waves down my back until I twisted it into a ponytail, still dripping at the ends.
A swipe of mascara, a touch of lip gloss. That was all the armor I needed today.
In the kitchen, I went through the motions of making oatmeal, the routine comforting even if my appetite wasn't. Each spoonful felt like swallowing paste, but I forced it down anyway. Whatever came next, I'd need the fuel.
I was almost out the door when the gold caught my eye.
It sat on the hall table like a small, guilty sun, that misshapen nugget gleaming with obscene brightness next to my purse. In daylight, it looked even more valuable—raw and pure, the kind of gold that made people do stupid things. Fifty thousand, easy. Maybe more.
My fingers closed around it, the weight solid and warm in my palm. I could still see him dropping it on that counter, the quiet dignity in the gesture. Payment for services rendered—except the services had been cut short by Nadine's bigotry.
It wasn't mine to keep. But at least I'd kept it from her.
The church food pantry was always scraping by, or maybe the VA—God knew the veterans around here needed every penny they could get. I'd figure it out in town. At least something decent could come from that nightmare.
The gold went into my purse with a heavy thunk, settling against my wallet like an anchor. Like a promise.
The truck's engine turned over with a familiar rumble, and I pointed it toward Franklin.
Twenty minutes of winding mountain roads, the forest gradually giving way to scattered houses, then neighborhoods, then the cluster of buildings that passed for downtown.
The town was stretching awake—coffee shop windows glowing warm, shop owners flipping their signs to "Open," a few early birds already out running errands.
I knew exactly where I was going first.
Franklin Drugs sat on the south end of town like a time capsule, all weathered brick and old-world charm.
Kelsey had inherited the place from her father, and she'd kept everything exactly as it had been—the green awning that had faded to the color of sea glass, the hand-painted mortar-and-pestle sign creaking gently in the breeze, even the brass bell that announced every customer with the same cheerful chime it had rung for forty years.
I pushed through the door and breathed in that distinctive pharmacy perfume—antiseptic sharpness softened by paper and the ghost of penny candy from the jars Kelsey still kept by the register.
She glanced up from behind the counter, reading glasses sliding down her nose, dark blonde hair escaping its bun in wispy tendrils. The moment she recognized me, her expression cycled through surprise, pleasure, then landed on concern.
"Jordan? What are you doing here? Isn't this your off week?"
I crossed to the counter, scanning the empty aisles. Good. We were alone. "It is. Kels, I need to talk to you about something that happened last night."
The inventory sheet in her hands hit the counter. "What's wrong?"
The story spilled out of me like a confession. "They brought in a little Orc boy. Gunshot wound to the chest."
"Jesus." Kelsey's hand flew to her mouth. "Is he okay?"
"He will be. I got the bullet out, stitched him up, stabilized him." My knuckles went white against the counter's edge. "But his father—this big Orc who was trying so hard to hold it together—you should have seen him with that kid, Kels. The way he touched him, so careful. So gentle."
"At least he had someone who—"
"Nadine threw them out." The words tasted like poison. "Mid-treatment. Before I could give him another round of antibiotics, before pain meds, before I could explain wound care. She just... she looked at them like they were vermin. Like they were nothing."
Kelsey's jaw tightened. "That bitch."
"Yeah." The word came out soft. Tired. "She really is."
I yanked my prescription pad from my purse and snatched a pen from the cup on her counter. My hand moved almost of its own accord.
"What are you doing?" Kelsey leaned forward, watching me write.
"What I should have done last night." The pen scratched across the pad—amoxicillin-clavulanate, pediatric dosing for approximately six years old, twice daily for ten days.
Then a second script: acetaminophen with codeine, age-appropriate strength.
I signed both with a decisive flourish and ripped them free.
Kelsey plucked them from my fingers, her eyes scanning the prescriptions. A grin spread slowly across her face, sharp and conspiratorial. "You're going to find him."
"If I can."
"Give me five minutes." She was already halfway to the pharmacy counter. "We keep the pediatric formulations in stock."
I watched her disappear through the doorway, pulse thrumming in my ears. Technically, this was all above board—I had prescribing privileges, the scripts were legitimate treatment for a patient. But something about it still felt like rebellion. Like finally doing something that mattered.
Kelsey materialized in under four minutes, triumphant, a white paper bag crinkling in her grip.
"Antibiotics and pain relief, as ordered.
" She set them on the counter between us.
"Plus I threw in some sterile gauze, medical tape, antibiotic ointment.
You know, for all that wound care instruction you got cheated out of giving. "
The bag blurred slightly as I reached for it. "Kels, I—"
"Save it." But her smile was warm. "So how exactly do you plan on finding them? It's not like Orcs are listed in Google Maps."
"I called Sarah this morning. On the drive in." The bag was surprisingly light in my hands, considering the weight of what it represented. "Figured if anyone knew where the settlement was, it'd be her."
Sarah completed our little quartet—her, me, Kelsey, and Tori.
We'd collided at the hospital's Christmas festival my first month in Franklin, and somehow the four of us just clicked.
Sarah had roots here that ran deep; she'd left for law school only to boomerang right back, hanging her shingle and building a practice that served everyone in Franklin. And I meant everyone.
"Oh, that's good thinking." Kelsey's face lit with understanding. "She's represented some of them, hasn't she?"
"More than some, apparently." I fished out my phone, pulling up the directions Sarah had texted me.
GPS wasn't going to cut it for this particular house call.
"She gave me directions—said it's about an hour and forty minutes north, past White Oak Flats church, then onto Long Branch Road.
There's an old logging road that turns into an access road up the mountain.
She said once I'm on the right track, I'll know—the settlement's in a clearing near the ridge. "
The light in Kelsey's eyes dimmed, replaced by something more cautious.
"Jordan." She said my name like a question.
"Are you absolutely sure about this? Driving up a mountain by yourself to find a place most people in this town pretend doesn't exist?
" Her voice dropped, though the pharmacy was empty except for us. "You don't actually know these people."
"I know Ruka." His name came out softer than I intended. I could still see him in the ER—those massive hands so impossibly gentle with Ardin, the raw hope in his eyes when he looked at me. "And here's the thing, Kels. When he was around? I wasn't scared. Not even for a second."
"That's not really—"
"Listen." I caught her gaze and held it. "If I find out later that little boy got sicker, or God forbid... because I was too afraid to drive up a mountain? If something happens to him and I'm sitting here with antibiotics that could have saved him?" My throat tightened. "I'll never forgive myself."
She searched my face, and I watched the moment she recognized the futility of arguing. Her shoulders dropped. "You're going regardless of what I say, aren't you?"
"Yeah." The admission felt like relief. "I am."
Kelsey came around from behind the counter and pulled me into a tight hug. She smelled like the gardenia lotion she always used, familiar and comforting. When she pulled back, her hands gripped my shoulders.
"Promise me you'll be careful." Her hazel eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my chest tighten. "Text me when you get there. When you leave. Hell, text me every hour if you have to."
“You know there are no cell towers near the Orc Village,” I reminded her.
“Text me anyway,” she demanded.
"I will—"
"I'm serious, Jordan." Her fingers dug into my shoulders. "Anything feels off—and I mean anything—you turn that car around and high-tail it back down that mountain. Deal?"
The fierceness in her voice made me smile despite the knot in my stomach. "Deal."
She held my gaze a moment longer, then released me with a sigh that seemed to carry all her worries. "You're still driving up a mountain alone to find a settlement most humans think is the stuff of nightmares."
"I know." I lifted the pharmacy bag slightly, the weight comforting. "Thank you for this. For everything."
"Go." She made shooing motions with both hands, though her eyes were suspiciously bright. "Before I decide to barricade the door and hold you hostage with expired cough syrup."
I was halfway to the exit when I remembered. My hand dove into my purse, fingers closing around smooth, heavy metal. "Wait—one more thing."
The gold nugget caught the harsh fluorescent light as I placed it in Kelsey's outstretched palm, transforming into liquid sunshine against her skin.
"Holy shit." Her jaw actually dropped. "Is this—where did you—"
"Payment for Ardin's treatment." I kept my voice low, though we were alone. "I couldn't let Nadine get her claws into it. Can you drop it off at First Baptist?"
Kelsey's fingers curled protectively around the nugget, and something fierce and delighted sparked in her expression. "Oh, you beautiful rebel." She grinned. "I'll have it in Reverend Gunter's hands before lunch. With a bow on it."
“Make sure Reverent Gunter sends the thank-you note to Nadine,” I suggested waggling my brows.
“Oh absolutely,” Kelsey chuckled, her grin positively evil.
The tension in my shoulders finally eased. "You're the best."
"I know." She tucked the nugget into her pocket with a pat. "And you be careful."
I was smiling as I pushed through the door, the cheerful bell announcing my exit into the crisp morning air. The Orc village awaited, and despite the trepidation churning in my gut, I knew, without a doubt, it was the right move.