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bathroom, behind the door...and a mop, too.”
    Heddi decides at least to pretend that these are hallucinations, although by now she’s onto herself. Denial has always been one of her best defenses. It’s starting to look like this will be one of those times when it will be completely ineffectual against circumstances.
Sophia
    The room’s beginning to reanimate. Women are moving, all around, looking white and shaky but otherwise fit. There seems to be consensus that, for the moment at least, danger has passed them by – although Sophia cautions them to speak very softly.
    She looks around to see what needs doing next and what materials she’s got to do it with.
    Her eyes meet with the fat woman’s with the broom. “Is there a way to boil some water?”
    “There’s a microwave by the sink.”
    “See if you can find some way to get me hot water. Then bring me that package of clean sponges and those rags that are in the bathroom.
    “Is there any sugar here?” she asks to the room in general.
    Pearl whips over to the table at the back of the room like a crow dive-bombing a dead gopher. She lashes out with one claw and from among a motley assortment of instant coffee and creamer jars, napkin holders and salt-and-peppers, pulls the little white plastic cubic box ubiquitous to all public places, with its hoard of sweetener packets.
    “Rat here. I gots it rat here,” she caws victoriously.
    “Look and see if there’s any sugar in it. We can’t use sweetener. Only sugar.”
    A look of consternation flies across Pearl’s face. She moves toward Sophia, proffering the box, saying, “You better look fer yersef.”
    But Sophia’s already turning away toward the couch, where her patient is still unconscious. “Just give me the sugar,” she says again over her shoulder, “and leave the rest.”
    The woman with the long auburn hair is still at her post, holding pressure front and back, weeping soundlessly. She’s in an awkward position and Sophia knows that she’s probably already exhausted by it. She puts her hand on her shoulder, saying, “You can stop now. I’ll need to be where you are for awhile.”
    The woman rolls to the right without hesitation and crouches there, watching Sophia’s every movement – either too stunned to move, or waiting to see what further service she can provide.
    Sophia peels the blood-saturated scarf from the wound. Edema has already set in. What was a round, ragged hole minutes ago is already swelling and puckering like a pursed and bruised mouth. The blood flow, front and back, has eased to a slow seeping.
    “I’ll need that water, as soon as possible,” she calls over her shoulder.
    “It’s heating. Just 30 seconds more.”
    She uses the time to assess her patient’s vitals: the pulse is weak and fast, but steady. If Sophia can get her patched up, she’s pretty sure she’ll make it.
    A fat white hand reaches over her left shoulder, holding a Pyrex bowl of steaming water.
    “Dip one of those clean rags in it,” Sophia says.
    She hears her set the bowl on the floor, a tussling of plastic as she rips open the bag of cleaning cloths, and a splash of water being wrung out. Then, the fat white hand is there again, holding a steaming cloth.
    “I’ll need another.” Sophia bends closely over the patient and begins wiping away the blood, clearing the field of operations. When the rag is saturated, she throws it on the floor and reaches for another – and then another. They go through five rags before she’s satisfied.
    “Now, tear off pea-sized pellets of clean sponge and dip them in water. Then, sprinkle them heavily with sugar.”
    Sophia turns to watch her tear the sponge. “No, too big. Here...like this. This size. Dip it. And then... where’s that sugar? Pearl? Where’s the sugar?”
    Pearl approaches like a frightened vizier before a potentate, bowing and proffering as she comes. The cube of sweetener packets is in her wizened hands.
    “Just give me the sugar,”