The Delta was dying.
His name was Harlan, though I only knew this because the soldier slumped against the wall beside him kept repeating it like a prayer. Harlan. Stay with us. Harlan.
Harlan did not appear to be staying.
His skin had gone beyond the mottled grey of the others– it was waxen, almost translucent, the veins beneath standing out in dark, sickly rivers. Each breath came wet and stuttering, and there were long pauses between them that made the room hold its own breath in response.
The blood-water was pooling uselessly on his chin. He could no longer swallow.
I looked at my hands. They were ordinary hands– small, calloused from cleaning, nails trimmed short. There was nothing about them that suggested miracles.
But I had felt it before. Twice. Each time, i
