Chapter 13
“This is the infirmary?” I frowned as we wheeled Mark into the room and I got a good look at it. This place wasn’t sterile; there was no operating table.
It wasn’t a surgical suite.
“Yes,” Femme said shortly. She was at the lone sink, scrubbing her hands and forearms.
The infirmary was a small room, made even smaller by the inclusion of the bed where Reuben lay, still unconscious. The bed was shoved up against a wall, and an oxygen mask connected to the reserve tank mounted on the wall covered the lower portion of his face. De Becque hovered over him, smoothing a hand over Reuben’s hair and whispering in his ear.
“Pierre.” Femme didn’t bother glancing in his direction. “You’re not helping Reuben. Go see how your people are faring. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
For a second, de
