“We’re conducting a routine inspection,” he said. “Recent disturbances in this district.”
“I see,” I replied calmly.
“You’ve treated several bite victims,” he continued, fingers tapping idly against his belt. “All of them animal related.”
“Yes,” I said. “This is London. There are stray dogs everywhere.”
A faint smile ghosted across his mouth. “Indeed.”
They searched everything.
Every drawer. Every cabinet. Every wall seam.
They found nothing because there was nothing to find.
I was far too careful about that.
When they finally left, the clinic felt too quiet. Hollowed out. I locked the door and sat heavily in my chair, pulse finally catching up with me.
The next knock didn’t come until after dark.
It wasn’t the hesitant tap of a patient afraid to bother a doctor after hours. It wasn’t the firm, regulated rap of an official who already knew he would be let in either.
This knock was uneven. Rushed. Almost frantic. The sound of someone who didn’t have time to be careful anymore.
I froze with the pen hovering above the page.
The knock came again, a little faster. Then I heard the unmistakable scrape of someone leaning their weight against the wood.
I stood.
When I opened the door, a man fell inside.
He didn’t stumble inside. He collapsed, as if whatever had been holding him upright had finally given out the moment he crossed the threshold. I caught him by instinct, arms wrapping around a body already slick with sweat, the smell of fear and iron clinging to him like a second skin.
His pupils were blown wide, dilated until they swallowed almost all of the irises, leaving only a thin ring of color thatglared back at me in wild, unfocused terror. His breath came in harsh, rasping pulls, each one accompanied by a low, broken sound that scraped out of his throat. His hands clawed uselessly at his own chest and arms, fingers digging into skin as if he were trying to rip something out from underneath it.
“Help,” he gasped, the desperate word tearing itself free.
I slammed the door shut behind us and threw the lock, my heart already pounding hard enough to make my vision pulse. I dragged him farther into the clinic, boots slipping on the tile as he sagged against me, his weight feeling far heavier than it should have been.
“What happened?” I demanded, though part of me already knew.
“They kept us in cages,” he said, words tumbling out in a rush. “Like animals… Then they injected us with something. I don’t know what…”
He trailed off, shoulders shuddering.
My stomach dropped.
I guided him toward the examination room, easing him down onto the table. My hands moved automatically, checking his pulse, his temperature, the state of his mind.
“How long ago were you bitten?” I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady.
He swallowed hard. “Two days,” he whispered.
His pulse hammered beneath my fingers. It was too fast, too strong, like his heart was trying to tear its way out of his chest. His skin burned beneath my touch, heat radiating off him in waves that didn’t have anything to do with fever.
It was far too late.
