October 21st, 1971

Maes didn't sleep the rest of the night. He had picked up his mother's third gun, and kept watch with her and Nikolaos and Roy. Théa, despite insistence otherwise, fell back asleep from sheer exhaustion, and Maes had been glad that Elena managed to doze. Rochelle could hardly stay awake.

Dawn's first light was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, as everything outside the tent turned to soft grey, then green again instead of pitch black. The sounds of morning birds heralded that all had to be well in the area now. So they ventured out of the tent, to see if they could find Engelo, calling out every so often to see if he responded.

"Over here," a strangled voice came from Maes' right as he edge his way carefully around the clearing behind the tent. It was Nikolaos.

Maes followed the track through the brush to where Nikolaos stood, about fifty yards off, down by the stream. Riza was there too, gun at the ready, though there was no sign that the predator was still nearby. He had heard about jaguar kills, but the sight was more gruesome than even he had considered. Jaguars crushed the skull in their jaws, and apparently this one didn't mind the taste of human flesh. Large tracks in the mud by the stream only confirmed that they were dealing with a jaguar; a big one.

"A man-eater," Nikolaos choked out, his face having gone ashen and a little green.

"What, did you find him? I-" Théa burst upon the scene and then stopped dead, and squeaked. "Oh my god! That's…" Her eyes went wide and backed off quickly.

"Go back to camp," Maes told his daughter firmly. "Go with Grandma. We'll take care of this. Send Roy."

With the three of them, they managed a quick, deep burial, and then washed any trace of the blood from themselves. Then they returned to the camp.

"I'm sorry about your uncle," Roy said softly to Nikolaos.

Nikolaos nodded, then took a deep breath. "We can't stay here," he said. "If there's a man-eater in the area, he'll come back. The best thing we can do is keep moving, stay together, and get back to civilization as quickly as possible."

"Should we turn around?" Théa asked fearfully.

Nikolaos shook his head. "We're closer to our destination than when we started, and they didn't have any kind of doctor back there. Rochelle needs a doctor, and we have an identifiable threat on our trail."

"How identifiable?" Maes asked.

"One of the prints had a mal-formed toe," Nikolaos replied. "Front right paw, the outermost toe is missing its claw. It may have been ripped out in a fight, or it might have been born that way, but at least if we find other prints we can identify him."

"If we find other prints doesn't that mean there are more jaguars?" Théa gasped, breathing heavily.

Elena rubbed their daughter's back soothingly, though it seemed to be having little effect.

"Not all jaguars are man eaters, though many will kill, yes," Nikolaos sighed. "They kill for pleasure, as well as food. That's why we need to keep moving."

Camp was packed in record time, and they set out following the stream towards their destination since, for the moment, it went the same direction.

Maes laid a hand on Nikolaos' shoulder as he led the way. "I am sorry," he said softly. "Your uncle was a good man."

Nikolaos offered him a cheerless-smile. "My uncle should never have been taken. He was very wise in these trees. The Jaguar must have known that he was the treat… I know what my aunt will say when we get back. She will say… "I told him he needed to go on a diet.'"

Edward stifled a yawn as he sat in the mess tent, drinking coffee and eating a steaming bowl of oatmeal heaped with brown sugar and dried fruit. One thing about this mission, for the Amestrians helping out at least on the border, the food was far better than his last military campaign; or any military campaign for that matter.

"You'd think you were working hard or something," Winry chuckled as she watched him.

Ed shrugged. It was only his second bowl. "You'd be surprised how much alchemy I've been doing. I don't think there's a broken, leaking, torn, or even battered item left the main part of the refugee camp. Yesterday I got asked to help repair two of the mobile medical unit vehicles." He had now been forbidden to help Ethan with his work, since Ethan had been assigned directly to the quarantined unit as the only alchemical doctor currently in the area. They really need to get more trained, he thought, not for the first time.

"And you wish you were more help with people," Winry commented softly, looking across the table.

"Yeah, I do." Ed sighed and took another bite. He had been forbidden from going anywhere near the quarantine area because 'senior citizens are more susceptible.' Senior citizen?

"We all do," Al agreed as he joined them. He had been doing much the same as Ed, only heading out in a separate direction, so they could cover more of the camp. "So where are the kids this morning?"

"Coran and Gale left before you got here," Winry replied with a chuckle. "They'd already been up and were eager to get to work."

"I miss that energy," Al chuckled as he dug into his oatmeal.

"Speaking of energy," Ed paused, mid-bite. "Where's Art?"

Winry stopped. "I'm not sure. I haven't seen him this morning."

"Maybe he was up earlier than all of us?" Al suggested.

That made sense. Reichart was used to being up early. If he wasn't at the clinic in Resembool he was usually helping out with Deanna's folks cows, and they got brought in and milked at first light; or still in the dark during the winter.

Except that when Ed arrived at the Infirmary for his usual check to see if there was anything that needed fixing, the first question he got from one of the nurses was, "Where's Reichart?"

"He's not here?"

She shook her head. "I haven't seen him yet this morning."

"I'll go find him," Ed promised, and headed back across the border towards his nephew's tent, that he shared with another guy who so far had been on the night shifts. Maybe Reichart had actually slept in?

That certainly appeared to be the case when Ed found him still cocooned in his sleeping bag. "Hey, Art, wake up," he shoved his nephew's shoulder and shook him a couple of times.

Reichart groaned, and rolled over. "What… time is it?" He asked, coughing. He didn't look great either.

Ed sighed. "It's after nine. Are you feeling all right?" With half a dozen illnesses among the refugees, he could only hope this one wasn't basokaria.

Reichart sat up, slowly, face clearly flushed. "Yyyeeeee… nope." He shook his head very slightly and coughed again.

Ed grimaced. "If I help, can you walk to the infirmary? If not, I'll go fetch a doctor here."

"I'm not… that bad," Reichart shook his head. "At least not yet."

With Ed's help, Reichart got up and pulled on pants –he was already in a shirt- and shoes, and they made the way slowly over to the medical tents. "Where should I take you?" Ed asked as they got closer, and it occurred to him that if it was basokaria, he should take his grandson to the quarantine ward instead of the regular area.

"Backside of the regular tent," Reichart told him. "There's a small tent set up for diagnosis. They disinfect it every patient."

Well that was smart. Ed did as Reichart suggested, and waited anxiously while one of the doctors looked Reichart over.

:It's not the jungle fever,: the doctor commented with relief in Aerugean. :But it is a nasty virus. We will put him to bed and start treatment at once.:

:Thank you,: Ed replied. He couldn't say he was happy about his grandson being hospitalized, but the death rate from the other diseases they had dealt with was far lower, and Reichart had otherwise been in perfectly good health. He watched as another nurse helped Reichart out of the little tent.

:He's not out of the woods yet, to pardon the phrase,: the doctor corrected.

:He'll make it,: Ed replied with conviction.

:How can you be so sure?" the other man asked.

:Because, he's got a pregnant wife waiting at home, and an Elric always comes home.:

From the first time she saw the rubble and smelled the death, Trisha had second-guessed her insistence on coming on this mission. She had even third-guessed it, but she had come. She had been assigned directly to General Kane's unit. While she wasn't surprised that she had not been assigned to her mother, Trisha did wonder that she had gotten so high profile a spot. Or, perhaps, it was because her mother knew that Trisha would never, in a million years, defy General Kane.

It was also sort of odd being on a mission with so many people she knew, since she knew most of the State Alchemists as her mother's colleagues or subordinates, but a lot of them were at least several years older than her. Maybe Mom and Kane did this on purpose. It's like being surrounded by older brothers and father figures. She might never see action this way. Not that it was a fair thought.

It also wasn't true, even if she did feel a bit over-protected so far. Really, she was grateful. When the train had been forced to stop four times on the way down to Bueáire in order to clear rubble, rebuild tracks, and tend to the ill and wounded, Trisha had not been required to deal with the dead, or any of the more gruesome injuries. Though the smell of Bueáire was unpleasant, Trisha couldn't decide if the scent of broken sewer lines was better than the smell of death and decay.

As they walked up the streets towards the capital district, Trisha was a little surprised to see just how many people remained. Given the flood of people running for the border as they had come down, it was interesting to find that nearly half the population of Bueáire was still here, rebuilding what they had lost with whatever they had; working alongside the military and the incoming Amestrian and Cretan civilian aid.

Yet it wasn't all pull-together-for-the-good-of-everyone, Trisha noticed as they finally reached the top of the hill and the government square stretched out before them. There were at least three or four hundred people, in more than one group, with picket signs and unhappy faces.

Though none of them gave the Amestrians trouble as they came through; they merely got out of the way. Some smiled, others gave them unpleasant looks.

"What's all this?" Trisha couldn't help whispering, keeping tight on General Kane's heals.

"The usual state of things in Aerugo," Kane replied just as softly, and without appearing to have moved his mouth much, if at all. "Some of them have been hit harder than others. Everyone wants there share, and their lives fixed first. In some cases, they think this shake-up may shift the balance of power in the country and they want their part of it."

"How can people live like this?" Trisha had trouble imagining such a fractured state. Not that everyone in Amestris got along all the time, but it wasn't like this.

"Because it's what they know, and because they believe in the changes they're pushing for," Kane replied. "Amestris wasn't so different once."

"So they told us in school." Trisha wasn't stupid; she'd aced everything she'd ever been given to study in her history classes. But being aware of the past, and it being the past, and seeing so much discontent and feeling the tension in the air were just… very alien.

It was a relief to step out of the daylight into the cool interior of the building. Trisha followed Kane towards the Aerugean President's office with the rest of his retinue. She had the feeling she was going to learn a lot about the world while she was down here.

October 23rd, 1971

It had been two tense days since they heard the jaguar, but that didn't particularly make anyone in the Mustang family feel any better. The silence after the brutal attack was unnerving, and Maes was beginning to think that it would almost be better if the cat showed itself, or showed a definite sign of having gotten bored and decided to leave them alone.

Nikolaos, however, was convinced that the cat was stalking them; hunting them now that it knew they could be caught. Whether it was paranoia in the face of grief over his uncle's brutal death, or his experience talking, no one argued.

The camp fire was no longer allowed to die, ever, and the night watch always included two armed people. Maes watched as the dogs took turns circling the fire, sniffing the air. Occasionally one of them would growl, then return to where the others lay in a pile of pointy ears and noses.

It had been a while since Maes wished he had something to drink… other than water anyway. But the tension in the air, Rochelle's high fever, and Elena's slowly growing exhaustion, certainly made him miss the oblivion of alcohol. Which was, of course, why it was a good thing there wasn't any around.

Rochelle and Elena never sat watch. They went to bed early, like they had tonight, with the tent set up against a tall rock-face of a cliff for added protection. There was no way to get 'behind' this camp. Maes definitely preferred to limit the directions from which the enemy could come. It wasn't as if they could break and run anyway.

There was no hunting now, no foraging. They made due on what they had carried into the forest with them, and moved on as quickly as they could manage by day with his daughter growing ever sicker.

Tonight, now that dinner was over, it was Maes' turn on fire watch. Théa would eventually replace him. Right now she and Nikolaos were sitting nearby, eyes on the trees, and both were armed, though Théa looked very uncomfortable holding the weapon her grandmother had taught her to shoot just that morning. She just seemed to want to be near someone comforting.

Maes wasn't sure he liked that it was the Cretan boy, but since Roy was the other one technically on watch at the moment, and also within eye-shot of them, he supposed it was all right.

Riza sat by her grandson, cleaning what had been dubbed 'the arsenal.'

"Do you always carry this much weaponry?" Roy asked as he helped her clean not only the three guns Riza had brought on the trip in the first place, but the other rifle they had picked up besides the two that Nikolaos and Théa were currently holding.

"No," Riza admitted with a shake of her head. "If I know I'm going into combat, I carry more."

"Where do you keep it all?"

Riza arched one eye-brow. "Do you really want to know the answer to that question?"

Maes chuckled as his son's face turned pink even in the fire light.

Roy shook his head. "Umm… no. That's all right." He leaned back against the fallen log behind him and looked thoughtful. "Just a few more days until we're out of here right?"

"If we keep at this pace," Nikolaos spoke over the intervening distance. "There's a country road track that crosses through here, and it leads to that string of villages I was telling you about. Once we get there, we should never be more than a day's walk between villages the rest of the way to Creta."

"Too bad it's not the main highway," Roy sighed. "Maybe we could find transportation."

"That would take us two weeks more across wild country," Nikolaos shook his head.

Maes refrained from shuddering. They'd never make that, and Rochelle and Elena both needed a doctor. "We stick to the plan, and we'll make it," he commented with conviction.

Théa shivered. "I hope so."

Roy never wanted to wake up to silence again. The darkness in the silence was the most terrifying thing he had ever experienced. Even breathing seemed loud; like it was giving away his location to the enemy.

He stared into the dark, knowing it was the silence that had brought him awake again. That, and the light was down lower than it should have been. His hand closed on the pistol he had taken to sleeping with, even though he was more likely to draw a transmutation circle in the dirt and hit the enemy with alchemy if the cat ever got close enough.

A glint in the darkness resolved itself into two… glowing… eyes.

They seemed to stare right into Roy, and through him, focused with a deep pleasure in death and the surety of its coming… The wind brushes his face, warm, like feline breathing… then vanished…

Bark bark bark!

"Everybody up!" The words ripped from Roy's throat as the dogs shook him out of his momentary paralysis. "Jaguar!"

Riza came bolt upright out of her sleep roll, gun drawn. "Where?"

"There!" Roy pointed into the trees where the dogs were now barking furiously, though staying right up against the fire which flared up with surprising brightness.

The glowing eyes were gone.

"Shit," his father growled, as he sat up. "Where is it? Why's the fire down!" He pushed forward to the front of the tent to join them.

Nikolaos was frantically poking the fire. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he was shaking his head, looking panicked, and oddly pale, and slightly sweaty himself.

Roy kept his weapon out as he forced himself to step past the edge of the tent so his grandmother and father could exit as well. It wasn't like the tarp really offered them any protection from the jaguar, except lack of easy visibility. "What happened, man?"

Nikolaos had one arm around Théa who looked embarrassed and terrified. "I didn't mean to," she sobbed, shaking. "I fell asleep out here instead of waking Grandma and…"

"I passed out," Nikolaos admitted, coughing even as he fed new wood into the fire.

Roy wasn't surprised. The Cretan guy looked like he was coming down with whatever Rochelle had. Before long, he wondered if they would all be too sick to travel.

"Well you're off shift tonight," Riza spoke up with her no-argument tone. "Maes and I will take it till morning."

"What about me?" Roy blurted out, even as he glanced back at the tent, where Rochelle still slept, and his mother sat, awake now and bleary eyed, looking concerned.

"Get some sleep," his father ordered. There was no mistaking his expression for anything else.

Roy shut his mouth on his next objection. It would do no good to insist that he couldn't sleep, not when that… that beast had just had him trapped in its sights. He'd been hopeless against it and all it had done was stare at him. Could he have even moved to defend against it in that state? Or would he have just died like Engelo, who had far more experience in this wilderness than Roy did?"

Still, his father looked insistent and sure, and he and Riza far more confident than Roy felt.

"Yes, sir," Roy replied. He would stay in the tent, and be another line of defense for his mother, and his sisters. "Come on, Théa."

"But I…"

"Nik too," Roy gestured towards the tent.

Nikolaos clearly had no intention of arguing. "I'm sorry," he croaked again as they crawled back into the tight sleeping space.

"No one died this time," Roy replied, knowing that was entirely reassuring. "Don't be too hard on yourself. We're all tired, it could have happened to any one of us."

He didn't say anything when Riza ordered the dogs to line up along the entrance to the tent, heads out, tails in. Somehow, Roy found that more reassuring than the weapon in his hand. It didn't matter if he panicked or froze… Grandma's dogs wouldn't.

But Roy had to wonder, now that he was facing a real life and death situation… was he honestly as brave as he used to think he was?

October 24th, 1971

"I never want to have to unbury a dead body again," Tore shuddered as he dropped down at the slightly sticky-topped round table in one of the open Havah bars. Naturally, with everything else in shambles, the bars were open and –for the folks who had any money at all- were doing fabulous business even at cut-rate prices.

That was good with Tore, after today, he needed a drink.

Cal nodded as he joined him, waving at the serving woman. "Too many people couldn't get out of that hospital," he agreed.

It had been a grim, gruesome day. Tore knew it should have occurred to him that the sick and infirm couldn't escape easily… but finding dozens of dead, often elderly or children, had been a shock to the system. He didn't feel hungry, and wasn't sure he ever would again in the face of all those dead boys and girls. Each of them reminded him of Dare in some way, and Tore was –for perhaps the first time- truly homesick.

"Anyone else feel nauseated?" Jean asked as he sat down across from Tore.

"Yeah." Tore nodded, then looked up at the woman who joined them. "What do you have?"

"Tequila."

It took Tore a moment to realize that was the entire drink selection.

"We'll take three," Cal spoke for them all.

Tore rested his arms on the table and his head in his hands as he tried to get the images of the dead and mangled out of his head.

A tantalizing scent wafted into his nostrils, blowing through as if on a breeze, calming Tore for a moment as he closed his eyes, and sniffed… and recognized the smell. His eyes popped open as he jerked sharply upright and looked at Cal.

Cal paused mid-drag on his cigarette. "What?"

"Where'd you get that?"

Cal shrugged. "Off an Aerugean guy. He offered me one earlier."

Tore knew he shouldn't want it. He hadn't had a smoke since he got Dare but… damn it. Today was the worst he'd seen since the war with Drachma, in all honesty. He was shaky inside, much as he hated to admit it. It just smelled sooooo good. "I ah…" He paused, and swallowed.

It was then that the look of realization came to Cal's face. "Oh, shit, man I'm sorry." He immediately went to snuff it.

"Oh don't do that," Tore grimaced. "Not on my account."

Cal did it anyway. "Oh don't worry. If it makes you feel better, I'll relight it somewhere else later."

It wasn't fair. Cal never seemed to have a problem just dropping the habit whenever he felt like it. "Stupid."

That earned him a cold look. "You are if you think I'm willingly going to get my best friend in trouble with his wife… or me with mine."

Charisa would have been furious all right, Tore thought. She'd practically flayed his hide verbally before over the subject. Now… well Cal was just being what he said, a friend. Though Tore hadn't realized Alyse was that fond of him. "All right." But how, he was beginning to wonder, was he going to get through the rest of this? Another few days of extracting dead little kids and women and he'd be a real wreck.

"Don't worry about it," Jean smiled at him as the woman came back with their tequila. "We'll just all get drunk together till we don't remember today and that'll be that."

Cal reached for his tequila and took a long sip. "That sounds like a very good idea."

Tore could definitely agree with that sentiment. It didn't matter how bad the tequila really was. A couple of drinks later, he didn't feel like he needed a smoke.

October 25th, 1971

Edward had taken to splitting his time between the Infirmary tent and his and Al's 'field work.' His concern for Reichart was his real reason for this; not so much that he was really needed there for his alchemy. His grandson had been fevered for four days, and mostly unconscious, though he occasionally woke to sip soup and water. Ed wanted to be nearby. Not that he expected the worst –at least that's what he kept telling himself- but because he wanted to be there when Reichart woke up. Ed wanted to be able to call Resembool and reassure Aldon and –just as importantly- Deanna, that Reichart was fine.

So his heart leapt into his throat when he saw not one, but two, doctors coming out of the fabric walled room that held his grandson, shaking their heads.

"What's going on?" Ed asked, accosting them without greeting. "Is he awake?"

One of the Aerugean doctors recognized him, because he nodded and motioned Ed inside. :He's awake,: he informed him.

Wondering what had the doctors looking so bewildered, Ed didn't wait for any more invitations. What if something was wrong? He could still be severely ill. He could have lost part of his hearing or sight from fever. Ed pushed through the wall-

-to find Reichart propped up, inhaling his way through what appeared to be his third bowl of soup.

His grandson smiled weakly at him, and drained the rest of his bowl. "Hey, Grandpa. Nice face."

Ed shut his mouth, and covered his surprise with a relieved grin. "You know it's not good to gross people out by making them watch you inhale your food."

"So Mom always told us, and you told us not to worry about," Reichart chuckled. He looked better; a lot better, Ed thought as he looked him over.

"Fever broken?"

"And gone," Reichart confirmed. "I should be fine in a day or two. At least as long as they trust me to know how much I can eat."

"They seem to so far," Ed nodded at the pile of empty bowls.

"Soup anyway," Reichart rolled his eyes. "Hardly filling. But they didn't have what I really wanted."

"And what was that?"

Reichart grinned. "Steak."

Ed laughed. "If they ever do get a hold of some, let me know."

Ethan finished scrubbing his hands and turned off the water before reaching for the scrap of clean towel hanging over the pipe. With a sigh, he stepped into the even-smaller room the doctors in the quarantined tent had for their own space and dropped onto a folding chair next to the little folding table that held a pitcher of tepid water. He reached for a glass, poured it full, and drained it in one long gulp. The alchemical treatments really took it out of him, but they were the only thing holding "the plague" at bay.

"Was that groan you or the chair?" Max, one of the nurses, asked with a wry chuckle as he joined him and hit the other chair, which creaked in complaint even under Max's slight built.

"Both," Ethan admitted. "Long day."

"How many'd we lose?" Max asked, a solemn expression on a face clearly used to smiling.

"Three more," Ethan sighed. It was more than frustrating; it was downright depressing to see so many patients die. He could remember the last time that had happened, and it had been the disease that had nearly taken his own live in Xing. Ethan didn't like losing patients. Despite knowing that sometimes it happened, he still took it as a personal affront.

"Damn it. Makes you want a drink," Max sighed, reaching for the same tepid water. "And I don't mean this stuff."

Ethan sipped another glass and just nodded. The water almost tasted cool once he got used to it. The place was too warm for winter.

The wall parted and one of the orderlies stepped in. "Doctor Elric? There's a phone call for you."

The phone had been set up as a primary form of contact between the quarantine hospital and the rest of the world, so Ethan was used to getting the occasional call, usually from one of his parents just checking in. The calls were, out of necessity, kept short. "Who's it from?" he asked as he stood up.

"Your wife, sir."

Ethan bolted out of the room and out of the tent, nearly running across the grass to the little wood building that served as the communications post. He hadn't had a chance to talk to Lia in weeks. The last time he had managed to call home, most of the call time had ended up being Eamon and Lily babbling about how much they missed him. He didn't want to waste his precious phone time walking.

The female communications officer handed him the phone without a word.

"Lia?" Ethan blurted into the phone. "I'm here."

"Ethan…" His wife's voice didn't sound cheerful. Ethan felt his heart dropping. He knew that tone. Something was wrong.

"I've missed you," Ethan replied softly. "Are you all right? How is everyone?"

A sniffle. Shit. She was crying! "Daddy's gone, Ethan."

"Gone? Lia I…" Ethan stopped mid-question. Her parents lived in South City, cut off from everyone as much as he was, if only slightly less so. "Oh no… Lia."

"He died this morning," she continued in a slightly-hoarse whisper that told him she'd been crying on and off ever since. "He got sick last night, and Mom took him to the hospital right away but he… well you know he'd been ill recently anyway and he… died."

Ethan ached to take her in his arms and hug her tight, and comfort her. "Lia, I'm so sorry," he replied, his own throat tightening. He hadn't spent a lot of time with Lia's parents, but he had gotten along pretty well with her father. Now the man was gone, and his family was hurting. He didn't ask if she was okay; she obviously wasn't. "How are the kids taking it?"

"Lily's still crying some. Eamon's upset too, but he hasn't cried as much. Aeddan's just upset that everyone else is upset."

"How's your mother bearing up?"

"How do you think?" Lia snapped. "Oh, Ethan, she called me and I've never heard her so heartbroken! Daddy was everything to her, and now she's alone, and this stupid quarantine means I can't even go to the funeral!" Her voice broke, and fresh sobs came over the line.

Ethan cringed. "I know, it's not fair at all, but it's necessary. If it got to you and the kids and Central I…"

"That doesn't make it fair!" Lia replied. "Stop being so damned rational, Ethan!"

Ethan bit his tongue to keep his own temper in check. Lia had just lost her father. He needed to be patient. He'd never seen her this upset. Well, except when he'd almost died. She'd given him a thorough chewing-out for letting himself get sick then too. Rationality had no place here, just sympathy. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I wish I could be with you right now."

"Can't you get some kind of exemption?" Lia pleaded. "I don't want you down there, Ethan. What if you catch this whatever-it-is plague too?"

"I can't," he reminded her as gently as he could. "That's why it's quarantine, Lia. Besides, they need me here. My alchemy is the only thing that's pulled some of our patients through." He didn't tell her how many they had lost. He doubted it would calm her down.

"But you could die!"

"I'm going to be fine," Ethan insisted.

"Art got sick…"

"With something else and he's making a full recovery," Ethan informed her, doubting she'd gotten this morning's news. "He's all right. Dad told me his fever broke this morning."

"But-"

Ethan saw the communications officer giving him the 'times up' finger signal. Damn it. "Lia, I have to go. Phone time's up. I'm sorry. I'll call you again as soon as I have the chance."

There was a long moment of silence on the other end. "You should find a way to come home, Ethan. We need you too." Then the phone clicked, and the line went silent.

Ethan handed the hand-set to the officer with a sigh. "Thank you." With a heavy heart, and a healthy dose of guilt, he headed back to work, wiping a little sweat from his brow with one hand as he moved through the muggy air. It felt like it was going to rain again, though he knew the rain wouldn't bring any relief from the humidity. Ethan felt sorry for his patients, suffering in this on top of their illness.

Lia's tear-wracked voice followed him back to the tent in his mind. We need you too.