Gabriel moved through the town quickly, knocking on each door.
Large red X's marked those with no occupants, either all dead or all in the sick tent. David had come up with the system so that he wasted as little time as possible. The houses with sick inside tried to tie something brightly colored to their front door, begging for aid next time someone came.
Not everyone had the wherewithal to make it to the front door to do so.
Near the end of his rounds, Gabriel encountered a home with a torn bit of a dress wafting sadly in the wan, hot wind, and knocked firmly at the door.
There was no answer.
With a heavy heart, he pushed open the door, bracing himself to find the entire household dead.
The stench inside was overwhelming, but he bore it with the practiced indifference of a seasoned apprentice. Over the past days, his stomach, by necessity, had become stronger than ever before.
The soldiers with him waited at the front door, unwilling to enter such a place until Gabriel signaled that it was necessary. Their task was to remove and bury the dead, and move any sick that Gabriel told them to.
Investigation was the doctor's lot, not theirs. They did not want to see anything they didn't have to.
The young doctor had heard them talking. Even those who had fought in the wars were dazed and disgusted by the town's state. In war, one complained, the injuries were fresh and the men either died quickly or were treatable in some way.
Here, there was a helplessness they all hated, and many dead were not found for some time after their deaths. The disease was a vicious one, and the aftermath was far different than that experienced in war.
Innocents. Women. Children. Infants, even. No one could remain cold and stoic forever in the face of all this.
"Hello?" Gabriel called, moving from the small family room toward the one bedroom. It reminded him a little of searching for survivors in Ceto, but with far varying results.
A weak sound met his ears, and a flicker of hope that this would not be a house already dead lit inside him. He squelched it. A bit of life could be snuffed out in an instant. There was no reason to hope.
He closed his eyes and stepped into the bedroom.
On the one bed, a couple lay still. Dead. Next to the bed, a cot. A child in a white dressing gown fussed and jumped, maybe two years old, babbling and crying out.
Gabriel had no need to check the parents, but he put his hand to the child's forehead. No fever. But he also didn't know how long the child had been alone. He could be in the pre-febrile stages of the illness, or have gotten better from it.
"Come with me, little one," He said, lifting the little boy. "I wonder what your name is."
The boy calmed and clung to Gabriel's neck, and the man pushed back furious tears that so young a child should be left behind in this world with no parents. Pausing by the table for a moment, he picked up a book of fairy tales and a dainty necklace.
Two small items for the boy to remember his parents by, in case he never returned home. He carried the boy outside, and the sweltering wind sparked a vague memory he couldn't put his finger on.
"You two, bury the boy's parents. Everyone else, let's go," He said to the remaining soldiers. The rest had been given assignments ranging from carrying the sick to digging more graves for the found dead along the route through the rest of the town. "Don't forget to put an X on the door."
He knocked on a few surrounding doors, hoping to find out the boy's name and perhaps a neighbor willing to take the child in. The nearest three houses were devoid of life. Finally, at the next, the door cracked open.
"Who is it?" A woman's voice came through the merest opening. "We don't want sickness here."
"I'm Dr. Gabriel," He introduced himself. "I've just come from your neighbors' home, and hoping to find out more about this child, and someone to take care of him."
A single blue eye moved close enough to be seen in the light, examining the child. "Ah, the little one. Havah walks him sometimes. I forget the little tyke's name. Something with an O? Oliver? Oscar? Why do you have him?"
"His parents are dead." Gabe said bluntly. "I hope to find someone to take him in, so I can get back to tending the sick."
"Ain't very good at it, are ya? So many dead, I mean. I don't want him. If his parents died of it, he'll have it, sure as rain in spring." The woman slammed the door shut, and Gabriel heard a bolt shift to bar the door.
Shocked beyond words at the heartlessness of this neighbor, he tried two more doors with no luck. The day was wearing on, and he couldn't spend all his time doing this.
This little one needed care, and he hoped he could find someone to give it.
Walking quickly, he took the child back to the sick tent, but hesitated at the door. The baby had already been exposed to the disease and seemed fine so far, but was it an undue risk to take him amongst the most ill of his town?
Was it cruelty to bring him here? Then again, who would take in the sole survivor of a disease? Many of the locals had become superstitious and paranoid, like the heartless neighbor. It was a stark departure from the community of Klain.
In that disaster, the people of the city had flocked together to absorb the Cetoan refugees with open arms and homes, sharing and giving sacrificially of their own possessions and kitchens. The Cetoans were fed, clothed, and housed quickly due to the generosity and help of the citizens.
Here, in the sickness and death, a man was hard pressed to help others. Gabriel supposed it was different helping your neighbor flee from danger than it was welcoming someone who could bring danger with them.
With a sigh holding the weight of the world, he moved inside. Every other orphan so far had been able to find a temporary place among relatives or friends, but as often as not, the sickness spread there too, and the child was left in want of care once again. It was not sustainable.
Victoria looked up as he entered, her eyes red and bloodshot. He froze. His heart had been so cold that he'd stopped registering the heat for a moment, but the realization set in that it was now midsummer, or close to it.
The anniversary of Victoria's orphanhood, and the death of her parents.
And here he was, carrying a newly orphaned child. It was unavoidable, but that didn't make it any better for anyone involved.
"Who is this?" The woman tried to paint on a smile for the child, taking care to wash her hands before taking the little boy from Gabriel.
"The neighbor thought his name might start with an O." Gabriel frowned.
Victoria was silent for a moment as she took in the implications of the doctor's tone and statement.
"He has no one, then? No one to even know his name?" She choked on the words.
"I brought this book and necklace from his home to keep with him, but there seemed to be no one." Gabriel watched her face as she drew herself together. "I think the neighbor called his mother 'Havah.'"
"Write that down so you don't forget. A child should know their parents' names if they can. Well, then, what shall we call you? O, was it? What's your name?" Victoria turned to the child, bouncing him on her hip. "Obed? Oliver? Orson?"
The boy smiled at the attention and declared "O-en! I O-en!"
"Owen!" Victoria smiled with delight. "It's wonderful to meet you, Owen, and how smart you are to know your name! Are you hungry?"
The boy nodded, apparently done talking for the moment.
"I'll take him to get some food, but I don't know what we'll do with him. Did the Captain send for more help?" Victoria asked hopefully. "I can't take care of a toddler and help nurse the sick, it would put him at too much risk."
"He sent an update some days ago via carrier pigeon, but I do not know the status of the aid. Klain… well, we live in unpredictable times. They may not have any help they can spare at all." Gabriel didn't want to get her hopes up that relief was on the way. He wasn't sure that it was.
With the way things were going around them, and the portals, and everything else going on, it could very easily feel like this was the end of the world, and they were the last ones left alive in the cesspool of death it was quickly becoming.