Page 13 of Duty Devoted
The silence that followed was heavy with implications. Dr. Yang exchanged worried glances with Dr. Martinez and Dr. Williams, but Lauren’s expression remained focused and determined.
“I’m not leaving until I absolutely have to, hurricane or not,” she said flatly. “My patients need medical care, not abandonment during a crisis.”
I noticed the other doctors didn’t echo her sentiment, although they all sort of nodded. Dr. Yang’s face showed obvious concern, and Dr. Williams was already looking like he was mentally packing his bags.
“We’ll stay as long as we can,” I said, though I knew our job was keeping the doctors alive, nothing else. I’d learned the hard way that you couldn’t save everyone—trying to do so usually got more people killed. “To that end, my team needs to perform a local assessment to determine the actual severity of the threat. Where can we stage our equipment? We’ll need a base of operations.”
Lauren gestured toward the school building. “We’ve been sleeping in the back rooms. There’s a spare room on the second floor you could use, and plenty of space throughout the building.”
“Perfect.” I turned to my guys. “Ty, Jace—get our gear staged and start establishing defensive positions. I want entry points secured, early warning systems in place, and someone needs to get monitoring equipment on the roof for overwatch.”
“On it,” Ty said, shouldering his pack.
“I’ll get theweather stationpositioned for optimal coverage,” Jace added with a grin.
As my team moved toward the building, I turned back to Lauren. “Dr. Valentino, could you show me around? I need to understand the layout of the clinic and surrounding area and get a feel for the terrain.”
She was obviously going to be the one who was the most difficult to convince to leave. That was why I wanted her to show me around.
Yeah right, asshole. Has nothing to do with anything else.
Something flickered in her eyes—curiosity, maybe, or challenge. “Of course. You can call me Lauren.”
I nodded. “Lauren. You can call me Logan.”
As we walked toward the clinic entrance, I found myself studying her profile, the way she moved with unconscious confidence through what was clearly her domain. There was something compelling about her competence, the way she seemed completely at home in an environment that would send most people running.
“How long have you been here?” I asked as she led me through the main entrance.
“Six months,” she said, pushing open the heavy wooden door.
The interior of the clinic was larger than I’d expected, with high ceilings and multiple treatment areas branching off from a central corridor. The smell of antiseptic mixed with something earthier—humidity, maybe, or the jungle pressing in through walls that probably hadn’t been properly sealed in years.
“This is the main treatment area,” Lauren said, gesturing to a room filled with basic medical equipment. “We handle everything from routine checkups to emergency surgery if there’s no other choice.”
I made notes in my tactical pad, but I found myself distracted by the way she moved through the space, checking equipment with expert proficiency. “Emergency surgery? What kind of cases do you see?”
“Everything.” Her voice carried the weight of experience. “Machete wounds, gunshot injuries, complications from untreated infections. Last week, I performed an emergency abdominal procedure on a mining accident victim.”
“Difficult conditions for that kind of work,” I observed, noting the limited electrical outlets and the generator humming somewhere in the background.
“You learn to make do when you don’t have any other options.” She opened a supply cabinet, checking inventory with the automatic movement of someone who did this daily. “The generator runs about eighteen hours a day when we have fuel. We conserve electricity, take cold showers when there’s water pressure, eat whatever we can get off the local economy.”
As she spoke, I found myself studying her more closely. She was tall but thinner than the photos had suggested, with the kind of lean build that came from physical work and limited resources rather than gym memberships—no gyms around here, that was for damn sure. Shadows under her eyes spoke of too many sleepless nights, and her hands showed the wear of someone who worked with them constantly.
It reminded me of certain deployments—that particular combination of exhaustion, determination, and grim humor that developed when people were pushed to their limits but refused to quit. There was something admirable about it, something that drew me to her in ways I hadn’t expected.
“Show me the upper level,” I said, following her toward a staircase at the back of the building.
“Patient rooms,” she explained as we climbed worn wooden steps. “We can house about twelve people when necessary,though we usually try to send people home once they’re stabilized. We don’t have the staff or resources for round-the-clock care.”
The second floor opened onto a long corridor with rooms branching off on both sides. Most were small, containing basic beds and minimal furniture, but they were clean and organized. At the far end, I could see a door that likely led to roof access.
“Mind if I check the roof?” I asked, already moving toward the door.
“Structural integrity concerns?” she asked, following me.
“Something like that.” I pushed open the door and climbed a short ladder to emerge onto the flat roof. The view was stellar for our needs—360-degree visibility of the surrounding jungle and the single road that connected the clinic to the outside world. “This will work perfectly for overwatch.”
