Chapter Thirty-Five
Immunity
The doctor wasn’t there when they arrived at what used to be the examination room. A small fire in the center of the floor was the only source of light, forget the heat. The place reeked of alcohol, reminding Lucien of how Renken had described Iain’s use of it.
The battle lord took everything in with a glance. “Aren’t you supposed to have one more patient, Doctor? Where’s Durrow?”
Iain gritted his teeth in momentary anger. “He didn’t make it.”
“I thought you said he’d recover,” Lucien reminded him.
The physician’s jaw clenched again. “Not when someone slit his throat.” Lucien and his father stared in stunned silence at the young man, who nodded. “It seems someone wanted to make sure Durrow didn’t recover.”
Yulen sat on the floor, next to Atty. She was lying on her side, next to a puddle of fluid the doctor had managed to excavate from her lungs. Johna was lying on the other end of the room, also on her side, and with a similar patch of wetness by her head. Iain had done his best to clear the room of dirt and dust, and lay saddle blankets down so his patients wouldn’t have to lie on the bare ground.
Lucien dropped to his knees next to Johna. She was completely out of it. Sweat rolled off her pale face, and he could hear how every breath she struggled to draw gurgled in her chest.
Iain finally reentered the clinic, a saddle in his arms. Going over to Atty, he placed it on the blanket spread out next to her, then pointed to it. “Sit down, Luc.” Lucien silently obeyed. Crouching in front of him, Iain checked his eyes, then took his pulse. “You’re not sick.”
“I could have told you that. I don’t feel the least bit ill.”
“Then I believe it’s safe to say you won’t. Not at this time, at least.” The man sat back on his heels. “Your father and I had a conversation earlier. Your mother is getting worse, and I don’t think she’s going to make it without outside help.”
Lucien looked to his father, who remained mute, but the battle lord’s face betrayed his feelings. “What do you mean by outside help?”
“She needs the serum,” Iain told him.
“And you want me to do what? Make a dash to a compound to try and…what? Get a vial of it? Where would I go?”
The doctor shook his head. “Forget the dash. She won’t survive that long. No, we’re thinking about a direct transfusion.”
Lucien looked again at his father. “From who?”
“Yulen can’t give Atty his blood. You already know that,” Iain explained. “Normal blood is not compatible with Mutah physiology, and vice versa. But you might be able to donate.”
“Me? How? I’m half Normal.”
“And you’re half Mutah. And that half is your mother. You have Atty’s genetics in you. That might be the factor that’ll let her body accept your blood. That might save her. Your mother is going to die if we do nothing. And right now, I’m willing to take the risk. It’s our only hope. Her only hope. We need to do something, because if we do nothing, she’ll die anyway.”
“But don’t you need someone who’s already had the virus for this to work? I haven’t had the disease,” Lucien pointed out.
“Maybe you have, but you just never realized it,” Iain said cryptically.
“What do you mean?”
The doctor motioned for him to lie down. “Let me start the transfusion, then I’ll explain.”
Lucien stretched out on his back, propping his arm on the saddle and keeping it high to enable gravity to aid in the transfer. He watched as the doctor wet a cloth with the contents from his special water bag before daubing the inside of his elbow to sterilize it.
“What about you?” he questioned the doctor.
“What about me?”
“You haven’t gotten sick, either.”
Iain flashed him a grin. “Haven’t you heard? I’m like a damn brewery. That virus never had a chance with me.” He bent low over Atty, struggling to see in the dim light in order to insert the thin tube with its metallic tip. “Okay, Luc. Make a fist and squeeze it repeatedly.” He watched to make sure the flow was steady, then patted Lucien on the shoulder. “It looks good.”
“You were going to tell me why I didn’t get sick.”
Iain thumped him on the forehead. “Your bat scratch.”
It took Lucien a second to understand what the man had said. “What about my bat scratch?”
“You may have been infected from it when you also came in contact with the virus. I think the two may have fought and cancelled each other out. Or…” He made an elaborate shrug. “It’s possible the two contagions didn’t know how to deal with your blood. By the time they figured out whether to attack your Normal or your Mutah side, their effectiveness had passed. Or…”
Lucien snorted. “You really don’t know what the hell happened, do you? You’re just taking a stab in the dark, aren’t you?”
Iain pretended to ignore him. “Or maybe the bat’s germs chose one side of you, and the virus chose the other, and both realized too late that they’d each chosen the wrong sides. If they’d chosen differently, you could already be dead. Or one could have inoculated you from the other, but if that was the case, don’t ask me which did which.”
“Iain.” Yulen’s voice was soft but firm. Time for jocularity was over.
The physician grew stoic. “Or maybe, and this is my personal belief, you’re one of those rare people who are immune to diseases.”
Lucien scoffed at that idea. “I’ve been sick in the past. How is that possible if I was immune?”
“There’s lots of reasons why. Maybe getting sick is what triggered your immunity. But, if I remember correctly, you’ve never gotten really ill. Some sniffles and sneezes, and some coughing, but you’ve never been high fever, throwing up, diarrhea, flat on your back in bed sick.”
Thinking back, Lucien had to concede to that fact.
“Luc.” Iain bent down to stare at him full-on. “The last time I think you were ever anywhere near being truly sick, you were maybe two or three years old. Think about it. Maybe your special hidden Mutah ability is that you’re immune to everything. If that’s true, my God, your blood could save hundreds suffering God knows how many afflictions.”
He checked the tubing, crimping one end to withdraw it from Atty’s arm before taking it out of Lucien’s. “That’s one down and one to go.”
“You’re going to give Johna my blood, too?”
“Like I told you earlier, it may be their only chance.”
“And you think she’ll be able to take it because you believe I have a natural immunity?”
“Like I explained, it could be any number of factors that prevented you from becoming ill.” Iain narrowed his eyes at him. “If you do have a natural immunity, you’re better than any serum, Luc. Your blood won’t need any distillation or sterilization.”
Yulen picked up the saddle and took it over to where Johna lay unconscious. Lucien laid down and presented his other arm for the next transfusion. As Iain inserted a fresh tube into him to feed into the young woman, the doctor checked his pulse again. “Normally, I shouldn’t be taking this amount of blood I’m drawing from you, but this is an emergency. When we’re done, you’re going to feel weak and lightheaded, so don’t try to sit or stand up until I determine you’re strong enough, understand?”
“How long do you think it’ll take before we know whether or not this worked?” Yulen inquired.
“Judging by how quickly Atty is deteriorating, I’m guessing we’ll know something for sure by morning.”
Lucien gasped. “So soon?” He glanced over at where his father was standing and observing. The battle lord’s face was dark with rising grief.
“That soon,” Yulen responded in a hollow voice, and went back to his wife’s side to wait.