This is an excerpt from The Light of Day. It should be available by Christmas.

 

 The splint Ryan had rigged to immobilize Jeff’s hand was only a temporary measure. The designated field medic would have a splint and a fresh wrap. If Jeff was lucky, he might get some sort of pain killer before the medic attempted to force his disjointed carpals back into place. When they returned to The Underground he would be placed on the waiting list, but the possibility of him seeing a medical professional before his hand healed was slim. Disjointed wrists were not life threatening and were therefore put at the end of a very long list. A list that was serviced by a few very over worked individuals.

Jeff remembered when he was younger and he had the flu, his family followed the standard quarantine procedures, placing bio filters over all the community air ducts and his bedroom door, and finally contacting the Office of Medicine. Jeff roasted in his room for three days, suffering through cold sweats, mild hallucinations, and diarrhea that threatened to burst his bowels and left his mouth dry. On the fourth day his fever broke and by the sixth day he was running through the halls playing hide and seek with his friends, a testament to the resiliency of children. Three weeks later the receptionist at the Office of Medicine called to inform them that Jeff had an appointment scheduled for the following week. The appointment had been confirmed and could not be broken.