Masks

Halfway through the webinar, the connection stabilized, allowing the contact in Romania (a nurse at Coltea Hospital in Bucharest) to join. “We have run out of masks,” said the grainy image, his words carefully measured and his tone hushed. “We have run out of everything.” “Do you need us to … ,” began the others, but he held up a hand. “Thank you, everyone, but I must say a couple of things while the link holds.” They fell silent. “We need air drops of supplies in the rural areas - help for the ones who cannot make it to the city hospitals. If we do not support those who are well or asymptomatic working the outlying farms, there will be no food … and starvation will be a hallmark of the second wave.” Someone’s breath caught before they were able to mute their mic. “We live at the hospital; we dare not go home to our families,” he continued. “I need you to contact mine.” “Is there a specific message we can pass on for you?” the director said. “Information? Instructions?” The video capture sputtered and then caught again, moving sluggishly. “No, none,” he said quietly. “They are not to come here; they are not to collect my body.” “We hold you up,” whispered the contact in Nigeria. “We hold you up,” said the contact in Tokyo, clearing her throat. “We hold you … ,” the contact in Stockholm started, but couldn’t finish. As the video died, the last image capture showed a young man sweetly smiling, pale with dark circles under his eyes, lifting a necklace he had been wearing beneath his scrubs - the white rose medallion of The Empath Army.