Monument 14: Savage Drift (Monument 14 Series) by Emmy Laybourne Read Free Book Online Page B

these tents were made by a Canadian company called Weatherhaven that had a manufacturing plant right here in Vancouver. It explained why the tents were so new and nice.
    In the first tent, we had to register to get an appointment. A pleasant-faced woman sat behind a desk. An old-fashioned desktop computer took up a good portion of the space. Wires ran out of the back and down onto the floor, where they snaked back across the floor, collecting into a rubber tube. Hard-wired into the system. Very quaint.
    She handed us a clipboard with several sheets of paper. A ballpoint pen swung off a string.
    For whatever reason, Network coverage up here in Vancouver was nonexistent. We’d been told about some new WiFi systems being rigged up in other places, but here at Quilchena, it was a computer with a hard line or it was good old pen and ink.
    We sat down with a couple other early stragglers. One woman was clutching her jaw and groaning. An older man had his arm in a cast and watched us with suspicion.
    Maybe it was because Astrid’s hand was shaking as she filled in all the blanks on the form. She filled them with lies. Mostly lies.
    Name: Carrie Blackthorn (Carrie was the name of her first pet—a bunny. And Blackthorn was her mother’s maiden name.)
    Social Security or Taxpayer ID number: 970-89-4541 (The first nine numbers of her home phone number.)
    DOB: 07-04-2007 (The Fourth of July of the real year she was born.)
    For Previous Address, she put her best friend’s house.
    For Intake (this meant the day we were entered into the system at Quilchena), she put the day before.
    Then she got into the medical data—previous surgeries, immunizations, etc., etc., and for all that stuff she told the truth.
    Chief complaint (that was the reason we were there): cramping. Approx 28 weeks pregnant.
    “If they ask, I’m your fiancé,” I said as she finished the forms.
    “What?” she asked, with her eyebrow cocked to the heavens.
    “In case they won’t let me in with you. Because I’m just a boyfriend.”
    “Okay,” she said, in a slightly “whatever” tone of voice.
    “Never mind,” I said.
    Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? Why couldn’t I ever be cool?
    The woman took Astrid’s forms and typed them into her computer.
    “Oh dear,” she said. “I don’t have your number in the system.”
    “Ugh. They had the same problem yesterday,” I told her. “When we got in, at the registration. The lady said she’d try to sort it out and we should come back today to see.”
    “Can we see someone anyway?” Astrid said. “I’m scared for the baby.”
    The woman studied Astrid with a kind look on her face.
    “Here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to have one of the nurses take a look at you. Tomorrow, or later today, once the paperwork is all settled, I want you to come back and book a proper appointment. They’ll do a physical, blood work, the whole thing.”
    She picked up a telephone.
    “Sylvia, I’m sending a young couple to you. Could you ask Kiyoko to take a quick look?”
    After she hung up she turned back to us.
    “Kiyoko’s one of my favorites. She used to be a labor and delivery nurse. She’s your gal.”
    *   *   *
    We went back outside with directions to Tent 18. The tents were laid out in a grid, very orderly. Tent 18 had rows of examining tables standing against the walls. Cabinets with medical supplies and equipment stood between the tables, separating them into little examination cubicles. Each cubicle had a white curtain that could be drawn for privacy.
    A woman in fatigues saw us.
    “You here to see Kiyoko?” she asked us.
    We nodded.
    “Come this way. I’m going to put you in a cube with an ultrasound machine.”
    In the exam cubicle Astrid and I stood there uneasily. I could see why the idea of coming here had made her uneasy. It was all very organized and efficient—but it was also very military. I felt strange, standing there in my dirty sweatshirt and jeans. Like I was messing the