Created by blood

Chapter 1

Dorothea had informed Odessa that she needed to leave early that night to return to Pembroke, something about a surgery the hospital's administrator wanted everyone to witness.

Which is all well and good but, to be honest, Nurse Walker wasn't really paying attention as most of her focus was on the patient in front of her and the stitches she was sewing into a man's arm. This is going to leave a nasty scar , the nurse thinks as she's tapped on the shoulder, just before midnight, by her long-time friend and boss.

"I'm leaving now. Don't forget to lock up again, okay?"

"Nu o fac, noapte bunărg." Odessa mutters as her attention returns to her stitching. Dorothea was always reminding her to lock up, despite the fact she's only forgotten three times before, and they were spaced out over a few months.

The constant reminder would be understandable if it happened back to back but it didn't; nor were her failures done on purpose, the nurse just got too wrapped up in work, and her sleep-deprived mind had forgotten.

She wasn't even given the CHANCE to forget tonight though, as Darius, the man who single-handedly decided who entered the dispensary or not, wouldn't let her.

The old knobhead had checked up on Nurse Walker at least once an hour every hour after Dorothea had taken her leave. He meant well, Odessa knew that but she would be lying if she said he didn't drive her batty.

Time passed quickly as she moved from inferm to inferm, and before she knew it, it was time to close up for the night. After ensuring no more patients needed immediate care, Odessa bid Darius goodnight while flipping the old bloke the finger as he laughed, reminding her to lock up for the 100th time.

Once out of the courtyard the dispensary resides in, leather-bound hands find their way into a set of pockets as Odessa walked down the now-empty street alone.

Many people were out day and night thanks to the flu, as it's first wave hit London hard, causing many businesses to close down. It was pleasant at first, as people stayed home, but now, weeks into the pandemic with no end in sight, milling about the street was all people had to occupy themselves with.

The only reprieve from the sea of bodies was an hour or two before sun up and sun down. Each shift in the day acted like a reset button for the tyred flu-fearing people of London.

"I'd kill for a cuppa, right now. Anything to keep me up enough and warm enough for this bloody walk home." She thought, idly kicking a rock down the filthy street." Not just any cuppa though; I wish it was one of Fathers."

Before the pandemic and the switch to night shift, Odessa would always wake to the cry of crows and the smell of father's badly but lovingly made tea. He was never a good cook, somehow managing to burn everything he made, but she didn't mind, how could she when Father was the only blood relative she had?

A small mournful smile tugs at the corners of her lips as an image of him fills her head. Father was a large burly man with green eyes and blonde hair that, despite living most of his life as a shipwright, was the kindest person she knew... Though Uncle Sean would beg to differ.

The more Nurse Walker thought of Father the more her smile turned into a frown. His passing was the sole reason she had accepted the shift change as she needed something to busy herself, for the nurse found herself unable to face the dawn without him.

Bloody tosser, she thinks, stopping to fumble open a new pack of cigarettes. Father had gotten himself killed at his "new job." He had told her it was with the police, but none had been seen in London since the start of the war back in 1914.

"What police?" She'd ask whenever she'd notice a new injury on him, but, always the stubbron twat he'd never elaborate; instead, he would just tell her,