As the rain finally began to let up, the isolation zone within the wooden barricades started to take shape. Margaret moved through the rows of shacks, her white dress soaked through with blood and grime. Her skirts clung to the ankle-deep mud, but she paid no attention. She didn’t even bother wiping the herbal residue from the corner of her lips. With practiced precision, she drove a silver needle into a child's darkened fingertip, squeezed out half a bowl of foul, blackened blood, and quickly poured warm medicinal broth into the child’s cracked lips. "We still need twenty more stretchers for the third row of shacks!" Her hoarse voice, rasping like sandpaper from constant shouting, echoed across the makeshift camp. Not far away, Dustin was searing the infected wounds of patients with golden flame. Threads of golden light danced through torn flesh, burning away squirming maggots with ruthless precision. The elderly man beneath his hands trembled in agony, biting ...