Free Steamed by Katie MacAlister

me she was right. Octavia wove her way through the clusters of people to the far side of the courtyard, where Hallie perched on a partially crumbled stone bench that sat beneath a half-dead olive tree. The people clustered here were strangely silent; only a few snuffles and coughs were punctuated with the occasional groan of pain. Men, women, and children all alike were clothed in what amounted to rags, an ever-present miasma of hopelessness combining with dirt, lack of hygiene, and probably lack of edible food to make them indistinguishable from one another. Lank, stringy hair hung down over faces that would haunt me at night.
    Some of the refugees had missing limbs, or bore dirty bandages. Others just sat in boneless heaps, leaning against rickety wooden shelters curtained with torn, colorless blankets. As we passed by them, one or two reached out dirty hands toward Octavia. She stopped at each one for a moment, speaking too softly for me to hear, but at last we arrived at Hallie.
    “Hal? You OK?”
    She sat hunched on the bench, her hands around her knees, rocking slightly, her eyes glazed as if she couldn’t process what was happening to her. Carefully, in case the bench was going to crumble away entirely, I sat down next to her and put my arm around her. “It’s OK, Hallie. Octavia and I are here.”
    “It’s real,” she said to her knees, her eyes unfocused. “Those people are real. I touched one of them, Jack.” She held up her hand. Her fingers were stained with drying blood.
    “We had better get her out of here,” Octavia said in a low voice, casting a glance over her shoulder. A few of the refugees had risen and were watching us with numb indifference. “Can you walk, Miss Norris?”
    “Is there nothing that can be done for them?” I asked, nodding toward the people as I pulled Hallie to her feet.
    “Where there is war, there will always be victims,” was all she said, taking Hallie’s other arm.
    “I was actually asking if there wasn’t something that could be done for these people, rather than a discourse on philosophy,” I said somewhat acidly.
    She glanced at me as we piloted a silent Hallie through the gathered people. “Why do you care?”
    I frowned. Octavia didn’t seem like the sort of woman who would be so unfeeling about those less fortunate. She was so intriguing, so attractive and sexy, I forgot for a moment that sometimes the inner package didn’t match the outer. And what a damned shame that was. She was just about perfect in every other way. “Hallie and I were raised to help others when possible. I realize my money probably isn’t going to be good here, but I have a few bucks on me if you thought it would help them. Or I could give one of them my watch—it’s nothing fancy, but it’s worth a couple of hundred.”
    Octavia stopped at the alleyway, shooting me a look full of disbelief. “You’d give them your possessions?”
    I shrugged, mentally striking her off my interest list. Just looking at her might make me want to lick every inch of that lovely freckly skin, but I’d been around enough shallow, self-centered women to know there was no way we’d mesh. “If it would help them, yes. I prefer working with folks who need a helping hand rather than doling out charity, but you said you had to be on your way, so that’s the best I can do.”
    A little blush came to her cheeks as she touched my hand, apparently forgetting about Hallie for a few seconds. “That’s very kind of you, but not necessary. I left some provisions for them at the way station. They will be brought down later, at night, when the townspeople won’t be able to confiscate them.”
    It was my turn to stare at her. “You left provisions?”
    “Yes. It’s against the rules of the Corps, naturally, but I, too, was raised to believe it is my duty to help those less fortunate. My father always laid by extra provisions to be distributed at the way station stops, and I have continued his