Does anyone really?

Millions of years of evolution resulted in the human eye, a precise and unnecessarily complicated instrument of sight that was tuned to spotting movement, no matter how slight. It was, however, far worse at noticing stationary objects.

Fareeha sat, invisible, at the base of the radio tower.

Hundreds of men, women, and children made their way across her field of vision, each with their own hopes, dreams, and woes. This was a refugee camp, she noted to herself. She hadn't seen one before, despite being a soldier. Years ago, she used to believe she'll go to these after the war was over to help with relief efforts, or to get a perspective of the fighting from those who stayed behind. By the time the war was over, the thought of having to break the bad news to relatives of dead comrades got the better of her.

Fareeha didn't feel the desire to move.

Time passed, as the sun proceeded on its oppressive arc. Thirty-two years she had spent under its shroud, but it didn't make enduring the heat any easier. If anything, things had gotten worse over the recent years. She could be inside the tent, resting, but that didn't feel right. She could exercise, but she didn't feel focused enough. There was a strange tingling of agitation following her every trail of thought. It had been plaguing her ever since her recovery.

Fareeha continued to sit, legs crossed, peering into the yard.

All of these people were strangers to her. She was a few meagre feet from them, yet neither party had put the minimum effort to even recognise each other's existence. They were all nothing more than tiny grains of sand, lost on this field of dirt, waiting for someone else to decide their fates. She thought she was better than this, that she had worked hard enough to break away. Then, as a bead of sweat dropped from her brow and sizzled when it hit the boiling earth, she felt small.

It wasn't until a guard came by to usher her off that Fareeha moved. It was already late into the night. The air was chilling, caressing her rough, dark skin at every blow of the wind, from which the t-shirt and trousers she wore would not protect.

The tent was as she had left it, empty and devoid of human warmth. Her agitation from before had grown into a full-blown headache. She desired nothing more than to fade to sleep, but she wanted to stay up. It was but nine in the afternoon. Any minute now, there could be a rustle outside the door, as a slim, shapely contour enter the tent, wearing a tired smile on a pale face. It didn't happen, as Fareeha's exhaustion got the better of her.

Nothing had changed by the time she woke up. Dawn had come and gone, as Fareeha found herself in isolation once again. She checked the wounds, to see their improvement slow and inadequate. Frustrating as it was, she of all people knew the importance of proper rest. She wasn't of much use in this state either, with her body beaten up and her suit destroyed. The only thing she was clinging to was a possible visit from the good doctor, but even that didn't happen. Was she too busy, or was she too tired? Either way, it was Fareeha who was wallowing alone.

"Good morning."

A familiar high-pitched voice caught her attention. It was the male nurse from before.

"Morning," she managed a halfhearted greeting, but he seemed to not mind.

"Your daily medicine." Two pills mixed with water, as always. "How are your injuries looking?"

"It's progressing, but not fast enough," Fareeha said.

"The wounds truly weren't that bad. Perhaps the trauma of the incident is hampering your ability to heal."

She thought it over. Something like that never occurred to her, because it sounded impossible. She had been through worse than this before, but each of those times left its own scar. Perhaps it was just the same this time around. She took her medicine.

In this moment, she had the opportunity to observe this man closer. He was very well-groomed and clean-shaven, with a small stature. His skin was dark, but not like the locals. There was a hinge of beige, something more commonly found in a more humid climate. It wasn't anything strange, however, to see foreigners participating in the relief efforts. It didn't warrant much curiosity, though the purple highlight strips in his hair did. She thought it fun.

"Thank you," she said.

"Also, I have some good news for you." Fareeha craned an eyebrow. "We found someone who could be someone you're looking for. One of our recon groups happened across a lost man in a white lab coat yesterday."

That could be truly fine news.

"What does he look like?" she asked.

"He's short, chubby, with a birthmark near the edge of his lips."

"That's it, that's Husani!"

It was easy to tell how ecstatic Fareeha was at the news. She hadn't been able to perform her responsibilities, but it could change, even if only one scientist who were found. She hastily grabbed the man's hand and shook it firmly. She didn't expect such a soft grip, but in her joy she paid it no mind.

"Where is he now?" she asked.

"He's being treated in a medical tent at the south edge of the camp."

"Treated? Is he injured?"

"No, just traumatised. You can check up on him, see if he's stable."

"Right away."

Without a moment's hesitation, she rushed out into the maddening heat once again. Four steps later, Fareeha stopped. Swept up, she had forgotten to thank the nurse for his information. Hurrying back, she discovered the tent empty once more. He had disappeared with such speed, she thought, he must've been busy. Making a mental note for later, she returned to the task at hand.

Fareeha hadn't felt this purposeful in so long. Every step further a drumbeat to her heightening of spirit. Perhaps things were finally starting to pick up.

Greeting her by the medical camp was a tall, pig-faced guard. He wore what she could only infer as a defunct private police uniform, the deep green colour gnawed away by time. His expression didn't change as she came into view: upper lip stiffened, eyes glaring downward.

"What is your business here?" he asked in a grovelling voice. "Refugees aren't allowed here."

"I'm not a refugee." Farehea may have experienced fewer bouts of loneliness if she was. "A nurse told me a man was brought in here last night. He's my colleague; I'd like to see him."

The guard stared her down; she stared back. The standstill lasted half a minute, before he finally stepped aside, feet dragged in reluctance. Fareeha stepped forward and found herself inside before long.

This medical tent was far bigger than hers, with the distinct interior difference of having far more equipment. Defibrillators, breathing masks, shears, forceps, and many more things which she couldn't identify were scattered about the tables and beds. There were traces of dried, and not so dried, blood beneath every step. It looked like the aftermath of a rushed surgery.

There was only one other person present. An injured man in a white lab coat laid on his side, away from the entrance, motionless. Fareeha approached him slowly. She whispered his name, to hear nothing in return. She lightly nudged him, to feel no resistance. She circled around to see his face.

His left eye rolled to the side, looking for the right one which wasn't there. She touched his face, but could only feel the scalding, burnt skin. His lips curled into a pained smile, only half the muscles working. It contorted until she could no longer bear its haunting aura.

Presently, Fareeha found herself on the ground. There were medical instruments about her, dropped as a table came down. She must have knocked it down when she fell backward. She didn't remember doing that. There must have been a sound when they hit the ground. She didn't remember hearing that either.

The guard from the outside rushed in, screaming.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She turned to face him. His face had gotten red with annoyance, but she didn't remember his features so spaced out. He used to look more plump, she thought. He didn't look like he had a lazy eye before. His teeth didn't look like fangs before. His legs didn't look like they were bent backward before.

Fareeha ran for the door. She couldn't feel her feet going one after another. Out of the corner of her eye, the sun floated. It was cold, silent, and radiated nothing. She ran past two people. They looked at her, and she looked at them, but their eyes didn't meet. All she saw was a muted void swallowing the space around it. She turned her head to stare at the ground. There were waves of sand that matched her every step. Her body was experiencing a sinking feeling, as if there were cracks on the ground where her feet were. She ran, fearing that the fissure created by these cracks would eventually catch up to her.

Presently, she was back in her tent, blanket over her head, eyes closed. There was no darkness in which she can seek refuge. Colours and shapes filled her mental state. She couldn't focus. She couldn't think. She could only wait.

There she was again at the crossroads, flag pole in her hand. Rivers of crimson filled the trenches running across the battlefield on which she stood. Bodies piled on top of one another, forming a staircase toward the mount at the top of the hills. She ran toward it. Just before she arrived, her feet stopped. It was not her decision. Cold, plying fingers wrapped around her feet. Those hands weren't connected to any arms, merely crawling themselves backward, and dragging her with them. Fareeha struggled, but this mysterious force which had a handle on her couldn't be stopped. Hands grabbed at her arms, and shoulder, her neck. They pulled her back, down the hill. She couldn't fight it any longer. She fell.

Pain coursed through her bruised skin, jolting Fareeha awake. The first thing she saw was the cold, stony ground. It was already dark. She tried to get up, but found her arms restrained by the straight jacket in which she was. She managed to wiggle her way up right, to see the familiar interiors of her medical tent. The bed was right beside her; the messy mattress told her it was where from which she fell. Despite this change, one thing was the same: she was alone.

"Hello?" she bellowed.

There were footsteps.

A nurse entered her room, but she opted to remain at the door. Fareeha didn't know this person. The nurse said nothing at first, instead opted to stand still and observe the patient's condition.

"Are you coherent?" asked the nurse.

Fareeha desperately wanted to say no.

"Yes. Why am I restrained?" she asked, masking her indignation as best as she could.

"A guard reported you being uncooperative this morning. When we came to check on you, you were resisting very heavily. Do you not remember?"

She didn't.

"I feel fine now." Another lie. "Can you please get me out of this?"

"Not until we can make sure that your condition is stable. Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of staff on hand right now, at this time of night." The nurse scratched her chin.

"Can you please contact Dr. Ziegler?"

"Unfortunately, she isn't on site right now. She was part of a recon mission the night before last and had yet to return."

There was that sinking feeling again.

"A male nurse knows me. He's a little short, thin, darker, and had purple highlight in his hair," Fareeha said.

The nurse looked at her.

"We don't have anyone like that."

Fareeha's first reaction was to scoff at that declaration. Then she thought about it.

"Do you really not?"

"No one in the medical staff matches that description, I'm pretty sure. There aren't many of us here, so I'd know." The nurse thought for a moment, and asked. "Do you know his name?"

She bit her lip nervously.