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We've got to get him off this." He started to slide his arms under the boy,
but Mildred pushed the man away.
"Don't touch him until I say so," the physician ordered brusquely. Then she
ripped open the boy's shirt.
His hairless chest was smeared with blood and heavily scarred in spots, but
there were no cuts or slashes readily apparent. But his forearm was thick with
partially dried blood.
"Clawed," she said, probing the tender flesh. "Some minor discoloration, but
no signs of toxic striation."
"The mutie is poisonous?"
"Apparently so, but none got in the wounds." Then she muttered, "However, that
isn't what I'm worried about."
Suddenly shuddering, Dean began to have trouble breathing. Ryan started for
him and stopped. As careful as if she were handling antique glass, Mildred
took his head and tilted it backward an inch, the raspy noise easing somewhat.
"Tissue damage to his throat, just a bruise really, but it can swell and close
off his breathing. I better prep for a trach just in case it gets worse."
Whipping out a knife, she placed a small piece of soft plastic tubing from a
fish aquarium alongside her switchblade knife and a packet of cotton wadding.
The med kit held the big instruments, but Mildred always carried small medical
items in her pockets just for a case like this.
Then she cursed, bumping her head against the rounded corner of one of the
plastic tables. "For God's sake, give me some room to work. And more light!"
With his back to the wall between two fast-food counters, J.B. stood guard
while Ryan and Doc started to remove the obstructions. The tables were bolted
to the floor, but that didn't hinder the men from clearing a space around the
patient and doctor.
As Doc tipped the plastic tables sideways, Ryan set the lanterns close to the
shiny plastic tops to reflect the light and amplify the meager illumination.
As bright as it was, there was no overhead illumination, and for one fleeting
instant, Ryan felt he would have given his remaining eye for a single working
lightbulb.
Concentrating on her task, Mildred carefully probed behind the boy's ears for
any telltale swelling, then checked his nose for a trace of clear fluid.
"No sign of a skull fracture," she announced, feeling a wave of relief.
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"That's good news." Furiously pumping the handle of her flashlight, charging
the battery to maximum, she gently used a thumb to peel back an eyelid,
shining the beam directly into Dean's eyes. The pupils dilated very slowly.
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"Goddammit," she cursed. Shifting position, the physician started to unlace
the boot on Dean's right leg, her dark fingers lost in the shadows.
Krysty and Jak arrived just then with their arms full of draperies. "No
blankets," Krysty announced, depositing her bundle near the boy. "But these
are good and thick."
"Need more, we'll get carpet," Jak added, dropping his load of curtains and
valances on top of the pile.
"That's enough for now," Mildred said, easing off the boy's Army boot. Drawing
a knife, she slid the pommel of the weapon upward along the inner sole of his
bare foot. Then she did it again, watching his unresponsive toes.
Doc sat on the edge of the fountain, watching the process with growing unease.
He remembered a farming accident from his youth in Vermont and how the local
country doctor had done the same thing and what the awful verdict was.
"What's wrong?" Ryan asked, sitting on his haunches.
Sliding the sock back on the limp foot, Mildred looked at him directly. "Your
son has a concussion, no way to tell how bad. Thankfully, there doesn't seem
to be any loose bone fragments. Might be okay if there's no internal clotting.
Couple of ribs, right hand and his left leg are broken, but no compound
fractures, thank God. Right arm is dislocated. Painful as hell, but also not
serious. Probably landed sideways, breaking his leg, which slowed his momentum
enough to stop the impact from smashing his skull open."
Mildred knew she was sounding callous, and her old teachers at medical school
would have had a fit about her talking to a patient's parent this way. But
those days were long gone. Ryan needed information hard and fast. There was
simply no time for courtesy.
Ryan gave no outward sign of concern at the news.
"Partially bit through his tongue. I can fix that with needle and thread good
as new, and I have two antibiotic tablets I've been saving for an emergency."
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