by Dale Brown
“I’m glad you can joke,” she said.
“So am I”
He could tell she had been crying, but Breanna had daubed her face so he wouldn’t think so.
Ever since the accident, Breanna had tried to never let him see her cry. He knew she was doing it for him — the doctors had probably told her she had to keep his morale up — but it irked him sometimes. Not now, though. Now he was just glad as hell that she was okay.
* * *
It seemed to Mack that it happened in reverse. It seemed that he found himself covered with ice, then felt incredible pain, then saw the bomb exploding. Only after it exploded did he reach out.
By then he was already dead.
Except that he wasn’t dead. If he were dead he would not feel pain, and he felt incredible pain.
And ice under his back.
Maybe you did feel pain when you died. Maybe saying that you felt no pain was just what people said. After all, who would know?
He knew. Because he had died and then the bomb exploded and then he was alive, in ridiculous pain.
“You will be okay, Minister.”
Mack blinked his eyes, struggling to get them to focus.
He was in a hospital bed. At least he assumed it was a hospital bed — he heard machines, saw white, smelled something antiseptic.
His back was tremendously cold.
“You will walk again.”
Who was talking to him?
Mack forced his eyes to find Prince bin Awg, who stood on his right.
“Is this a dream?”
“No, Minister. You’re awake. And alive.” The prince had a faint, slightly patronizing smile. “The doctor says it is a temporary injury, very severe but temporary. You will walk.”
“Don’t let them operate on me,” he told the prince.
Bin Awg looked embarrassed. “The operation was two days ago.”
“Two days?”
“You had many injuries.”
“I had many injuries?”
The prince nodded grimly.
“I–I’m not going to stay. I have to go back to Dreamland,” Mack said. “I’m sorry — this administrative stuff, the job isn’t for me”
“Rest,” said the prince, putting his hand on Mack’s chest. “Rest.”
“I have to go back.”
“You will.”
Mack tried to push his elbows up beneath him. He got the left one in place but the right one didn’t move. The right one felt as if it didn’t exist.
In a panic, he looked over to the side of the bed, then turned away, then looked back.
But his arm was there; even though he couldn’t feel it, at least it was there.
He couldn’t feel his legs either.
His toes?
Nothing on his legs. They were like — a buzz? No, it was more like a thought of something that he just missed seeing. His back felt ridiculously cold and the side of his neck — that buzzed.
“God, my legs:’ he said.
“You’ll be okay,” said the prince. “You’ll be okay.”
“I tried to stop him. The suicide bomber. I tried to stop him.”
“You kept him from getting very far. He detonated himself so close to the doorway that there were not many injuries. Your friends were all okay. They’ve been waiting to see you for four days now. Do you wish to see them?”
God, my legs, thought Mack. Oh God, my legs.
FB2 document info
Document ID: b2a8e02d-e238-4608-8ed4-c4d6ac35e79a
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 16.8.2013
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1.0 — создание документа fb2
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