by Pam Uphoff
Made it back to his feet. Hopped to the sink and took off his shirt. A quick glance, to make sure no one was watching, then he pulled the handles out and opened them enough to grab the hygiene kit. Tiny nub of soap left. He washed head to waistline.
He looked down at his leg. More staining and dampness. No odor of gangrene but I must see a doctor. Very soon. Oh God . . . I probably will be able to see a doctor soon. So I won't unwrap it now.
Dried off with his old army shirt. Native shirt back on, and handles back in the narrow sleeve he'd sewn. Ha! All those preps I made, while moaning about my stupid optimism. They're paying off now, aren't they?
He grabbed the crutch and cane, and hopped very carefully around the end stand.
Damn. No money for food. I'll have to chew goat jerky while I figure out how to hitch another ride.
Two more hops . . . the women were still there. Laughing at their own attempts to order food, with a rather perplexed rasoiya.
They spotted him and trotted over to help.
"Excellent! A translator." The mother grabbed him again—Damn she's strong—and hauled him up to the booth.
Three chicken curries with fresh peas, and naan, hot from the grill.
It was to die for, especially when the spices hit on the third bite.
Then back to the car and off.
Luck indeed. I will be in Calcutta by nightfall. Then we'll see what has happened in the last thousand years.
The girl was looking at him, worried. "Sir? We have some, umm, magic medicine, but it can harm you if you're too weak."
Lucky Dave eyed her. Kidding me or potions, because they can't do magic themselves? Have they enslaved the magicians, to make medicines for them? He had a brief flash of imagination, Heroic Dave freeing the slaves! Something to live for, in a conquered world. Couldn't help but snicker. Sorry, not in shape to be a hero this week. Maybe next.
"Well I certainly need healing, but I suspect your medicine is for colds and influenza."
Giggles from both of them. The car pulled over and stopped.
"I'll get it out of the trunk. More boost as well."
He craned his neck but couldn't see what she was doing.
She came back into sight with an open bottle of boost. Pink colored.
"I only put a little in. As injured as you are the main side effect ought to be brief, but you may feel quite drunk."
He took the bottle, and tried a tiny sip.
It tasted like a rather good red wine, which was quite odd if this was really boo . . . then a tidal wave of spells hit him like an electric shock. He threw a glance from mother to daughter uncertain which of them to grab . . . then the flush of heat ebbed and settled in his shoulder and shin . . . "I don't hurt!"
"Good stuff, eh? Let it work for a bit, and make sure it's not depleting your energy too badly."
Dave screwed the cap back on the bottle and placed it in the holder. "I feel good. I . . . " he paused to try and get his Hindi accent back. "I feel good."
The redheads got back into the car. "We ought to be in Kolkata in another five hours, give or take traffic once we get closer." The Mother started the car again, waited for a truck to pass, and pulled out onto the road.
Lucky Dave leaned back . . . wiggled his shoulder a little . . . a faint pain. He reached for the bottle and took a bigger swallow. Deep breaths through that lust . . . side effect? Ha! Bet there's a black market for it. Capped the bottle and set it down.
He leaned back and closed his eyes.
I should stay awake, maybe they'll start discussing history and just happen to mention the date.
But his luck didn't seem to influence these two. Or else I'm just too weak.
After a few minutes silence, the woman spoke. "Actually I ought to call . . . someone about how much I can spend buying something."
The girl snickered. "I guess spending government money means you need permission. But you're a trusted Agent. Surely they . . . Director Urfa?" The girl's voice squeaked a bit at that last. "Trusts you."
"He does. But he prefers to not be surprised."
Oh. Shit. Mom's a government agent.
I can't let them have the Commander. I will do whatever I need to do to keep him safe.
Or out of enemy hands.
His guts clenched and his heart chilled.
God help me.
He laid his head back, dozed until the itching pain in his leg flared up. He pushed himself up a bit more, pulled up his pants leg . . . the wrap was completely soaked, blood tinged pink.
The girl turned and followed his gaze. "Eww! Aunt . . . Mom, I think we'd better stop for some . . . first aid?"
Dave threw out a hand to stop himself from falling to the floor and the car braked and swerved. Bumped over uneven ground.
"Sorry, there was this perfect spot to stop . . . "
The mother . . . or aunt . . . looked over the seat. "Umm, yes." She got out and circled to the trunk. The girl jumped out and opened the door at his feet as the woman lugged a metal case around and set it down on the ground by the door. White, with the red X of a medical kit.
Dave tried to help as she shook out a thin sheet and eased it under his leg. Scissors to cut away the rags tying the slats in place. Then she lifted the edge of the wraps and started cutting.
Dave winced and grabbed the pink boost. A swallow took away the pain, and left him feeling a bit tipsy. Enough that he didn't mind watching the woman work, cutting slowly and carefully, where the cloth was stuck to the skin. She stopped twice to spray the bandage to loosen it. And spray more as she peeled it away from the wound where the shattered bones had once protruded.
He shivered a little remembering that day, stuck in the bubble, wondering if he ought not just cut the leg off.
But now it was just lumpy knobs and ridges under skin that was oozing pus and blood. The woman wiped carefully, cleaning it all up . . . and starting over as more nasty stuff oozed. He watched in horror as a blister formed, ruptured to spew more . . . "That's not . . . I've never seen . . . "
"It's the healing potion I gave you. It's pretty . . . vigorous. That's why I used so little. It can deplete the body as a whole very badly, trying to heal the obvious problems."
Vigorous? He frowned, and leaned to poke. The skin looked . . . healthy. Well, like healthy skin that had been wrapped up away from the sun, but . . . he wiggled his toes. Flexed his knee.
It works!
He leaned away from the back of the seat. Rotated his shoulder . . . a little. It moved stiffly, but it didn't actually hurt. Swung his arm . . . a few inches forward and back. That’s going to take some serious rehab to loosen up.
He took a deep shaky breath as the woman—the enemy agent—pulled all the soiled rags out from under his leg and dropped them in a bag the girl held out.
"I think we should leave that leg uncovered." She shifted the planks away and set them on the floor. "But don't put any weight on it, at all."
He nodded. Feeling the warm humid air from the driver’s door that she'd left open. The cool breeze from the other side, from the air conditioning . . . because she'd left the engine running as well. They were on a wide flat verge where a dirt road led off to a farm, angled a little toward the highway.
"Yes. No weight, umm, I need to, umm . . . " Oh Hell, what are the social niceties these days?
She nodded. "I'll pull you out . . . "
"No." He reached behind him and pulled the latch. "I can pull myself out this door more easily . . . "
He reached up and grabbed the top of the door, got his left foot under him.
She hustled around to make sure he didn't fall.
He paused. She rolled her eyes and walked back around the car. Opened the trunk. Closed the medical kit. Glanced his way. He tried to look embarrassed.
The girl snatched her camera and closed the front passenger door. "I'm going to go look at this bird!"
The agent picked up the box, closed the back passenger door. Thumped the box down into the trunk and
closed it. Walked away to join the girl.
Lucky Dave swung the back door out of the way, barely touching so there was no give away noise. Hopped to the front. Got his right leg in carefully. Sat. Left leg in. Door almost closed.
Check traffic.
A big gap.
Hit the gas.
Chapter Eight
Car Thief
Rael's head whipped around and she stared open mouthed for a shocked second.
"Son of a syphilitic camel! He just stole my car!"
Ryol slapped her hands to her face. "What! We were helping him! What are we going to do? Oh One, that wasn't even your car! Are you going to be in trouble?"
Rael started grinning. "Ha! Nope. Mr. Mystery is in trouble." She started patting her pockets . . . "Uh oh, Ryol do you have your com? Mine's in the car."
The girl looked panicked and started her own pocket patting routine . . . and pulled hers out.
"Excellent." Rael tapped in to the motor pool and identified herself. "Enno? Find the code on the car I signed out and turn it off, will you?"
She sighed at the laughter. "Yes, yes. Very funny, Rael let someone steal her car. Umm, don't hit the brakes right away, it's in traffic . . . Thanks."
Rael handed the phone back to Ryol. "Right. Let's hike down the road and see if Mr. Mystery managed to get off the road without getting crunched. Because you know what? I'm beginning to think you may have just rescued three people from the fall of Fort Rangpur."
"What!" Ryol squeaked. "You think he's a Warrior? But you said he wasn't of the One."
"He's not. And he had what sounded like an authentic accent, and he spoke Hindi . . . But then Ra'd speaks both Hindi and Mandarin. So that doesn't mean this guy isn't a Halfer soldier. I'm not sure why he would be so untrusting, so desperate to get away. But he certainly is acting like a soldier in enemy territory." She shaded her eyes. "There's the car, off the road."
Chapter Nine
&$*^@!!!
Dave tried to not curse out loud as he failed to get the car to do anything.
"Remote controlled mechanical Bitch! FUCK!" Then he hastily fumbled at the door. Much to his relief, it opened. He pried himself out and slammed the door. He eyed it and pulled the handle. It didn't budge. He slumped against the car and thumped his head on the roof. "Great. Now I'm locked out and don't even have my crutch." He turned his head and looked back along the road. No sign of pissed off redheads. Yet. But what he did see was a gap between the back door and the roof.
I didn't close the back door. Is it completely unlatched?
He hopped—very carefully because this would be a bad time to stumble against the door—to the rear. Pried at the door, it opened a few inches and stopped. He stuck his fingers in and poked, there was the post, and if he pushed up right there . . .
Damn it. If I had a screwdriver or . . . He pulled out the Bag handles . . . stared at them. What if I bend them? He looked at the space between the door and the jamb.
If I could hold onto the door while I get into the bag, then maneuver the handles sideways . . . it would fall inside. Then I could open the door . . .
No.
Then I could finger walk it under the front seat and let the redheads drive me someplace. Excellent. Plan.
Other than having to sit down to get his legs in and then fight the tendency of the bag to pull in anything that got partway . . . he finally had to grip the bottom of the door and cling while the handles sucked up to his hand and maneuver the handles in and up over the threshold, and pinch his fingers . . . He shoved his head out . . . pushed partway out, cursed as all of him came out sprawled awkwardly on the car floor. He reached and grabbed all the bottles . . . yes, the pink one! Then he pulled the handles up, bent to get them close to the front passenger seat and scooted in, just keeping his hand out to push the handles all the way under the seat.
Perfect.
Nicholas stirred and whimpered a bit. "Lucky Dave?"
"Sir?" Dave hastily grabbed the pink boost . . . Set it down and grabbed the clear one.
And from outside, muffled female voices.
If I close the handles, I could miss my chance to bail . . . He squirmed out of his shirt, balled it up and stuffed it against the handles. "Shh, quiet, sir. The enemy is near." Opening the car doors, closing them. Inside the bag there was no sensation of movement, but most likely they had both gotten in.
He uncapped the boost and lifted Nick's head to sip at it. And then the thick chocolatey drink.
The woman waited a couple of hours before she gave me the pink stuff. So I'll do the same.
More boost, then the commander's eyes started sliding closed.
Or a few days . . . damn it, do we have even a day?
Dave uncapped the pink and got a sip into the old man before his breathing slowed again.
Engine sounds, the grit of tires on gravel, then the subdued whirl of tires on tarmac.
Then he looked the other way, to find his brother watching.
"You look funny with no beard."
"Shh. We're hiding, hitching a ride to Calcutta, where I can see about getting us into a hospital. I think . . . I don't know the situation, politically. The two women in the car have a bit of an accent, and use occasional Spanish words and phrases. One of them is some sort of government agent, so I dare not openly ask for help."
Davos nodded. "In case they're still anti-Islam, or anti-genetic engineering, or anti-magic."
"Exactly." Dave handed him the boost.
Davos swallowed. "Oh, I needed this." Another swallow. Then he lifted the sheet and looked at his belly. "No worse."
"Yeah. So drink this, too. And . . . in a few hours I'll give you something else." Dave watched him finish off the chocolate thing . . . then started flexing and bending his right leg. All those lumps of misaligned bone . . . Hope I don't have to put weight on it. But if the pink stuff could heal Davos' gut, the two of us could get the commander to safety . . . once we figure out where that is.
He caught the sound of women's voices and put his ear near the handles.
Chapter Ten
Stowaways
"Well, I don't see the pain in the ass car thief." Rael scowled. "Someone must have given him a lift. I think we've lost him, but keep your eyes open."
Ryol huffed. "I still can't believe he did that!" She shut her eyes . . . then sat up wide-eyed. Put a finger to her lips and pointed downward.
Rael grinned. Raised her eyebrows and two fingers, then three.
Ryol's mouth rounded in a silent "Oh!" She closed her eyes and started grinning. Raised three fingers.
Rael nodded. "Well, the traffic's getting heavier, but we should be home in about three hours. Kickback, relax, and forget about Mr. Rude."
:: And don't say anything about corridors or being back in Paris when we get there. I'm taking them all straight to the hospital. ::
Ryol grinned and bounced in her seat. "This has been an awesome vacation!"
One help me, I think she's starting to enjoy this.
She turned on some music, let Ryol find something more to her liking. They swapped grins and started snarking about each other's tastes in music, offering critiques, singing along, and then critiquing each other's performance . . . drove through the corridor to New Delhi, through another traffic jam and finally, through the corridor to Paris, sunset turning abruptly into midday.
Rael turned on the autodrive and let the car handle getting them across town. And finally got out her comm, and turned it on, and to text only.
Oops. Fifteen messages. She sent a universal "We're fine" message and frowned at the lack of response from Isakson when she tried to call him.
Then a ding from Urfa.
?
Rael grinned. More succinct than usual.
Found another Bag. I think the guy hobbling down the road with it is a survivor, with two others in worse shape still in the Bag. But he seems very much in the 'escape from enemy territory' mode. So we're pretending we don't realize he's stowed
away in the bag under the front seat. I'll haul him straight to the hospital before we drag him out and try to convince him we're actually friendly.
And the reply from Urfa. I'll send some help, just in case. Remember what a hard ass Ra'd was at first.
Ryol, reading over her shoulder, glared at the comm.
Rael suppressed a giggle. :: We will need to be careful. Whoever he is, he doesn't understand that he's safe, and probably will start out belligerent. ::
Ryol looked worried. :: You won't hurt him, will you? ::
:: I'll try, but he's so bloody fragile—here and there—and strong—here and there—that I may have trouble if he tries something. He may have weapons in there. If he pulls a gun or knife you will run away. ::
Ryol swallowed, nodded.
:: I mean it. You don't want to be the hostage with the knife at her throat. It's safer for both of us if you run. ::
"Oh." Almost soundless, then she looked down, eyes closed. Smiled and shook her head.
The car turned into the Prophets' Memorial Hospital and blinked for instructions. Rael steered it to the emergency center and parked.
She walked around to the passenger rear door, opened it, and leaned down to take a look. Two rusty old bars, a centimeter apart, something yellow showing that was about the color of the man's shirt.
Caught him napping.
She reached and pulled the bars out.
The yellow fabric bulged out, curved . . . Fingers grabbing the lower bar. Cursing.
"Damn, ought to have closed it first." Rael grabbed the bars at the ends and squeezed as the hand tried to escape in the middle.
"We're at the hospital, why don't you just relax and let me carry you in . . . " She trotted hastily for the door.
The hand got free of the fabric, turned and pried at her left hand.
Rael hustled up to the admissions counter. "Hi. I have a fellow with a broken leg and shoulder injuries."