Hurt World One and the Zombie Rats

by Stuart Parker

  *

  ‘What’s its chances, doc?’ asked Mlit Hopital through his surgical mask as he watched over the surgery in progress.

  Dr Leanov recognised the stress in the Stamford TF representative’s voice and wondered if he was squeamish at the sight of blood, even if it was just the blood of a canine. A more likely explanation he supposed was that this particular dog’s blood just happened to be more valuable than Romanee-Conti wine. Perhaps, he should have barred someone so dubious from his operating theatre, but surgery was such a lonely experience. ‘Its chances are good,’ replied Leanov with his crisp Georgian accent. He poked the sedated dog’s hard, muscular rump. ‘I say that because it is strong.’

  Hopital had been giving Leanov a looking over of his own. There were busy black eyebrows; a broad, oval forehead; unkempt curly black hair; and large, intense eyes. Importantly to Hopital, there was no trace of hesitation or duplicity. Leanov appeared to be one of those no-nonsense, no-ego types that Hopital could trust without necessarily respecting. Having decided that the world renowned veterinarian’s positive diagnosis was dependable enough, he could not wait to hear it again. ‘Are you sure, doc? The poor thing was leaking blood all the way here. We patched it up as best we could with some of those Third World emergency staples. They weren’t really up to the kind of hole Blast has got in its side. I mean, you could put hinges on that flap of skin and make it into a door.’

  ‘I suppose Guatemala does not have all the facilities that we enjoy here.’ Leanov was suturing up the dog’s side gash with a fast, expert touch. He paused to slap the monitor displaying Blast’s vital signs set up at the head of the surgical table. ‘That is a heart that wants to keep beating. I don’t make guarantees but I tell it the way I see it. I’ve had war lords with cute little puppies pull guns on me and I still didn’t tell them anything less than the truth. You can pull a gun if you want to kill something, but it isn’t nearly so useful when it comes to keeping things alive.’

  ‘Honestly, Doc, an hour ago I might have been ready to pull a gun on you myself. Now that you’re taking care of business, I’m feeling a tad more sociable. Sociable enough to tell you of the danger you’re in.’

  Leanov frowned. ‘The people who tell the best threats are usually the worst at paying their bills.’

  ‘You’ve got me wrong. You’ll get paid sure enough. Say what you will about the United Nations, they can certainly pay a bill.’

  Leanov glanced up from his suturing. ‘Then enlighten me as to what you’re getting at.’

  ‘As grumpy as doctors are, I know in general the concern they have for their patients is real. In this case though I would strongly suggest you tone it down a level or two. And I’m not talking about the grumpiness.’

  Nurse Null, who had been quietly assisting the operation, needed to pat the perspiration off her own brow. Leanov, however, retained his surgical-grade steadiness. ‘So, what you’re saying is you don’t want Blast to survive?’

  Hopital nudged past Nurse Null to get closer. ‘I know how doctors play the game. Do a little operation and then prescribe a long rest as an inpatient. And why not? We all have to get paid. But on this occasion I would discharge the patient as soon as possible. Don’t get caught up in the aura of working for the United Nations. The truth is the Hurt World Agency is just a rather nasty off-shoot. Its technicians do not answer to anyone and do not care who gets hurt when there is a mission to do. You should know this because that’s all you’ll have between you and the person you really need to worry about.’

  ‘Who is that?’

  ‘The other person coming for Blast.’

  Leanov finished of the suturing and briefed Nurse Null on what to do next: saline proxy blood, protein milk and a level one anti-bacterial mist. Then he left the operating theatre, discarding to the floor his mask and bloodied gloves as he went. The face that was revealed underneath was streaked with wrinkles and blotches. Hopital thought he looked quite sickly and wondered if the high altitude of the Swiss Alps was an attempt at the doctor’s own healing.

  ‘I’m sad to say I may have let myself be swayed by the thought of helping out the United Nations,’ Leanov murmured. He looked about the glass walled cubicles of the recovery ward he had marched into; the pandas, tiger cubs and yaks that occupied them perked up with his presence. ‘I didn’t do my usual background check into this patient, something I have started doing since I realized that attached to animals as cute as these are often people rotten to the core.’

  ‘That is the way I view the Hurt World,’ said Hopital. ‘The United Nations might be a noble and benevolent institution but this thing called the Hurt World is fused to it like a wart on the toe of an honest young maiden. Although they would not reveal the identity of the technician they are sending, you can be sure these people are all cast from the same mold. And the animal division is the worst of all. The Hurt World obviously does not value our fellow creatures as much as you do, for it is their lowest prioritised department and the entry point for new recruits. And they are not particularly discriminating about who they take. Bent cops. Screwed up lawyers. Blood thirsty peace keepers. You name it.’

  Leanov stepped out onto the terrace of the grey synthetic-stone chalet sucking in a lungful of the crisp cold mountain air as though suddenly in need of his cure. Part of it may have been the sereneness of the view of Mount Rosa nestled in a soft pink hue of an early summer dusk. He spotted a parachutist cruising towards the mountain from at least a thousand metres above. ‘Is that the technician?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hopital, looking up from beside him. ‘He would have come in a very fast plane that will be out of Switzerland before he even lands.’

  ‘They are bringing me a bear soon too. That must be in a slower plane and I assume it is actually going to land.’

  ‘His presence will make you a target, for his enemy will know it is only a matter of time before Blast is moved to a more secure location.’

  ‘Who is this enemy?’

  ‘A poacher. She is good with a rifle, so she might be selective in who she shoots. But the time she shot at me she used a missile.’ He looked around. ‘This is a great spot for a missile.’

  ‘No one has come to my practice by parachute before. I wonder if these are the kind of people you can really say no to.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about long lasting grudges. The life expectancy of Hurt World technicians is brief. I hear that their insurance premiums are higher even than for the Arctic armies. And the technicians of the Hurt World One are worst of all. Young, inexperienced and desperate to prove themselves. It is not a recipe conducive to clear heads and smart decisions.’ As Kaptu began to sway in the swirling winds bouncing off the mountain, Hopital sneered derisively. ‘I don’t mean to sound callous, but that leaf up there is all that stands between you and the person coming to kill Blast before its sense of smell returns.’

  ‘And who is that?’ The voice was edgy. Hopital could feel he was causing the hands of a world renowned surgeon to tremble. ‘Mas,’ he said bluntly.

  ‘Yes,’ murmured Leanov. ‘I have heard of her. An assassin of animals.’

  ‘An assassin of people too.’ He patted the doctor on the shoulder. ‘You have a good practice here and a lot of animals would be sorry the day it is lost. Take care of yourself.’

  Leanov swung around as he headed off the terrace. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘It’s not safe for me here, either. Especially not standing in open view like this. For all I know Mas’s sniper rifle is trained on me right now. I’ve had my run-ins with her before and the only thing that would be holding her back from pulling the trigger would be keeping her presence concealed. She’s a particularly disciplined hunter in that regard but I wouldn’t want to push my luck. And besides, visual contact has been made with the Hurt World technician. Legally, that is sufficient to constitute a handover.’ He stretched his neck in an effort to update himself on Kaptu’s progress but the roof overha
ng was blocking his view. ‘He could break his neck for all I care.’

  Leanov left him to find his own way out of the practice. He returned to the operating theatre, where the nurse was still at work applying the anti-bacterial treatment to Blast’s wounds. ‘Prepare the cocoon, Nurse Nell,’ he said in his most formal voice. ‘The patient will be travelling very soon.’