backed away from him, and then to Pradesh, whose eyes betrayed his shock. Allen also gaped at the ugly gash, but not because of any squeamishness about the blood. Presumably he’d seen plenty in his line of work. As had Fletcher and Pradesh.
What none of them had seen, however, was the way Dave Hooper’s wound sealed itself and stopped bleeding within a few seconds. His hand itched terribly where he had opened it up, and he examined it with a sort of fearful curiosity, half expecting to pass out. But instead of some lipless, pulsing violation, all he saw was the blood he had spilled. He ran his fingers gently over the site of the gash.
The skin was sticky with blood but otherwise unmarked.
‘Holy fuck,’ Dave said.
‘I told you so,’ Nurse Fletcher hissed at the doctor.
06
N urse Fletcher hurried back, wearing rubber gloves and carrying a clean-up tray. She dipped cotton balls into a bowl of warm water that was cloudy with antiseptic. After what had happened to Dent, Dave was careful not to make any sudden movements as she wiped away the blood. He was feeling dizzy again, but not because of the gore. He was certain now that he was starving. It had been a long time since he’d eaten any solid food, and that had been a bag of Doritos, and he’d tossed them up on the grass back at the depot. The hunger was becoming more than just uncomfortable. The pain in his stomach was much worse than the glass going into his hand. Or coming out.
Pradesh shooed away the orderlies when Dave agreed to behave himself on the promise of something to eat and somebody finally answering his questions. Allen, who introduced himself as a chief petty officer, some sort of navy sergeant, assured Dave he would ‘brief him in’ on the situation out at the Longreach, including an updated casualty list. Vince Martinelli, he said, had been taken to a military hospital with minor injuries but otherwise suffering only from shock. He would be fine.
‘This is most unusual,’ Pradesh muttered as the blood came off Dave’s arm and hands. ‘Most unsatisfactory.’
‘Unsatisfactory’ wasn’t the word Dave would have chosen. ‘Bugshit crazy’ would have been his choice. Nobody had asked him about monsters or nightmares or told him to piss into a cup yet, for which he was grateful. He’d been doing pretty well convincing himself he was having some kind of acid flashback or crystal meth moment until he’d destroyed the bedside table and sliced open his hand, only to see it heal in less than a minute. That was madness enough to put a man over the edge, but at least he wasn’t alone in having witnessed it. Five other responsible adults had seen it, too. And none of them had been snorting lines off some hooker’s tits the previous night as far as he knew.
‘There,’ said Nurse Fletcher as she finished cleaning a wound that wasn’t there. ‘Doctor?’
Pradesh stepped forward a little cautiously and leaned over to take Dave’s hand gently. He turned it this way and that, looking for any signs of the injury they’d all seen Dave inflict upon himself just a couple of minutes earlier. Again Dave was careful not to make any sudden or forceful movements. The doctor frowned and shook his head, muttering something to himself.
‘We all saw what happened, did we not?’ Pradesh said at last, in his snooty Oxford English.
‘Yep,’ noted Nurse Fletcher. ‘It’s just like I told you. You didn’t believe me, but I told you he came in here badly wounded. And now . . .’ She trailed off.
‘And now,’ said Dave, wincing in pain, ‘I think I’m going to disappear up my own butthole if I don’t get something to eat. I’m not joking, Doc. I’ve never felt this hungry before in my life. Feels like a fire inside me.’
‘Of course, of course,’ Pradesh said. ‘Increased metabolism.’ He spoke as though he were talking about Dave, not to him. ‘Nurse, call down to the children’s ward and see if they can send up a couple of packets of
What none of them had seen, however, was the way Dave Hooper’s wound sealed itself and stopped bleeding within a few seconds. His hand itched terribly where he had opened it up, and he examined it with a sort of fearful curiosity, half expecting to pass out. But instead of some lipless, pulsing violation, all he saw was the blood he had spilled. He ran his fingers gently over the site of the gash.
The skin was sticky with blood but otherwise unmarked.
‘Holy fuck,’ Dave said.
‘I told you so,’ Nurse Fletcher hissed at the doctor.
06
N urse Fletcher hurried back, wearing rubber gloves and carrying a clean-up tray. She dipped cotton balls into a bowl of warm water that was cloudy with antiseptic. After what had happened to Dent, Dave was careful not to make any sudden movements as she wiped away the blood. He was feeling dizzy again, but not because of the gore. He was certain now that he was starving. It had been a long time since he’d eaten any solid food, and that had been a bag of Doritos, and he’d tossed them up on the grass back at the depot. The hunger was becoming more than just uncomfortable. The pain in his stomach was much worse than the glass going into his hand. Or coming out.
Pradesh shooed away the orderlies when Dave agreed to behave himself on the promise of something to eat and somebody finally answering his questions. Allen, who introduced himself as a chief petty officer, some sort of navy sergeant, assured Dave he would ‘brief him in’ on the situation out at the Longreach, including an updated casualty list. Vince Martinelli, he said, had been taken to a military hospital with minor injuries but otherwise suffering only from shock. He would be fine.
‘This is most unusual,’ Pradesh muttered as the blood came off Dave’s arm and hands. ‘Most unsatisfactory.’
‘Unsatisfactory’ wasn’t the word Dave would have chosen. ‘Bugshit crazy’ would have been his choice. Nobody had asked him about monsters or nightmares or told him to piss into a cup yet, for which he was grateful. He’d been doing pretty well convincing himself he was having some kind of acid flashback or crystal meth moment until he’d destroyed the bedside table and sliced open his hand, only to see it heal in less than a minute. That was madness enough to put a man over the edge, but at least he wasn’t alone in having witnessed it. Five other responsible adults had seen it, too. And none of them had been snorting lines off some hooker’s tits the previous night as far as he knew.
‘There,’ said Nurse Fletcher as she finished cleaning a wound that wasn’t there. ‘Doctor?’
Pradesh stepped forward a little cautiously and leaned over to take Dave’s hand gently. He turned it this way and that, looking for any signs of the injury they’d all seen Dave inflict upon himself just a couple of minutes earlier. Again Dave was careful not to make any sudden or forceful movements. The doctor frowned and shook his head, muttering something to himself.
‘We all saw what happened, did we not?’ Pradesh said at last, in his snooty Oxford English.
‘Yep,’ noted Nurse Fletcher. ‘It’s just like I told you. You didn’t believe me, but I told you he came in here badly wounded. And now . . .’ She trailed off.
‘And now,’ said Dave, wincing in pain, ‘I think I’m going to disappear up my own butthole if I don’t get something to eat. I’m not joking, Doc. I’ve never felt this hungry before in my life. Feels like a fire inside me.’
‘Of course, of course,’ Pradesh said. ‘Increased metabolism.’ He spoke as though he were talking about Dave, not to him. ‘Nurse, call down to the children’s ward and see if they can send up a couple of packets of
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