Burning Bright (Peter Ash #2)(44)

“Spend time inside.” Peter stared out at the rainy night. “Even if I hyperventilate and sweat through my clothes?”

“Did it kill you today? No. So you’re one step closer. You’ve been in combat, I’m pretty sure you’ve done harder things. The task here is to find your way back to the world. Take care of the people you love. Find work that matters.”

Peter wondered about his promise to protect June from her hunters, if that counted as finding work that mattered. It sure as hell did focus the mind.

Don’s pager beeped. “That’s probably Dr. Baird.” He unclipped his pager from his pocket and looked at the message. “Yep, he’s ready for you. I’m guessing you want to put your pants on before we go?”

“I can tell you weren’t a Marine,” Peter said, stepping out of the wheelchair and dumping the plastic bag of his clothing on the seat. The damp breeze was cold on his bare legs. “We’re so tough we don’t need pants.”

“I take it back,” said Don. “You clearly do need therapy. Years and years of therapy.”

Dr. Baird met them in the open exam area. The bags under his eyes were deeper, and his electroshock hair was starting to droop. The Red Bull was probably wearing off.

“You won the lottery on the leg,” said Dr. Baird. “You have an isolated fibula fracture, just a hairline. Probably because your legs are so strong.” He held out a plastic immobilization cast. “You’re stuck in this walking boot for six weeks. Ice it for the swelling, take some ibuprofen. Then physical therapy when it comes off, because you’ll have been immobilized for a month and a half. Got it?”

Peter nodded. He’d take the advice, up to a point.

“Now your ribs. The three bottom ribs on your right side are fractured. They’re worse than the leg, but there’s not much we can do there. We used to wrap you up like a mummy, but it turns out that tends to restrict people’s breathing and can cause pneumonia. Now we just tell people to avoid activity that causes pain in that area. If it hurts to take deep breaths without the wrap, I can give you a long-term anesthetic.”

“I’m fine,” said Peter. He’d been doing deep-breathing exercises for a few hours now. The pain wasn’t bad. It helped him focus.

The doc gave him a look. Even with the electroshock hair, it was a pretty good look. Peter figured it took some stones to work the night shift at the ER.

“Don’t be such a tough guy. This is serious shit.”

Apparently this was Peter’s day for lectures. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll pay attention. If it hurts too much to breathe deeply, I’ll see a doctor.”

“Good. Now let’s hear what Don has to say.”

Don looked at Peter. “Those panic attacks aren’t going to diminish until you start talking about your war experience. Find a support group, and get a real postwar life up and running. Home. Work. Personal relationships. You know that, right?”

Peter nodded.

“It won’t be easy. You’ll need help. And the gradual desensitization to being inside. Think of this as your next mission.” He handed Peter a business card. “My personal cell is on the back. If you want to talk, or you want a hand finding some resources, give me a call. Anytime.”

The doc Velcroed the immobilization boot onto Peter’s left lower leg, adjusting it a few times for the right fit, before Don pushed Peter back to the lobby in the wheelchair. June was pacing back and forth across the polished floor, face pale under her freckles. Peter could tell she had something on her mind. She clearly didn’t like the boot.

“How bad is it?”

“Not bad,” said Peter. “Hairline fracture. I’ll tell you later. We need to pay these people.” He turned to look at Don. “How do we do that?”

“You don’t,” he said. “Not right now. It takes a week or more to figure out what you owe. Just pay the bills when they show up.” He looked at June, at her wrapped arm and the black stitches in her lip. “Are you two together?”

“Yes,” she said, before Peter could answer. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but he wasn’t going to ask questions.

Don raised an eyebrow, his opinion of Peter clearly higher than before. “Why don’t you two go relax,” he said. “Try to limit the excitement for a while.”

That was an interesting idea. Peter stepped out of the wheelchair, testing his weight on the medical boot. It wasn’t too bad. The boot was fairly light, and came to mid-calf. He put out a hand to Don, and they shook. “Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure,” said the older man. “You have my number. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Peter limped through the sliding doors, June at his side, both of them so glad to be leaving the hospital that they were oblivious to the pair of small cameras mounted in the ambulance bay, and others in the parking lot, watching them all the way to the minivan.

As they drove out, their license plate was clearly visible.





19





SHEPARD



The phone rang when Shepard was thirty miles from Eureka. The sky was gray and threatening.

He’d checked the chat room on the secure server the salesman used for their comms drop, so he had most of the background. The information was incomplete, but that was typical. The salesman never wanted anyone to know too much about what he was into.