Out in the main room, Bill groaned. Hammering reached them distantly from the roof. Nelson yelled, "Doc, come look at Bill's head. Now."
"Lucille, would you help Janet bathe this young lady while I take care of my other patient, please?" He paused long enough to add, "By the way, good shot with that chair, Lucy."
"Dan always did say I swung a mean baseball bat." She almost managed a smile as she said it.
Francisco reluctantly stepped out to the main room and squatted beside Bill. That worthy was swearing nonstop. A lump had grown to amazing proportions on the back of his head. "How many fingers do you see?" Francisco asked, holding up two.
"Effin' four of 'em," Bill snarled.
Francisco prodded cautiously.
"Ow—dammit—effin' head's killin' me—gonna break that bitch's neck—"
Francisco prodded a little harder than was called for. Bill yowled and squeezed shut his eyes over involuntary tears.
"He's suffered a concussion," Francisco told Nelson shortly. Then lied. "I think I can also feel a skull fracture, although without an X-ray, it's hard to tell for sure. There could be multiple hairline cracks I can't detect in addition to the crack I can feel."
Nelson swore. Bill fell unnaturally quiet.
"How serious is it?" Nelson wasn't so inhumanly cold this time. He sounded worried.
"He should be kept flat on his back for at least two days. Otherwise, he'll end up vomiting all over himself and the rest of us. If there's a serious hematoma on the brain itself, he may be bleeding internally. Again, I can't tell without an X-ray.
"He's got a foul headache right now because of the bruising. If it's serious enough that the brain swells too much against the skull cavity, he may lose consciousness. Or motor function, speech and sight... he might even die. It all depends what area of the brain is affected most seriously. Blood can leak from one area and put pressure elsewhere."
Bill had gone positively chalky. Francisco worked hard to keep the corners of his lips from twitching. Bastards. Serves 'em right.
Nelson was very quiet, as well. "I want you to keep a close watch on him, doc. You understand me? If he gets bad, we'll take him back to the base."
Francisco shrugged. "If you can. Looks to me like Tony didn't plan to end up here, either, but here's where he ended."
Nelson thinned his lips, narrowed his eyes to mere slits. "I don't like this. Not one damn bit," Nelson muttered, eying Francisco suspiciously.
"It doesn't matter whether you enjoy it or not. I'm the only doctor you've got. If you want this asshole to pull through, you'd better make damned certain nothing happens to me."
Francisco didn't have time to dodge the blow. Nelson's fist connected with the pit of his belly. Francisco landed in a crumpled heap on the floor, retching.
"Sure, doc," Nelson drawled. "Just so long as you remember who's in charge. Now get busy."
Francisco caught his breath over a groan, then dragged himself back into the improvised sickroom. Nelson followed, manhandling Bill carefully onto one of the cots. A moment later, the unfortunate Bill began vomiting over the side of his bed. Nelson appeared to be coping, so Francisco yanked another of the cots over and sat down on it.
The young woman who'd fallen through the open time portal had regained consciousness. Her face was pale beneath bruises. Green eyes had narrowed, mirroring deep suspicion. Francisco received the distinct impression her thoughts were moving so fast, her brain was probably smoking. Lucille had dressed her in someone's nightgown and pulled a couple of blankets over her.
"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.
"Rotten, thank you."
"I don't doubt it. Janet, hand me that stuff, would you?" He gestured toward the open medical bag. She hoisted it across and set it down beside him. He rummaged for a moment. "This is going to sting like the blazes for a couple of minutes."
He wiped her split lip with an alcohol swab and was surprised when she controlled a flinch. She blinked a little rapidly and watched like a tigress as he applied antibiotic cream. The look in her eyes was impossible to interpret. "If you'll turn over, I'll do your back."
She studied him through slitted eyes, then turned over without a word. Francisco eased back the blanket and nightgown. Lucille's breath caught.
"My God..."
"This," Francisco warned softly, "is going to hurt like a bitch."
She just nodded. A tiny sound escaped her; other than that, the only reaction was a tightened grip on the cot frame. Francisco had seen hardened troopers blubber over less serious injuries. He dealt quietly with the appalling welts and carefully bandaged them, then gave her an injection for pain.
"That ought to help in a couple of minutes." He paused. "I'll need to check you internally for injury. I don't have an evidence kit with me."
An odd sound escaped her. Francisco was horrified when he identified it as choked laughter.
"No problem." Her voice was as hard as the icy ground outside. "Bastard's dead."
Tony Bartlett?
Francisco didn't have a speculum, either, which made his examination more difficult and considerably more painful, but they got through it. Again, she didn't make a sound.
"Sorry," he murmured.
She didn't answer. Francisco finished as gently as possible. Lucille, on the other side of the bed, was pale as wax. Janet was biting her lips.
"There. All done. I don't think you've suffered any internal hemorrhaging, thank God." He eased the gown over her hips and checked her pulse. It had dropped back down into the normal range. Good. They carefully turned her over again and pulled up the blankets.
When they'd done what they could, Francisco noticed that her face had closed in a dark, shuttered look that hurt to witness. "Who are you?" Her voice was low, hard.
"Francisco Valdez. Major in the U.S. Army Surgeons' Corps. And currently, a prisoner scared half out of my wits."
Her eyes widened just slightly, then her glance darted over to Nelson. Then rested briefly on Lucille and Janet in turn before returning to him.
Francisco said as steadily as he could, "I owe you my life, by the way. They were in the process of shooting me when you came sprawling through that portal so abruptly."
She studied him. He held her gaze. She seemed to notice for the first time the bruises and cuts on his own face.
"I'm sorry. I thought..." She shook her head. "Never mind what I thought. I can see I was wrong. Where am I?"
"Alaska."
She eyed him warily. "When?"
Janet drew in a sharp breath. Whoever she was, this lady was quick.
"Um, about 28,000 b.c., I think. I haven't been here very long, either."
She didn't even blink. "Wonderful. That puts us, what, right in the middle of the last Pleistocene glacial?"
Janet whistled appreciatively. "More or less. You, um, do this sort of thing often?"
She gave Janet a sharp stare. Then laughed harshly. "No." She tried to sit up, then groaned, instead, and sagged back again. "Dammit..."
"Take it easy," Francisco cautioned. But he was careful not to restrain her with even a touch of his hand. "You'll be sore for a while, even with the Demerol I just gave you. If you move around too much, you'll break open those weals again."
She shot a venomous glare at Nelson's back. "If I live so long."
Lucille murmured, "Frank bought you some time. He convinced our guards Carreras will want to talk to you about Tony's death."
The young woman stared at Lucille, then shuddered and squeezed shut her eyes. "Great. Just peachy. Thanks a whole bunch. I think I'd rather have been shot."
"You've met Carreras?" Francisco asked.
She shook her head. "No. But somebody... really nice..." Tears squeezed out from beneath her closed lashes.