And he had a dry mouth. Drink now, pee later.
Turning gingerly towards the high bedside table’s ever-present plastic water jug, he saw that someone had left flowers beside his bed.
Large blooms, red fading to pink on the inside.
Forest stared at them for a full minute. Finally he turned them around so the blooms faced the opposite corner of the room. I’ll be damned if I’m going to risk waking up with those in my face. I’ll have a heart attack before my real injuries have a chance to kill me.
He tried not to laugh at himself. Laughing was definitely out. God, I’m a funny bastard.
Now, time for some more training.
A television hung in the corner of his room. Forest picked up the game console hand-control, loaded his saved game, selected the ‘Assault Rifle’ icon, and then started blowing away the baddies that popped up on the screen.
In his head, large pink flowers were having the worst day of their lives.
King glanced up and saw that the man had the wrong recovery room.
He dropped his head back down to the hospital pillow.
The guy would get the message. A big black man with a face full of stitches obviously wasn’t who he was looking for. The big guy who’d slid open the door was wearing a tailored suit and carrying a small plant, obviously intended for somebody else’s bedside table.
King knew it was a tailored suit because from personal experience he knew you couldn’t buy them that big from off the rack.
That was the thing with being relocated to the civilian surgery — he had to contend with visiting hours and people wandering around. In the military infirmary where Forest was being treated, he wouldn’t have had that problem. But the specialist equipment and surgeons to fix his arm were located here, in the middle of New York City, and King valued the use of his hand very highly.
The hunting knife had lacerated veins and nearly severed three tendons.
King heard the door to his private room slide closed.
Someone spoke from the door. ‘I’m not here to kill you.’
That voice.
He looked up again. The meds must be playing tricks with my brain. It can’t be….
There was no mistake. The suit and their environment had thrown him off at first.
It was Krisko Borivoj.
Bora moved past King’s bed and placed the plant on his bedside table.
King considered pressing his assistance button. What good would that do? Probably just get a nurse and a couple of security guards killed. This is my problem.
Bora looked up and down King’s prone frame, studying the very wounds he had delivered.
‘Are surprised to see me?’ asked Bora.
‘What do you want?’
Bora repeated his question, articulating each word precisely. His tone made it inelegantly clear that the events of the next few minutes depended on King’s answer.
‘I’ll ask you again, because I know you’re upset. Are you, surprised, to see me?’
King already knew the answer. He didn’t need to think about it. It had been something playing on his mind for the last fortnight. The thought was linked to a sound. It was the sound of the assault rifle firing as King abandoned Bora to the creature.
Bora’s question wasn’t Are you surprised to see me in this hospital?, his question was Are you surprised to see me still alive?
‘No, I’m not surprised,’ answered King. ‘I knew you’d made it out when they didn’t recover your body.’
Bora looked thoughtfully down at the drip in King’s arm. ‘When you regained consciousness, after your military secured the Complex, after all your civilians were evaced, that was your first question, wasn’t it? You asked if they’d located my body.’
It wasn’t a question. Bora knew it. It was true. It was the only question that had been in King’s mind when they were stretchering him out of the Complex.
‘So, how did you get out?’ asked King.
‘Every dog has his day, William. You and I had unfinished business.’
King just waited. Something was coming.
‘You dropped these,’ said Bora. ‘And I of all people understand how badly you wanted to take them from me.’
Bora dropped Marlin’s dog tags onto King’s open fingers.
King couldn’t close that hand. The recent surgery had left it immobile for the present.
Bora kept hold of the chain, as though at any second he might snatch the tags from King’s fingers.
‘If you want them, close you hand and take them,’ challenged Bora.
‘What do you want with me?’
‘Close your hand.’
It took all King’s willpower to make his damaged hand close around the cold metal. It felt like plunging his arm into liquid fire. Breathless from pain, he hissed, ‘Next time I see you, I’m going to kill you.’
Bora looked at the plant on the bedside table. ‘We’ll see. You’ll need to be in better condition next time. Get strong, then come and find me. One way or another, you’ll get your chance.’
With that, Bora left the room as quietly as he’d arrived.
King closed his eyes and laid his head back, hardly noticing where the dog tags cut into his clenched fist. Nor had he noticed that during the entire exchange, Bora had been reading his lips.
For a moment Coleman saw the back of another visitor, a big man in a smart business suit, but then he reached King’s room and slid open the door.
King eyes were closed. Asleep or resting, Coleman couldn’t tell.
His hand was clenched.
It’s a good sign that he’s getting the use of his hand back.
Coleman backed from the doorway, not wanting to disturb his friend. Shutting the door quietly, he noticed a small orange flower on the floor. It was no larger than a penny.
He picked it up. It must have dropped from a bunch that someone had delivered. Maybe the other visitor that Coleman had just glimpsed.
He checked his watch.
The surgery was in the city, and the busy sidewalk was full of people as Coleman wove down the street and into the corner diner.
Vanessa and David waited in the diner. Vanessa lowered her newspaper as Coleman scooted into the seat beside David. Coleman put his arm around his son, kissing the top of his head. ‘Move over, big guy. You’re hogging the whole seat.’
David wriggled down the seat, pulling his breakfast down the table. ‘You can have my tomato if you like, Dad.’
‘Sure. In a bit.’ Coleman just stared at his son. He’d spent a lot of time with David in the past week, but it never seemed enough. Hopefully that was going to change. Vanessa had agreed to arrange things so he and David could spend a lot more time together. When Vanessa went back to work, David would spend the next month living with Coleman. Before now, a week was usually the longest they could spend with David away from his mother.
‘When do you have to get back?’ Coleman asked.
‘When your brass stop asking me questions. The papers don’t say much,’ she remarked. ‘Your people responsible for that?’
Coleman waited until his coffee was poured. He smiled at the waitress as she left. ‘I’d expect so. It won’t be covered up, but the incident will be very carefully managed. The details will definitely change.’
Vanessa nodded. ‘I was not so tactfully reminded about our staff confidentially contracts. I had to sign that thing myself.’
Coleman sipped his coffee. ‘What happens under the desert stays under the desert?’
‘Something like that.’
David stopped chewing. ‘But I can tell people, right?’
Coleman winked at him. ‘You sure can. You don’t work for anybody. But maybe next time wait until you mouth isn’t full of breakfast, huh?’