Behind them, down the hall he could hear the shouting and clamber of pursuit. The noise echoed dully, distorted by a hollow ringing in his ears. His vision blurred, and another chill shook him.
The woman whipped through a door pulling a reeling Borland close on her heels.
Inside it was the exact duplicate of his room, except there was a man in the first bed. Some old chap was out cold, asleep with painkillers. He'd already had the operation.
But they finished his.
The strange woman shut the door and ran to the window in the far wall. Checked it, saw that it didn't open.
"We'll make a stand here!" she announced and then reached out to Borland, pulled him down by the bed beside the window.
He collapsed against the wall pressing the wound over his stomach. His lower back was aching now, and his testicles answered a shift of position with a blast of pain.
What's happening?
"Okay…good," he said, looking down at the big hole over his navel. He wadded up the lower half of his smock and pressed it against the opening. "I got to stop this bleeding."
"I know," she said, waddling forward on her knees to peer around the end of the bed. She grabbed a pillow and threw it to Borland. He hugged it against his wound.
The old man in the other bed snored.
"I still think I got you in time," she said bleakly and then held her own abdomen. Tears sprang into her eyes.
"All right, I'm Joe Borland," Borland said wincing. A spasm shook his gut; the contractions caused a hard knife of pain to strike deep. "What's your name?"
"Judy Martin," she said, glancing quickly to the door.
Voices were gathering outside. People were calling and shouting. There were loud thuds as other doors were forced open.
They're looking for us.
"Okay Judy," Borland said, looking down at his wound. Blood continued to seep out. It wasn't gushing but… "I'm going to need a doctor, soon, and painkillers." He nodded toward the door. A wave of dizziness passed and he slurred, "So, what's going on? What do they want?"
She sighted along the gun barrel, trained it on the door. "Same thing they took from me."
Sweat glazed Borland's forehead. Pain throbbed against his hand, pushed through the morphine.
"They got mine," Judy said, finally, allowing herself to rest against the wall, still aiming at the door. "But I won't let them take your baby."
CHAPTER 11
Borland lost track of time pretty quickly. All he had to mark it with was the growing pain in his guts, and the sporadic attempts at communication made by hospital staff and he assumed, the police.
At first a doctor started talking through the door.
He said that Judy wasn't going to be in any trouble.
He explained: the people she assaulted were shaken up but they were going to be fine.
And, he said, it was possible the whole thing was a reaction to the medication.
You're not in any trouble.
The doctor described going over her medical file and finding her anti-depressant medication might have reacted with the anti-anxiety pills and painkillers she was given. In rare cases it could cause a psychotic break if she was taking both.
Not that you're psychotic, Ms. Martin.
Was she still taking her medication? Going cold turkey could have the same effect.
The doctor said there were two things she had to do to resolve the situation. She had to put the gun down and come out of the room.
Mr. Cumberland was all right. That was the old man who was still snoring off his post-op medication. So no harm, no foul.
And the other thing was: "Judy, we really have to get Mr. Borland back to the operating room."
At that point, they'd asked to talk to Borland, but Judy warned him before he could speak.
"Remember, they're after your baby," she said in a cautioning tone. "They're tricky so watch what you say."
Borland nodded and yelled, "I've lost a lot of blood! Not sure how bad things are inside." Then he nodded, pressing against his stomach. He pulled his hands away and looked at the blood, at the hole in his gut. A strained laugh escaped him. "I'm cut open. This is bad. And the morphine's wearing off."
A hard throb had started past the burning edge of the wound. The cut tissue scorched him, but he felt the beginnings of deeper injuries, bruising, displacement…
Agony.
He couldn't think about it.
Judy went quiet. The doctors tried to get her to talk.
Time passed.
Borland's mind drifted…
And then the doctor started on Judy again. His voice was muffled by the door: "You see Judy, Mr. Borland is injured. You can see that."
She looked over at Borland, saw that he was watching her, and winked.
"And when his morphine wears off, he's going to be in excruciating pain," the doctor explained.
"Pain…" Borland whispered, laughing on morphine vapors.
"Judy, Mr. Borland is in danger. You don't want to hurt him do you?" the voice shouted.
Judy startled Borland by firing a round at the door. There was a commotion outside as the negotiators fell back.
Mr. Cumberland snorted, but slept on.
"You're not going to turn us against each other!" Judy yelled. "Like you did before."
Like they did before?
Another time of pain and deafness followed.
Things were dark.
And then…
Borland was dizzy and had finally collapsed with his back against the wall and his legs straight out. He knew there was a good chance he could overpower Judy if he could get the drop on her, but the morphine and blood loss were making everything impossible.
What's this?
From his vantage point he saw a bottle of Listerine protruding from a small gym bag under the bed.
He clawed the bottle out and wept in pain as he tried to get past the child safety cap. His hands fell to his sides and he gagged. He had to control some of the pain, make himself numb enough for something desperate.
He cried out as he pushed down on the cap, broke the plastic links that kept it safe.
In a single motion, he threw the cap away and upended the bottle.
It was fresh. A clean taste that burned all the way down.
But Borland needed something, and he knew rummies drank the swill to relieve their pain. There was nothing else he could do. As the morphine peaked, flushed out of his system by the activity and excitement, he knew there'd be a struggle to stay conscious.
There was a lot of pain on the way.
He took another drink of Listerine and gagged.
Borland looked over at Judy where she crouched by the bed. He lifted a numb left hand and closed it in the air. The skin felt bloated, like he was wearing a mitten.
You can take her.
So his plan was to crank on Listerine, get ready to experience the full pain and panic of having his belly muscles cut open. Then do something violent and reckless that would likely get him shot.
Perfect.
His fellow veteran, Captain Hyde, would recognize the little Borland touches.
Bastard.
Borland's vision was off too. The lights were bright, threw a hazy aura over everything. If he could reach her, he doubted he could aim and punch her without throwing up, or having his guts spill out on the floor.
He tried to think how long it would take for the morphine to wear off completely. What had he heard, some guy, some old man on the stairs with his belly all taped had said he slept after the operation for three hours? And then they started him on simple pain meds… something light; nothing as serious as morphine, but he was also sutured and stapled shut at the time.
His operation was complete.
Borland's wasn't.
They'd just cut all the necessary layers and then…
The running, and fighting-the damage might already be done.