Page 48 of Redemption (Devil Dogs of the Apocalypse #4)
Cole
“Alright, Casey. Or, I guess I should say, Lazarus, now,” a middle-aged gentleman, who introduced himself as Locke earlier, says as he enters the room I’ve been kept in for the evening as I waited out my quarantine.
“Your tests came back just fine. Happy to report you are immune to the virus. So, you’ll be able to start your duties immediately.
That is, if you’re feeling up to it. Could always use another hand or two in this facility, as I’m sure you understand. ”
Not wanting to linger in this cage of a room a second longer, I nod in response. “Absolutely, I’d love to join in and help. The sooner, the better.”
I start to climb out of the bed as he takes a closer look at my paperwork, narrowing his eyes at the very bottom of the document. “Huh. It shows you didn’t submit a semen sample. May I ask why?”
I thought someone might notice that. I also thought it was shady as fuck that they asked me to jizz into a cup with absolutely no explanation as to why.
They just shoved me and the plastic collection container into the nearest restroom and said to fill it.
I refused, telling them I was cursed with erectile dysfunction due to a nasty bit of shrapnel I managed to catch overseas.
It’s not true, of course. But the last thing I need is for them to obtain a sample for something I have no fucking idea about.
The blood tests were consensual, however.
Locke informed me they were used to test for blood type and a certain type of antibody related to potential immunity to the current contagion.
I had no problem with that, eager to find out my results and equally impressed someone managed to decode the viral components in order to create such a test.
But the lack of transparency was blatantly obvious when it came to a semen analysis. When I asked for more information, they simply said it was routine and to just do it. No questions allowed.
To which I said to myself, “ Hell to the fuck no .” And to them, “ My dick’s busted and I can’t get it up, sorry not sorry.”
I tell the same to Locke, albeit in more savory terms, and he nods with a wince, giving his condolences to my nonexistent loss. “Well then, since there’s nothing more for me to do, let’s get you out there and making some rounds, shall we?”
We step out of the makeshift medical room and into the belly of the Infirmary.
It’s nothing much, just a long hallway with rooms on either side.
A desk sits just in front of the doors—a welcome stop for each new visitor to the building.
Locke leads me to the desk and to a stack of clipboards on the left.
He lifts one from the very top and thumbs through the contents before turning back to me.
“Stitch said you were prior medical. That correct?”
“Yes, sir. Critical care nurse. Did that for a few years before The Fall.”
“Fair enough. This should be a piece of cake for you, then.”
He leaves the desk and begins walking down the hallway, waving a hand over his shoulder to keep me with him. “Alright, so this next patient has had it a little rough and needs a little extra TLC, but we’ll need an updated exam, as well as a blood and urine sample. Think you can manage that?”
“Yes, sir. Done plenty of that before all this. Just happy to be of some assistance again.”
I’m really not, but I need to play the part, find the others, and get us the hell out of here.
With an approving nod and a gesture to the guard to unlock the door we’ve stopped in front of, he hands me the clipboard with the patient’s information. “Alright. I’ll be back at the main desk when you’re ready.”
I take a deep breath and turn, pushing the door open. I don’t notice the patient right away, but when I look up from the clipboard, I stumble slightly, catching myself before I show any outward reaction at who’s lying on the bed before me.
Hawk. Battered, beaten, and bruised... but still Hawk. His eyes are almost fully swollen shut, a soft ice pack lying next to his abused face, but I see the delayed recognition in his gasp, the slight wobble of his lower lip, and his clenched fists.
I step into the room, closing the door behind me before I casually walk the perimeter of the room, glancing at the clipboard while also subtly scanning the walls in search of any sort of recording devices.
I don’t find any, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.
And with the guard just on the other side of the door, I still need to be careful in how I handle this.
Schooling my features into a look of professionalism and general detachment, I begin. “Good morning, Mr... E., is it?” I take my time, looking over the chart as I regard him like I would a new patient. “My name is Lazarus. How are you feeling today?”
I can tell he’s trying to smile, but his busted-up lips are preventing him from doing so. “To be honest, I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus. But I’m sure I’ll be ok.” His voice is rough, just this side of gravelly, but it’s the best sound I’ve heard all day.
“Yeah, it looks that way, but I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t fix.
I bet we’ll have you up and out of here in no time.
Just gotta hang out here and rest a little bit, and you’ll be right as rain.
” I lift a skeptical eyebrow at him and wait for his response, hoping he can read between the lines while also understanding we need to be smart about this. Thankfully, he gets the silent message.
“You got it, Doc,” he says with a weak smile.
I step up to the bed he’s lying in and rest a hip against the firm mattress, barely an inch away from his tense fist. As my weight settles, the bed dips, giving us the chance we need to seek what we crave.
The moment I come in contact with his knuckles, his fist relaxes, softening against my side.
A rush of air releases from his lungs as he looks from his hand back up to meet my gaze.
The feel of the back of his hand pressing against me, practically begging for my touch, and the underlying agony I see in his eyes almost become my undoing.
My fingers twitch against the clipboard, wanting to hold his hand and show some sort of outward affection towards him, to tell him I’m going to fix everything, but I hold myself back, letting this be enough. For now.
My heartache and fury are swallowed on a dense gulp as I force myself to maintain the act. “Seems to me you’ve been through some pretty nasty stuff. Care to elaborate on what happened?”
His finger travels in a slow line along my thigh, maintaining the tiny amount of hidden physical contact between us even as his jaw clenches and his eye contact sways, drifting away as he recalls the moments that led him here.
I catch a tremble in his chin, so small I might have missed it if I wasn’t so in tune with him, but it pulls my focus, demanding to know the answer.
Without any indication to what I just witnessed, I flip through his paperwork until I come across a note that almost puts me on the floor.
There’s no signature to specify who’s to blame, but I instantly want to destroy everyone involved in this fucked-up town regardless of their guilt or innocence.
It’s difficult, but I force myself to not show any emotion at what I’m reading, choosing to breathe through the rage consuming me.
Regardless of how I feel, right now I need to be strong for Hawk.
And that means giving him the strength I have so he can heal.
But then Hawk surprises me when the side of his mouth lifts.
“Oh, you know. Little bit of this. Little bit of that. I like to keep it flexible during vacation time. And then, one day, I decided to run into a fist... ten times. Never was very good at learning from my mistakes, but it was absolutely delightful when I finally got the sleep I needed.”
I stop messing with his chart to smile and give him some very obvious side-eye. Even after everything he went through, he’s still managing to surprise me, leaning on dark humor to help him through his trauma. It’s good to know I haven’t lost my best friend to this place.
“And how did you come to find yourself here?” I continue with the ruse, content to keep him talking if only so I can stay a little while longer and listen to his voice.
His brow furrows as he thinks for a second, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips momentarily before he speaks.
“Well, come to think of it, I’m not quite sure.
I was shot, hit upside the head, and then, poof, can’t remember a thing after that.
Well, that is until I got here and was gifted a couple shiners.
” He coughs a few times, groaning in pain after.
He goes to clutch his side when it starts to hurt too much, but the restraints around his wrists prevent him from doing so.
I urge him to lie down fully on the bed to ease the pain while I pull out the blood pressure cuff and take a few vitals, not only to fill the chart, as they’re expecting, but also to fill the spaces. I’m running out of time, but I don’t want to end this yet.
He looks fucking awful, and it’s going to kill me to leave him here in his condition.
I can’t imagine the shit he must have been through.
The black, blue, and purple splotches covering his face, chest, abdomen, and neck are enough to make me go insane, but I can’t do anything to blow my cover.
I have to remain distant until I can find a way out of this.