“As far as I’m concerned, a miracle. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. So, Dr. Thresher, how am I doing, really?”
“Had the bullet been an inch to the right, you would have died before Mr. Moretti had reached you. And you got lucky. The wound looked far worse than it was. The bullet penetrated through your back, hit your spleen, and exited without damaging any other organs. We were forced to remove your spleen, but you’re healing well, and because none of your vital organs were damaged, you should recover without much impairment. Most of your pain is due to your damaged ribs. The bullet exited between a pair of your ribs and cracked them. They’ll heal, but you will be in a great deal of pain for a few weeks.”
“And the cauterization you mentioned?”
“While I have thoroughly lectured Mr. Moretti, he did not make a poor choice. Cauterization helped your overall prognosis somewhat, especially considering the distance he had to carry you to get you into Asylum. Once there, he made use of an ambulance. We don’t often do surface transfers into our hospital, and we either make use of the supply elevators or the stairs, which can fit vehicles when needed. This week has been quite busy.”
“Because of the storms.”
“Yes. We’ve had several blows come earlier than expected, catching some Asylum residents outdoors. We’ve had a few deaths. Mr. Mansfield has authorized our hospital open to treatment of some individuals, but we don’t have a great deal of space. Our hospital is meant to handle Asylum’s residents.”
“Which is far smaller than Tulsa’s population. It would be unreasonable to expect a hospital meant for a small population to be able to field a lot of trauma victims.” I hated the words I spoke, but it made sense.
Mr. Mansfield didn’t care about everybody in Tulsa. He had an agenda, just like Sandro had an agenda, and I understood that. That Mansfield had helped even a little impressed me.
He seemed like the type to refuse to help at all.
“Well, don’t you worry about that. If all goes well, you’ll be headed home with Mr. Moretti in the morning, which will be a far more restful healing environment for you. So, do your best to be patient until then. You’re doing well, and I don’t foresee that changing overnight.”
I forced a smile and hoped he was right.
Wednesday, May 13, 2043.
Asylum, Oklahoma.
The Alley.
* * *
According to Dr. Thresher, I did well and he saw no reason to keep me in the hospital when I could rest and recover elsewhere, so he discharged me. The remainder of the bill headed to the East, where the assholes in charge of my bounty would pay it. As the bill had several more zeros than I appreciated, I might even be forced to choke out some gratitude for not having been saddled with it. Sandro handled the details and borrowed a wheelchair for a few weeks until Dr. Thresher cleared me to begin physical therapy and get exercise.
I could walk, but he wanted me to limit my efforts to no more than a few steps at a time to keep from doing additional damage to myself.
I’d taken those first few steps in the hospital to discover just how much walking with cracked ribs sucked. Even the act of breathing hurt, and it would for several more weeks, assuming I continued to heal at my current pace.
The bullet—which had entered along my side in the back, punched through where my spleen had once been, and exited between two of my ribs—would set me back for several months. I expected my Asylum pass to be revoked the instant anyone realized I’d be unable to work for a while.
As far as I could tell, Asylum’s operators disliked those who weren’t readily useful within the underground sanctuary.
It took Sandro twenty minutes to push me across Asylum to his residence, one of the larger properties in the first district Mansfield had built. “You’re either favored, wealthier than any one man needs to be, or you somehow hoodwinked influential people here.”
Sandro’s home reminded me of a miniature Victorian manor, made from local stone and limited wood. However much I disliked Mansfield for choosing who lived and died, I marveled at the craftsmanship, wondering how he’d built so much in such a short time. “Where do you think he got the stone carvers for this? Doesn’t stone take a long time to carve?”
“People like me helped with the building,” Sandro replied,