band of my generation.
“Well, they did a USO tour while Tia and I were in the desert and I got to play with the band for a bit. Got to know Forest pretty well as a result. He recruited me and Tia. We’re kind of a package deal.”
“And what does she do?”
He points over to Four. “She’s the one getting ready to stick a needle in your boyfriend there and calm him down if he keeps giving Skye trouble.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I glance over at Four. He’s really making a scene, but Skye’s not taking any of his bluster. “I really admire her.”
“Skye?”
“I wish I could do what she does.” She’s a badass, confident and capable. They’re not victims, but true survivors. And they’re kicking it at life. Unlike me who seems to be destined to play victim for the rest of my life.
“She’s pretty phenomenal, and there’s no reason you can’t.”
“Have you looked at me? I’m pretty much broken. I’ll never be able to do something like that.”
“You need to take another look in the mirror because all I see is an incredibly strong woman capable of doing anything if she puts her mind to it. Now, how about letting me do a quick physical exam? I’m worried about the blood in your hair.”
“I told you, I washed him out.”
“You may have washed someone’s blood out of your hair, but there’s fresh blood. I promise to be gentle.” He glances over at Four, who’s been forced to lie on his stomach. “Let’s just make sure there’s nothing serious going on under all that hair.”
I give a nod and let Ryker do his exam. His touch is soft, gentle, and he doesn’t poke all the places which throb. Meanwhile, I focus on Four and what’s going on over there.
Skye opens up a surgical tray, which holds all kinds of silver instruments. She bends over the back of Four’s thigh and paints something dark brown over his skin.
“What is she doing?”
“Are you in pain?” Ryker glances over at Four. “My bet is she’s stitching him up. That’s Betadine. It sterilizes the skin. Now, on a scale of one to ten, how do you rate your pain?”
My head hurts like a motherfucker. Since walking out of the helicopter, the low, dull ache is growing into a major, pulsating headache. My feet are scraped and bruised, as is the rest of my body. Bossman did a job on my ribs, my gut, and my back. My ribs hurt. Might be cracked. And Bossman got me in the belly more times than I care to remember. My eye is also swelling.
He was really going to kill me, but I fought back. I fought back and won.
But that’s me. I’m an expert at surviving. I’m also now proficient in killing. It just gets better and better.
“Zero.”
“Zero? Is that what we’re going with? You know, we don’t give out awards for how stoic our patients can be. How about you try that again?”
“Fine, it’s a one.” I’ve experienced far worse in my life.
I allow Ryker to do a quick head-to-toe exam. My left eye, which I thought felt a little tight, is well on its way to swelling to the size of a goose egg. Ryker gives me a cold pack to help with the swelling and Tylenol for the pain.
That’s like water. Does nothing. But I don’t need anything stronger. As a former addict, I steer clear of pretty much all pain medicines.
Evidently, the blood is fresh and all mine. Bossman nearly cracked my skull open, leaving me with a few deep cuts. Ryker explains how the scalp is rich in blood vessels, which is why I’m bleeding like a stuck pig.
There are no other major injuries, except some scrapes to my feet from walking around the ship barefoot and scaling the cargo containers. I’ve got bruises all over, but Ryker doesn’t think my ribs are cracked or that there are any internal injuries. His exam is far more thorough than I expect, especially for a respiratory therapist.
Ryker’s smooth bedside manner relaxes me, and he talks me into letting him clean up my cuts and stitch the deepest one, on my scalp, closed. He’s nearly done when I realize we’re in the air.
Bright lights shine down on Four and Skye as she gets to work stitching him up. She’s kitted out in a surgical cap, gloves, and a mask, as is Tia and another person helping her.
“Can I go to him?” I’m starting to