“There were medicines once. Eye drops. Even surgery. All lost. I can tell you what needs to be done, but I can’t help you in doing it. New glasses, yes. Those, I can find. Surgery or medicine, no. I’m not trained and I don’t have the drugs.”
“Yeah, pulling the glasses off a dead man’s eyes doesn’t take much in the way of brains,” J.B. said angrily.
“I perform a service,” Clarke said. “You don’t have to get nasty about my methods. There are no longer any one-hour eyeglass-manufacturing stores. I’m telling you like it is. Without more tests, I’d still be guessing to the extent of the damage. From the journals I’ve studied, this disorder is so highly individualistic that treatment had to be specifically tailored to each patient’s condition.”
“There’s got to be something I can do to stop this,” the Armorer said.
“Well, there is to a small degree. Existing nerve-fiber damage is irreversible, but you can try and slow down any further injury. Some people have higher than normal pressure in their eyes due to their blood pressure, alcohol abuse and stress. You need to keep the pressure down as best you can manage.”
“My blood pressure is okay and I’m not an alky, but I tend to spend a lot of my life under stress,” J.B. stated, still standing and pacing.
“I can tell you that one characteristic of the disease is that pressure within the eye is caused due to changes in the rate of aqueous-humor formation”
“What’s that?” J.B. asked, cutting the man off.
“The fluid buildup, Mr. Dix,” Clarke said patiently in the warmest vocal register he could summon up.
“It fluctuates during the day, usually high in the morning, less as the day goes on and it declines during the night. When you’re sleeping, it declines even more.”
“Guess I should look into joining the freezie program,” J.B. remarked bitterly.
“Temperature doesn’t affect the pressure one way or the other,” Clarke said, misunderstanding the reference.
“How long? How long until I go completely blind?”
“There’s no way of knowing. A year? Ten years? Twenty? All cases are different. With treatment, we could end this immediately. Without it, who can say?”
J.B. pondered this for a long moment.
“Well, a man I used to know once told me, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’ I’m still one of the best shots in Deathlands and by God, that’s something. And I still see pretty damn good, too, or I will once you fix me up with some new specs.”
“Yes. I can do that.”
The Armorer pulled out the twisted remains of his other pair. “Why don’t we find some that look like these.”
“I’ll do my best.”
J.B. reached out and caught the shorter man by the shoulder, turning him.
“And Dr. Clarke? This is our little secret.”
The doctor shrugged. “Very well.”
Chapter Fourteen
The wooden sign that ran along the length of the storefront was painted in bright hues of orange, green and blue, with cutout sound-effect icons such as Pow and Biff and Zonk decorating the corners in a three-dimensional effect.
“Kollector’s Kloset,” Dean read.
“Yet another example of the wretched spelling to be found across Deathlands.” Doc sighed from his vantage point next to the boy. “Eventually I fear the human race will ultimately regress to painting pictographs in dyes made of blood and dung on dank cave walls.”
“And fighting with clubs and stones, eh, Doc?” Krysty said.
“Why not?” Ryan said thoughtfully, allowing himself to see the philosophical side of life after his pit battle. “The world’s got to run out of ammo sooner or later. Then we’re all reduced to fighting in bearskins.”
” Indeed,” Doc agreed.
“I don’t think the guy who runs this place is that stupid, Doc. I think the owner is trying to make some kind of statement,” Krysty said.
None of the group could see inside the store very well, since the front display windows and door were covered in layers and layers of old faded paper posters, featuring drawings of colorfully attired characters with names like Wolverine and Batman. It was hard to fully read any of the advertisement in the collagelike display. It seemed that once one poster had served out its time in the shop’s display, the owner merely pasted up another on top instead of taking down the earlier one, giving the windows a curious checkerboard pattern of overlapping designs.