“There’s no pulse,” he announced woodenly, holding the boy’s small wrist in his hand.
Pushing the man aside, Mildred expertly placed two fingers on right side of the lad’s throat just under the mastoid bone. “There’s a pulse,” she said, resting a palm on his forehead. “But it’s weak and fast, and the skin is clammy.”
Already her tone was shifting from concern to impartial. Never think about the person you were treating. Concentrate on fixing the injuries—later on there would be time for celebration, or mourning.
“He’s in shock.” Ryan frowned, having seen enough in his life to recognize the symptoms. “Got to keep him warm. Krysty!”
“On it,” the redhead said. Placing the Steyr on a table, she shucked the bearskin coat and passed it over.
“More,” Mildred said, tucking the fur over the boy.
“Done.” Krysty holstered her blaster. “Jak, cover me.”
The Cajun followed her into the darkness, and soon there came sounds of smashing wood and ripping cloth.
Glancing around, Ryan saw they were in the center of a food court, rows of garish plastic signs proclaiming delicious snacks long decayed into dust. Rows of plastic tables encircled the fountain with the weird metallic sculpture. On the other side of the court was the iron-lace framework of the elevator, adjacent to more public rest rooms, phones and drinking fountains.
Rising, Ryan removed his palm from the floor and flexed his hand. “Bastard tile flooring is ice cold. We’ve got to get him off this.” He started to slide his arms under the boy, but Mildred pushed the man away.
“Don’t touch him until I say so,” the physician ordered brusquely. Then she ripped open the boy’s shirt. His hairless chest was smeared with blood and heavily scarred in spots, but there were no cuts or slashes readily apparent. But his forearm was thick with partially dried blood.
“Clawed,” she said, probing the tender flesh. “Some minor discoloration, but no signs of toxic striation.”
“The mutie is poisonous?”
“Apparently so, but none got in the wounds.” Then she muttered, “However, that isn’t what I’m worried about.”
Suddenly shuddering, Dean began to have trouble breathing. Ryan started for him and stopped. As careful as if she were handling antique glass, Mildred took his head and tilted it backward an inch, the raspy noise easing somewhat.
“Tissue damage to his throat, just a bruise really, but it can swell and close off his breathing. I better prep for a trach just in case it gets worse.” Whipping out a knife, she placed a small piece of soft plastic tubing from a fish aquarium alongside her switchblade knife and a packet of cotton wadding. The med kit held the big instruments, but Mildred always carried small medical items in her pockets just for a case like this.
Then she cursed, bumping her head against the rounded corner of one of the plastic tables. “For God’s sake, give me some room to work. And more light!”
With his back to the wall between two fast-food counters, J.B. stood guard while Ryan and Doc started to remove the obstructions. The tables were bolted to the floor, but that didn’t hinder the men from clearing a space around the patient and doctor.
As Doc tipped the plastic tables sideways, Ryan set the lanterns close to the shiny plastic tops to reflect the light and amplify the meager illumination. As bright as it was, there was no overhead illumination, and for one fleeting instant, Ryan felt he would have given his remaining eye for a single working lightbulb.
Concentrating on her task, Mildred carefully probed behind the boy’s ears for any telltale swelling, then checked his nose for a trace of clear fluid.
“No sign of a skull fracture,” she announced, feeling a wave of relief. “That’s good news.” Furiously pumping the handle of her flashlight, charging the battery to maximum, she gently used a thumb to peel back an eyelid, shining the beam directly into Dean’s eyes. The pupils dilated very slowly.
“Goddammit,” she cursed. Shifting position, the physician started to unlace the boot on Dean’s right leg, her dark fingers lost in the shadows.
Krysty and Jak arrived just then with their arms full of draperies. “No blankets,” Krysty announced, depositing her bundle near the boy. “But these are good and thick.”