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"Dammit, Nelson, listen to me!" He lurched forward, dared to grab Nelson's gun arm. "Answer this: Was Tony supposed to come here? After he killed this girl?"
That got his attention. "What? No."
"Then why did they come through here? Into this time?"
Nelson paused. Frown lines jumped into existence across his thick face.
"If you don't know, then Carreras will want to talk to her. Obviously something went wrong. Something your boss will want lots of answers about. Answers you can't give him."
Nelson glanced at him. "And you figure she's in bad enough shape, we'll need you to keep her alive?" He laughed nastily. "Nice try, doc." The machine gun barrel now pointed solidly at Francisco's midsection.
Francisco shrugged with a profound air of nonchalance he didn't feel at all. He hoped Nelson couldn't see how badly his knees wobbled. "Okay, Nelson. Don't say I didn't warn you." He held Nelson's gaze steadily. "You said yourself heads would roll if Tony died." He gestured toward the sprawled woman. "Go ahead. Kill the only witness who can tell Carreras what happened." He managed a nasty grin of his own. "I hope you like it here, Nelson. My guess is, you won't be leaving. Ever."
Nelson just scowled. He finally spat at Joey, "Fix that stupid roof. You"—he fixed Lucille with an icy stare—"get that bitch back in bed. Tie her down if you have to, doc. Next time, I will shoot her. And you with her."
Francisco began breathing again. He became aware of Janet's shoulder just behind his, grazing him in the slightest of contacts.
"Are you okay?" she whispered.
"Yeah. You?"
"Peed on myself," she whispered shakily, "but I'm okay."
Francisco took a deep breath. "Why don't you go clean up a little, change into dry clothes if you've got spares, then come back here."
She nodded, scooped up a gym bag from one corner, and headed for the open-doored bathroom.
"Let's see if I can get one of these cots turned back over," he muttered, righting the one the unknown girl had sprawled across.
Lucille was struggling to lift the semiconscious woman. He helped haul the girl to her feet, then together they lowered her into the bed. Janet reappeared in record time, now wearing black cords instead of jeans.
Out in the main room, Bill groaned. Hammering reached them distantly from the roof. Nelson yelled, "Doc, come look at Bill's head. Now."
"Lucille, would you help Janet bathe this young lady while I take care of my other patient, please?" He paused long enough to add, "By the way, good shot with that chair, Lucy."
"Dan always did say I swung a mean baseball bat." She almost managed a smile as she said it.
Francisco reluctantly stepped out to the main room and squatted beside Bill. That worthy was swearing nonstop. A lump had grown to amazing proportions on the back of his head. "How many fingers do you see?" Francisco asked, holding up two.
"Effin' four of 'em," Bill snarled.
Francisco prodded cautiously.
"Ow—dammit—effin' head's killin' me—go
Francisco prodded a little harder than was called for. Bill yowled and squeezed shut his eyes over involuntary tears.
"He's suffered a concussion," Francisco told Nelson shortly. Then lied. "I think I can also feel a skull fracture, although without an X-ray, it's hard to tell for sure. There could be multiple hairline cracks I can't detect in addition to the crack I can feel."
Nelson swore. Bill fell u
"How serious is it?" Nelson wasn't so inhumanly cold this time. He sounded worried.
"He should be kept flat on his back for at least two days. Otherwise, he'll end up vomiting all over himself and the rest of us. If there's a serious hematoma on the brain itself, he may be bleeding internally. Again, I can't tell without an X-ray.
"He's got a foul headache right now because of the bruising. If it's serious enough that the brain swells too much against the skull cavity, he may lose consciousness. Or motor function, speech and sight... he might even die. It all depends what area of the brain is affected most seriously. Blood can leak from one area and put pressure elsewhere."
Bill had gone positively chalky. Francisco worked hard to keep the corners of his lips from twitching. Bastards. Serves 'em right.
Nelson was very quiet, as well. "I want you to keep a close watch on him, doc. You understand me? If he gets bad, we'll take him back to the base."
Francisco shrugged. "If you can. Looks to me like Tony didn't plan to end up here, either, but here's where he ended."
Nelson thi
"It doesn't matter whether you enjoy it or not. I'm the only doctor you've got. If you want this asshole to pull through, you'd better make damned certain nothing happens to me."
Francisco didn't have time to dodge the blow. Nelson's fist co
"Sure, doc," Nelson drawled. "Just so long as you remember who's in charge. Now get busy."
Francisco caught his breath over a groan, then dragged himself back into the improvised sickroom. Nelson followed, manhandling Bill carefully onto one of the cots. A moment later, the unfortunate Bill began vomiting over the side of his bed. Nelson appeared to be coping, so Francisco yanked another of the cots over and sat down on it.
The young woman who'd fallen through the open time portal had regained consciousness. Her face was pale beneath bruises. Green eyes had narrowed, mirroring deep suspicion. Francisco received the distinct impression her thoughts were moving so fast, her brain was probably smoking. Lucille had dressed her in someone's nightgown and pulled a couple of blankets over her.
"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.
"Rotten, thank you."
"I don't doubt it. Janet, hand me that stuff, would you?" He gestured toward the open medical bag. She hoisted it across and set it down beside him. He rummaged for a moment. "This is going to sting like the blazes for a couple of minutes."
He wiped her split lip with an alcohol swab and was surprised when she controlled a flinch. She blinked a little rapidly and watched like a tigress as he applied antibiotic cream. The look in her eyes was impossible to interpret. "If you'll turn over, I'll do your back."
She studied him through slitted eyes, then turned over without a word. Francisco eased back the blanket and nightgown. Lucille's breath caught.
"My God..."
"This," Francisco warned softly, "is going to hurt like a bitch."
She just nodded. A tiny sound escaped her; other than that, the only reaction was a tightened grip on the cot frame. Francisco had seen hardened troopers blubber over less serious injuries. He dealt quietly with the appalling welts and carefully bandaged them, then gave her an injection for pain.
"That ought to help in a couple of minutes." He paused. "I'll need to check you internally for injury. I don't have an evidence kit with me."
An odd sound escaped her. Francisco was horrified when he identified it as choked laughter.
"No problem." Her voice was as hard as the icy ground outside. "Bastard's dead."
Tony Bartlett?
Francisco didn't have a speculum, either, which made his examination more difficult and considerably more painful, but they got through it. Again, she didn't make a sound.
"Sorry," he murmured.
She didn't answer. Francisco finished as gently as possible. Lucille, on the other side of the bed, was pale as wax. Janet was biting her lips.
"There. All done. I don't think you've suffered any internal hemorrhaging, thank God." He eased the gown over her hips and checked her pulse. It had dropped back down into the normal range. Good. They carefully turned her over again and pulled up the blankets.