“Thank you?” I ask, confused.
“Yes. For rushing to help me, for making sure I was okay, stabilizing me, assisting with my transport. And most of all, for staying with me and telling me about your family to keep my mind occupied. I’m a little freaked out right now, and having you with me has helped me stay calm. I have no idea why this happened.” Lingering on the thought, she eventually looks over at me. “Do you think it could just have been a hunter’s arrow gone awry?”
“First off, no need to thank me. I needed to know that you were okay. Second, I’ll tell you anything you want to know about my family and me. Anytime you need company, I’ll be right there. Third, I guess anything’s possible, but the way the animals seemed to want to warn you has me questioning the hunter theory. I know that the Dust has altered some of us. Do you know if it has affected you? Do you have the ability to communicate with animals or something?”
“Communicate? No. I do sense them around when they’re near, but I can’t ‘talk’ to them if that’s what you mean,” she explains.
“Hmm, that’s interesting. You can tell when they’re near?” I ask, attempting to put all the pieces together.
“Yes, I guess. I’ve never really thought about it, though.” Grabbing her head, she lets out a pained cry.
“Shit, you’re hurting. Let me get Mr. Hughes.” I rush for the door.
“Don’t, please!” she exclaims, fear evident in her voice.
Stopping myself from exiting the door, I search, “Why not, you’re hurting?”
Hesitantly, she admits, “I really don’t want to be alone. If you think someone is out to get me, I just...I’ll be okay.”
Clenching and unclenching my fists, I feel the heat simmer from my palms because I hate the fact that she’s in pain. Looking for a chair, I pull the closest one up beside the bed and sit down. I lay my hand on the bed next to hers, and I can’t help but notice she’s trembling. Ever so gently, I spread my warm hand over the top of hers. Miraculously, the quivering ceases. Not sure if she’s cold and the heat is helping, or if the soothing touch is what she needs; either way, I’m glad she stopped trembling.
Unable to shake the thought that someone may be out to hurt her, I press, “Is there anyone you can think of that may have it out for you? We can search for them and bring them to justice.”
Doing her best to shrug her shoulders and avoiding eye contact, she answers, “No, no one off the top of my head. I’ll just have to be more focused when I’m near the protection wall. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for anything and keep my body in-tune with the animals, if that’s even possible.”
“Well, I’d really like to know why this happened, but if we can’t seem to find out, then I swear I’ll protect you. You won’t be on the lookout alone, I promise. The guys and I will be watching as well,” I assure her.
Seeming to not care at all about my battered and scarred arms, she remains hushed but intertwines my fingers in hers, taking my hand and squeezing gently. Thankfully, sparks don’t fly from my palms at the contact. My stomach, however, does freaking somersaults. That’s the only reinforcement I need. I’ll do everything in my power to protect her.
9
Tova
Mr. Hughes, the Expert Naturopath, walks in with radiographs of my neck. What was once considered ‘modern’ medicine may be a thing of the past, but I’m grateful that devices like this are still around.
“Ms. Campbell, it looks like your spine is intact. I’ll let Pierce and the other guys unstrap you from the backboard, and I’ll finish my exam. We’ll get an IV started and get some pain meds in you. I don’t want you sleeping for the next four hours, though. I’m going to move you to an exam room and keep you here in the clinic with some IV fluids going,” Hughes explains. “Is there someone you’d like to keep you company and keep you from dozing off? These medicines can make you very drowsy, so I would rather have someone here with you.”
“I’ll stay,” Pierce volunteers quickly. I offer him a small smile of thanks as the men work to get me released from the backboard, and the Naturopath finishes his exam.
“These two lacerations need to be sutured,” Mr. Hughes stresses. Looking at Pierce, he instructs, “Young fellow, looks like you get to do the honors.”
“Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I can’t. I can’t inflict more pain on her. Can’t one of these other Protectors do it?” Pierce explains, holding his hands up in surrender.
“Pierce, we’ve worked side by side for a couple of years now, and I have confidence in you.” Turning to the other guys he dismisses them and continues, “Now’s the best time to do it. If you conquer your fear of hurting someone you care about and successfully stitch her up, you’ll be able to do it any other time without hesitation. It’s the most uncomfortable situations we must overcome that enable us to better ourselves and our skills,” Hughes states.
Pierce, as pale as a ghost, looks as if he’s about to faint. Shaking his head no, he contests, “I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Mr. Hughes tilts his head a little to one side, analyzing Pierce.
Pierce visibly swallows and refuses to look at me. Reaching my hand out for him, I soothe, “Pierce, it’s okay. Someone has to do it. It might as well be you.”
Taking my hand in his, he confesses, “I don’t know if I can. Lidocaine burns like hell. And I don’t want to be the reason you have a nasty scar.”
“I’m going to have an ugly scar anyway, and not from you. Not to mention, Mr. Hughes will be right here, guiding you. I trust you. I’m not scared. You can do it. I know you can.”
Pierce squeezes my hand and wipes his brows with the index finger and thumb of his other hand. He mutters, “Shit! Fine, okay then.”
“Excellent! Let’s get started.” Mr. Hughes eyes the suture material, rubbing his hands together eagerly.
“Humph,” Pierce complains.
Closing my eyes, I feel Pierce clean the dried blood from my wounds. I wince and hiss when the combination of heat from his hands and the sting of the alcohol-soaked cotton ball sends a shooting pain through the laceration above my eye.
“Fuck! I’m sorry. I can’t do this, Mr. Hughes, you have to.”
“Now, now, it’s okay, Pierce. We all know it’s going to sting. Come on. You’ve got this,” Mr. Hughes calmly nudges.
Sneaking a peek up at Pierce with my good eye, I see his eyes are scrunched shut in consternation. Needing to at least attempt to offer some comfort, I reach for his arm closest to me. Dragging my fingertips lightly across his bicep, I notice the heat radiating from his skin and the slight goosebumps rising down his arm. “You can do this. Trust yourself as much as I trust you. You have steady hands and a determined heart. The quicker you do it, the quicker you’ll be done, and I’ll be all fixed up,” I encourage.
Slowly opening his eyes, his hand returns to my face. The heat of his palm scorches my skin, but I refuse to show any discomfort or alarm him any further. Inhaling deeply through my nose, I hold back a grimace at the fire spreading across my cheek. He injects the lidocaine, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from wincing or showing any sign of pain.
Crap noogies that stings like the worst bug bite ever.
Holding my breath, I’m pretty sure Pierce knows I’m seconds away from passing out.
“Breathe, Tova. Just breathe,” he coaxes me soothingly.
I feel the first tugs at my brow and know he’s sewing me up. Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt, and I can focus on breathing through it. As I’m taking my deep breaths in and out, I have a flashback of seeing that large bird heading toward me. Goodness, this scar will be a permanent reminder of the bird that saved my life.
“Alright. The laceration on your forehead is closed. Now, we need to fix up your shoulder blade. I need you to flip over onto your stomach. We have to expose your back, okay?” Mr. Hughes requests.
“I understand, do what you’ve got to do,” I slur.
“The pain meds are taking effect. She shouldn’t feel t
he lidocaine or you suturing up her back as much as she felt her head,” I overhear Mr. Hughes telling Pierce.
Trying not to nod off, I feel Pierce clean the sticky blood off my back with his warm hands. For the love of God, why does alcohol sting so flipping bad? I accidentally let a groan slip, and I hear Pierce mutter another curse, but he doesn’t stop.
“Gracious alive,” I mutter, my back muscles tightening involuntarily as he injects me with another dose of lidocaine. “I thought you said this wouldn’t hurt as bad?” I snarl at Mr. Hughes.
He simply reminds me to breathe. More tugging, and I know that the torture is about to end. Thank God, because I don’t know how much more I can handle without letting a few curses slip.
“You’re one tough gal,” Mr. Hughes proclaims. “And you, fine sir, fixed her up good as new. Well done! You’re going to make an exceptional Protector. Only three and a half more hours, and you two are free to go.”
Fear overrides my drowsiness, and I plead, “What about running, showering, and maybe swimming?” Needing to see him as he answers, I flip over to my back on shaky limbs. The fact I can’t sleep without exhausting myself is now at the forefront of my mind.
“No running or swimming for the next ten days until the stitches come out. I’ll let Pierce do that, so you won’t have to come back here for it. Showering is okay, but limit yourself to no more than five minutes and dry those sutures straightaway. Make sure to monitor for infection. If you have fever, chills, or pus draining from the injury sites, let us know immediately so we can put you on antibiotics. You’re going to have a pretty severe headache for several days. I’ll send you home with pain pills you need to take for the next five to seven days. Take them with food, or you could become nauseous. I’ll make sure the caregiver gives you these written instructions. Your memory over the next few days may seem hazy as well. That’s normal and will improve with time. If you have any questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to stop by and ask,” Mr. Hughes explains with cool, practiced efficiency.
“What about training? I have my Decision next Friday,” I press.
“Do you know what you’ll choose?”
“Protector,” I declare with no hesitation.
Rubbing his chin, Hughes responds, “That’ll be the day your stitches come out, and you’ll start training the following Monday. You’ll be okay to proceed, just take it easy and listen to your body. If you feel any ripping or notice any bleeding from your wounds, back off the intensity.” Pausing for a moment, he surveys Pierce and me before continuing, “Any other questions or concerns?” Both of us shake our heads no. Mr. Hughes nods his head once and steps out, leaving us alone.
Heavens to Betsy! We’re going to be alone for three and a half hours. What am I going to do? More notably, why are these drugs drawing out my innermost slang?
Pierce interjects, “I see those wheels turning. Penny for your thoughts?”
10
Pierce
Tova’s eyebrows are pinched together as she stares at the door to the exam room. She’s deep in thought, so I ask what she’s thinking.
She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Oh, uh, thank you. For, you know, sewing me up.”
Smirking, I tease, “The first three are free, then I’ll have to charge you.”
“Ha, Ha, Pierce has jokes.”
“No, really, what were you so deep in thought about?” I press, not letting her deflect the conversation.
“I dunno. Just about why this happened. Is there really a threat? Or was it just a stray arrow? Is there anyone from another territory possibly, that just so happened to be hunting in this area unaware the track is close enough to the wall’s opening that an arrow could easily fly near it? Have I pissed off anyone without knowing?” Biting her lower lip and looking up at the ceiling contemplating, she whispers, “Could it be... No, never mind. My mind won’t stop whirling, trying to figure out what might be going on.”
Leaning back into the chair, I affirm, “Given your current circumstances, I think Protector is the perfect decision for you. You’ll learn self-defense, master weapons, and learn to treat the injured. I’ll personally see to it you’re well equipped to defend yourself in the event that I’m not around.”
Shifting her body onto her side, she tucks her arm under her head and pillow, repeating my words back to me, “In the event you're not around? Pierce, I really do appreciate everything you’ve done. I have no doubt you’ll help me every way you can, but I can’t expect you to be my own personal bodyguard.”
I raise up off the back of the chair. “Like hell you can’t! When I say I’ll protect you, I mean it with every ounce of my being.”
Her left hand lifts, as if to stop me. “I don’t doubt that you would, but you hardly know anything about me, and you’re just willing to be at my beck and call? I won’t have that; I can’t have that. I’ll do my best to learn to protect myself and all that being a Protector entails. You need to focus on your own training and be free to do whatever you want to do with whoever you want.”
Knowing Tova needs a protector, whether or not she admits it, I fight back my agitation as I emphasize, “I am free to do what I want, and what I want is to be there for you.”
I lean forward placing my elbows on my knees and resting my chin on my fists. “Whether you like it or not, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll learn all I need to know by being around you more. I already know you’re a determined little spitfire with looks that can kill. Sure, I wish I already knew everything about you, but that will come in time.”
Closing her eyes, she breathes deeply. “Pierce, I really don’t think you want to get to know me. I’m not good for you.”
“Why do you think that?” I ask, scooting my chair closer to her bed.
Refusing to open her eyes, she continues, “I’m not going to elaborate because who hasn’t made it through some sort of hell? For that matter, who doesn’t have a story to tell? All I’m saying is that there are plenty of gorgeous girls here that don’t carry around as much baggage as I do. Look at you! You’re lascivious as a God. I don’t want you wasting your time protecting me when you could be pursuing a future partner.”
“First of all, lascivious? And second, what?” I am trying hard to hold back a laugh.
“You know, lascivious…arousing sexual desire? And other girls already drool when you walk by, I’ve seen them check you out in the cafeteria. You’ll have your pick of the mill.” She waves her arms in my general direction.
“Damn, girl! I’m grateful these drugs are hindering your ability to filter your thoughts. Obviously, you’ve been through some tough shit, but let me determine what or who is good for me, yeah? If you haven’t already noticed, I don’t scare off easily.” My laughter is now replaced with a soft smile.
“Ha! I guess we’ll see.”
She becomes tight-lipped after that, clearly done with our conversation. After nearly five minutes of quiet, I notice her eyes start to droop closed.
Gripping her hand, I give it a gentle squeeze and whisper, “Hey, wake up. You can’t go to sleep for at least another hour.”
She moans softly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “But I’m so tired, and it’s so bright in here. My head feels like it’s going to break off.”
“I’ll turn off the overhead lights; maybe that’ll ease some of the headache.”
Loosening my grip on her hand, I head toward the door and turn off the bright lights, leaving only dim lights on. I sit back down beside her and tangle our fingers together, careful to keep the fire from erupting from my palms.
Taking her other hand, she rests it on top of our twisted grip. She opens her good eye slightly, the right one is now almost black and blue and completely swollen shut. “If I’m going to stay awake, tell me something, anything.”
“Let’s talk about weapons. What four do you want to choose?” I ask, stroking our joined fingers with my thumb.
She shrugs her left shoulder. “Oh, uh, I’m not sure. What weapons w
ill I have to choose from, or which do you suggest?”
“There are several. You look like you’d handle an M48 Hatchet ax well. It’s an ax with a large blade on one side and a curved smaller blade on the other that can hook around a throat and slice it right open. Then there’s switchblades, just smaller knives, excellent for throwing. Firearms are my personal favorite, and there is a variety to choose from, like long-range AK-47’s, AR-15’s, M 4’s, etc. and short-range handguns/pistols/Glocks. Crossbows are an excellent choice as well if you want to go a bit more traditional and hunting bows if you like more of a challenge. The list goes on and on. To be honest, I’m glad some territories we trade with still make ammunition and firearms. I’m also very grateful for the metalsmiths' ability to craft such fine weapons like the axes and knives,” I explain, getting a little lost in my thoughts as I roll through the catalog of weapons in the armory.
“What are your top four?”
“Firearms, knives, crossbows, and axes.”
“Do you think I can choose those as well?” She follows up, sounding genuinely curious.
“I don’t see why not? Plus, I’d like nothing better than for you to be by my side as we kick some ass,” I say with a grin.
“Can’t wait.” She squeezes my hand, throwing me a wink despite the groggy droop of her good eye.
We continue to chat idly as we wait out the rest of her required stay in the clinic. Promptly on the four-hour mark, a caregiver comes in with the discharge orders, giving reminders on wound care, medicine, and when the stitches need to be removed. I’m not entirely sure Tova registers everything that was said, but that’s why I’m here.
Leaving the clinic, I have to keep my heat in check, a lovely alteration I have from that damn dust. I grasp a hold of her left hand and lead the way toward her cabin. She doesn’t buck me on it, though I’m not sure if that’s the medicine or if she’s actually okay with it. Either way, I’m not letting go. It’s a good thing she is in shape because the two-mile trudge ahead of us will be brutal with her wounds. We make our way slowly through the woods, navigating the steep hills and valleys in silence. I continually scan the surrounding woods, keeping a sharp eye out for anything unusual. The last thing I am expecting to see wandering around is my uncle, Morton.
Protecting Tova (Iron Mountain Book 1) Page 5
