CHUPACABRA

Chapter Three: The Wounded

"–two neck lacerations, blood loss, multiple chest lacerations, shock..." Dr. Zapata lists Forty's damage off like a prescription, his voice even and emotionless. Forty sits on her hands atop the cloth-covered cot, her head slightly bowed and shoulders drooping. She'll admit she's exhausted, but sleep is foreign to her. Every time she closes her eyes she sees the blood pouring from Thirty-Seven's neck, tastes the acidity of his fear on her tongue. Guilt like ice trickles down her spine, making the hairs on her arms raise. Even worse, there's the thrill of the hunt that follows, the inevitability of Forty wanting more.

"She did a real number on him," the female doctor says, talking to Dr. Zapata as if Forty has no ears. "They all heal quickly, and you can do a lot of damage to 'em, but she did a real number."

Through the heavy door and across the hall, Forty can smell Thirty-Seven. This part of the gray floor doesn't seem particularly anxious to mask pheromones, though Thirty-Seven still smells faint. He's in surgery. Dr. Zapata informed her once he'd coaxed her out of the corner and towards the infirmary for her own wounds. His smell sure tells as much– vacant of emotion.

"Forty," Dr. Zapata calls, his voice suddenly coming into focus above the beeping of machines and whir of the vents. Forty lifts her head slightly to meet his eyes, tries her best to school the nauseous look from her face. "Forty, how are you feeling?"

She hesitates to answer at first, too afraid that if she drops her jaws open she'll get sick again. "I feel fine." It's not exactly a lie. Fine is a subjective way to feel. Forty has never felt great per se, but she isn't dead nor dying, so she is fine.

"Does she hurt anywhere we can't immediately see?" The doctor asks. Forty struggles to place her name.

"Forty, may I touch you?" Dr. Zapata asks, raising his hand. Forty cringes a bit at the thought of a monitor putting their skin on her, but she realizes that she won't be able to articulate the words that will allow Dr. Zapata to treat her. She nods her permission.

Dr. Zapata disappears behind the side door. The female doctor, who Forty thinks is named Hanna, slips on a pair of gray surgical gloves and picks up the scissors located on the small rolling cart to her side. She doesn't give Forty much warning before cutting along the tops of her sleeves, making the specimen flinch back momentarily. She regards Forty with the same look one would give to a dead bird who's just hit a window. Pity, but also fear and surprise. Forty's shirt sticks to her wounds even as Dr. Hanna works them off slowly, pulling on the skin and aggravating the tender flesh around the scratches. After some painful tugging, Hanna succeeds in pulling the shirt off Forty, tossing it into a dark gray biohazard bin at her feet. Forty's undershirt remains and Dr. Hanna begins to cut at that too. She reaches over to grab a soft black button coverup near the table. Dr. Hanna secures it around Forty's chest as Dr. Zapata reenters, holding his hands up and away from himself.

"Okay, Forty, I'm going to apply some light pressure in areas we can't see, alright?" Dr. Zapata warns before reaching out for Forty's collarbone. He presses cold fingers along Forty's skin to search for invisible breaks and hurts. He works his way down her upper body, then checks her back where he finds her shoulders and spine tender after she'd thrown against the glass. Reddened skin signals bruises will form later. Besides the very visible scratches on her shoulder and the sore back, only Forty's ankle is injured, swollen from slipping in the dirt. "Rolled," Dr. Zapata says, then sets to wrapping a cold air pack pump around the ankle.

Meanwhile, Dr. Hanna tends to Thirty-Seven's claw marks. The wounds are deep where he jostled her, but the bleeding has stopped. Dr. Hanna gives Forty a pair of blackout goggles before starting the antibacterial LED and casting it over the areas of damage. Forty has always hated the blackout goggles because they dull her senses. However, they also make all physical sensations so much more apparent, such as the indentations of Zapata's fingerprints on her ankle and Dr. Hanna's breath through her surgical mask on her neck. As the cooling soothes her throbbing ankle, Dr. Hanna sets to work stitching the scratch marks shut. She works fast, and though Forty can feel every needle piercing her raw skin, the experience is relatively painless. She's better at this than Jane, at least, Forty thinks, trying to focus on the cold pack instead of the burn on her shoulders.