Carrion (The Bren Watts Diaries #1)

Chapter 66

Dr. Mendoza tended to me first before the others arrived. She told me that if the bullet had gone an inch to the right, it would have shattered my femur, ripped a nerve, or hit a major artery. I wouldn't be able to walk for a whole month if that happened, and then I had to do weeks of physical therapy, which were all bad news seeing how this pandemic could extend for another couple of months (I was wrong. It was far, far longer than that).

The doctor swiftly took my vitals, pulled out my IV since I could now eat my own food, and drink my liquids, though I had to start with soft, mushy meals (gross). They also let me choose what kind of wheelchair I wanted, but when they saw me walking and balancing fine with my other uninjured leg, they've decided to start me off with crutches to limit the weight pressure from the injured side.

A nursing assistant named Sandra then came into the room and asked me if I needed help taking a shower. Apparently, my smell had gotten worse, and there was so little a bed bath could do to a person. I literally needed a full shower after days without one. Sandra worded it kindly for me, but the message was clear: Shower or else you'll stink like a skunk for weeks, and your friends won't be in the same room as you longer than a minute. At least that's how I took it.

I accepted her help, even if it meant getting naked in front of a stranger. Sandra wrapped my wounded leg in plastic so that it wouldn't get wet, and she wheeled me to the bathroom in a shower chair. I ignored the worried looks on her face. Apparently, I had acquired many scars and scabs the past few weeks, some of them inflicted by the vectors. All I could say was that the steaming water was satisfying, cascading against my skin and hair, taking the grime, oil, and grease off my body. I stayed there for what seemed like forty-five minutes. It was very therapeutic, and by the end of it, my hair smelled of blue cedar mint and my body of ocean breeze per what was said on the bottle.

Sandra also cleaned up the three-week-old knife wounds on my hand and shoulder with new bandages, which almost completed their healing, new skin over the wound. She had also trimmed my fingernails and toenails. She helped me brush my teeth, cut some of my hair that had gotten a little longer, slathered my body in vanilla-scented lotion, and placed hot compress on my bruises...overall made me feel like the cleanest and relaxed person in the entire city.

"Here. Take this." I gave five ration tickets to her, the ones that Clemons had left on my nightstand.

Sandra looked at me, wide-eyed. "No. I can't take this. This is from the general—"

"I'll be fine. He'll give me another one. Do you have a family?"

Sandra nodded. "Four kids."

I smiled. I extended my hand with the ration tickets further. "It's yours. That will last a week?"

Sandra nodded again, though, still afraid to touch it.

"I promise I won't tell anyone," I said.

Then Sandra profusely thanked me after, and a few minutes later, she gave me three cups of chocolate pudding instead of one during my lunch. I didn't complain, and I ate all three in just five minutes. I hadn't had sugar for a long time, so this was a treat! Compared to the rest of the hospital foods, it was far better.

Later that afternoon, everyone came to my hospital room. They looked far different than the last time I remembered them, all showered, cleaned, and fed. Both Miguel and Logan had cut his hair shorter to a cropped buzz (which grew unkempt for almost a month without care). Aria was the most different; she had cut it back to her pixie-cut. Steve had shaved his white beard, opting for a clean-shaven look like his son. I was stunned to see Henry wearing a Captain America shirt, all bright and colorful in red, white, and blue, and had a Transformers toy nestled in his hand, almost forgetting that he was still a kid.