Night's Favour (30 page)

Danny held out a hand, helping her up.
 
“Bathroom’s down the hall.
 
Somewhere here — ah, here it is.
 
The hospital gave us a bag of stuff.
 
Bandages.”
 
She handed a bag with a bright biohazard emblem on the side to Carlisle.

Carlisle took it, looking at the emblem.
 
“They gave it to you?”

“It’s probably best not to ask.
 
Bathroom’s the first door, toilet’s the second.”

John looked after Carlisle.
 
“She’s saying, uh.
 
She’s saying that where we were mugged, that thing was there?
 
And we survived?”

“The thing at the hospital?”
 
Val rubbed his left wrist.
 
“No wonder I got some teeth knocked loose.”

“You did ok in there.”

“I didn’t really.
 
You were there.
 
You shot it.”
 
Val looked at John.
 
“You’ve always been there.”

“Don’t get all mushy on me.
 
Anyway, weird shit number six, am I right?”

“Ok, six weird things.”

Danny joined them in the kitchen, swirling the coffee pot.
 
They both nodded, and she rummaged for more cups.
 
“So.
 
What do we do?”

John leaned back.
 
“Like I said, team approach.
 
First, we need to get Adalia somewhere.
 
They found you pretty quick at the station, Val.
 
God knows when they’ll next come for you, but —”
 
He broke off.

Danny nodded.
 
“Ok.
 
Thanks.
 
Yeah.”
 
She handed them each a cup.
 
“I’ve got a friend.”

“Nice.”
 
John raised his eyebrows.
 
“You got a number?”

She punched him in the arm.
 
“We’re like sisters.”

“Even better.”

Danny sighed.
 
“Adalia can stay there a few days.”

“Great.”
 
John broke out the megawatt smile again.
 
“We’ll have this nailed in a few days.
 
Second.
 
The cop.”

Pack
.

Val looked at him.
 
“Carlisle?
 
What about her?”

“She stays here.
 
Mans the base.”

“The base?”

“Yeah.
 
Here.”

“My house is not a base.”
 
Danny looked around.
 
“It might not be much, but —”

“The base.
 
Carlisle mans the base.”
 
John stared at them both.
 
“You’re like a couple of kids.
 
Third.
 
The tests.
 
Val goes in.
 
I’ll wait around the corner, in a car.
 
If anything cocks up, if we get to weird shit number seven, Val runs on out.
 
I’ll have the engine running.
 
We’ll jet.”

Val sipped his coffee, looking between Danny and John.

Pack is the reason for living.

“I —”

“Val.
 
Look.”
 
John set his cup down.
 
“When have I ever let you down?”

Val thought for a moment.
 
“There was that time with Lucy Smith —”

“Besides that.”

“Never.”

“Who’s Lucy Smith?”
 
Danny looked at John.

“I’ll tell you later.
 
Like I said, I’ve never let you down.
 
The plan is solid.
 
It’ll work.”

“What plan?”
 
Carlisle moved back in, slowly lowering herself into a chair.

“The one that means you don’t need to leave that chair.
 
Except to take a piss.”

“Excellent.
 
Let’s do it.”

Val nodded.
 
It was a good plan.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Val looked across at Barny.
 
“So, doc.
 
You need to run more tests.”

Philips smiled at him.
 
“It just procedure, Val.
 
Your sample showed something unusual.”

“So you think I’ve got something?”
 
Val leaned forward a little.
 
“Like what?”

“Oh hell, Val.”
 
Phillips rubbed his chin.
 
“I didn’t mean that.
 
No, if I had to judge, I’d say you were doing great.
 
Say, why don’t you hop on the scales here for me.”

Val stood up, walking to the scales in the corner.
 
They were an old style, with sliding weights at the top.
 
He climbed on the weight plate and Phillips fiddled with the sliders.

“Hm.”
 
Phillips rubbed his chin.

“What is it?”
 
Val looked at the weight scales, then back at Phillips.

“I didn’t say it was anything.
 
I said, ‘Hm.’”
 
Phillips walked back over to his desk and poked at his computer keyboard a few times.
 
“Damn thing.
 
Here it is…
 
Say, Val.
 
Can you read that weight out to me?”

“Do I have to?
 
You know I hate this bit.”

Phillips looked over his glasses at Val.
 
“Humour an old man.”

Val sighed.
 
“Uh.
 
Looks about, what’s this, two hundred, that’s a ten, so two ten.
 
Wait.
 
What?”

Phillips beamed at him.
 
“You’ve lost weight.”

“That’s more than losing weight.
 
That’s amputation.
 
What was I before?”

“Three ten.”

“Three hundred and ten?”

“And change.”

Val looked down at the scales again.
 
“These aren’t busted?”

“Janice Henson was in here before you.
 
They’re not busted.”

“Who’s Janice Henson?”

“Let’s just say I diagnosed her last week with diabetes.”

“Ah.”
 
Val thought for a moment.
 
“I’ve lost a hundred pounds?”

“And change, as I said.
 
And — I’ll be honest here — I was pretty sure I was going to have the same conversation with you as I had with Janice.”

“What conversation?”

“Stop eating or you’ll die.”

“Christ, doc.”
 
Val cleared his throat.
 
“But — how is this possible?
 
I mean, I’ve bought some new clothes, but —”

Phillips gestured at a chair.
 
“Take a seat, Val.”

“Ok.”
 
Val sat, shifting around in the chair to make himself comfortable.

“There’s a couple of possibilities that I can think of for weight loss, but not of that magnitude.
 
The honest truth is none of them are really good.
 
We’ll need to get a biopsy.
 
If you’re ok with it.
 
And then, well, maybe a scan.”

“What kind of a scan?”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”
 
Phillips stood, arching his back as he looked out the window.
 
“Damn back.”

“What’s wrong with your back?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”
 
Phillips looked down at Val.
 
“I’m old, Val.
 
That’s all.”

“Sorry.”

“Hell.”
 
Phillips sighed.
 
“No need to be sorry.
 
It’s just age.”

“So — what’s the bad news?”

“Could be nothing.”
 
Phillips looked out the window again.
 
“Could be alcoholic liver disease.”

“That sounds bad.”

“Could be worse.”

“What?
 
How?”

“Could be liver cancer too.”

“Cancer?
 
Christ.”

Phillips chuckled.
 
“I’m just messing with you, Val.
 
It could be cancer.
 
You kids, you always look up a diagnosis on the Google.”

“It’s just Google.”

“What?”

“It’s not, ‘the Google.’
 
It’s just Google.
 
There’s no, ‘the.’”

“Ok.
 
You look up a diagnosis on… Google.
 
Come in here with a cold, convinced it’s cancer.”

“Is it cancer?”

“That’s why we want to do a biopsy.”

“Because it could be cancer?”

“Because we don’t know.”

“Oh.
 
Right.”
 
Val stood up.
 
“Let’s get it done then.”

“It’s going to hurt.”

“Can you use some anaesthetic?”

“Everyone hates biopsies, Val.
 
Five year olds cry about it.”

Val stared at Phillips.
 
“When did you get to be so cranky?”

“When I realised I was getting old.
 
Hop up on your back on the bed.”

Val watched as Phillips moved around the small room, grabbing a few shining steel instruments.
 
He lifted Val’s shirt.
 
“Jesus, Val.
 
Have you been working out?”

Val looked at his stomach.
 
“A little.”

“Right.
 
‘A little,’ he says, and wonders why he’s been losing weight.”

“No, really.
 
Only a little.”

“Sure.
 
How’s that feel?”

“What?
 
Christ.”
 
Val saw that a needle was in his upper abdomen.
 
“You’re some kind of medical stealth ninja.”

“Age is one thing.
 
Experience is the flip side.
 
That should numb the area so we can sidle up to the liver, stabbing it before the patient notices.”
 
Phillips picked up a scalpel.

Val looked away.
 
“Stabbing?
 
I want to hear less about stabbing.”

“Don’t be so squeamish.
 
Are you a five year old or something?”

Val looked back in time to see Phillips hold up another needle, and he looked away before he could see it slide home.
 
After a moment, Phillips started write a label with neat handwriting.
 
“I’ve always wondered about that.”

Phillips looked up at him, his speech unclear because of the pen cap in his mouth.
 
“Wha?”

“You’ve got neat handwriting.”
 
Val drummed his fingers against the bed.
 
“You’re not a real doctor, are you?”

Phillips removed the cap from his mouth.
 
“You’re onto my secret, at last.
 
Ok, we’re done.
 
I just need to find some tape.
 
Here, hold this.”
 
He put a piece of gauze over the biopsy site.

Val held the gauze as Phillips rummaged in a drawer.
 
They both looked up as crash came from outside.
 
They heard a woman’s raised voice saying, “You can’t go in there!”

The door slammed open.
 
Val and Phillips stared at the man at the door.
 
Val took in the —

Enemy.

— black combat vest, helmet, and rifle.
 
The rifle was levelled at Val’s chest.

It must die.

He’d jumped from the bed before a heartbeat had passed, stepping forward to grab the back of a chair as a handle.
 
He spun in place, dropping forward into a crouch as he let the chair fly with a heave.
 
The soldier’s gun went off —

Useless, dead meat.
 
It wastes its chance to live.

— the bullets shredding the wall behind Val.
 
If he’d still been standing —

Prey is always slower
.

— he’d have been shot.
 
The chair hit the soldier in the chest, splintering with the force of the impact.
 
The man pinwheeled back from the doorway, the plaster wall caving behind him as he fell into it.
 
Val was through the doorway and on the soldier before —

The dead gather all around us.
 
They are many.
 
We have no pack.

— he could get to his feet.
 
Val grabbed the front of the soldier’s vest, hauling him up and spinning him around to face the small waiting room.
 
He crouched, using the man as a shield; bullets hit the man from the other soldiers in the waiting room, his body tugging in Val’s grip as each round hit.
 
Val could smell the cordite, so strong he could taste it, and the sound of the guns was sharp and clear in the closed space.
 
He risked a glance around the body, taking in the overturned reception desk and the men in the waiting room.
 
He dropped the lifeless soldier and ducked back through into Phillips’ room.

Strike the deer in the flank
.
 
By tooth and claw.

“Doc!
 
Stay down!”

Phillips looked at him, his mouth open.
 
“I —”

“Down!”
 
Val grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him —

Friend.
 
Wise one.
 
Guardian.

— gently to the ground.
 
He swept an arm across Phillips’ desk, scattering notes, books, and the computer to the ground.
 
Then he grabbed the desk in both hands, the muscles of his arms and shoulders bunching under his shirt.
 
Leaning back, Val turned around and —