Drake’s arm was all bandaged and seemed a bit swollen to Tamsyn but when she inquired he got testy and swore it was fine and healing normally. He insisted on doing his full day of chores and declined her offer to rebandage the bite for him.
There wasn’t much she could do beyond that point, not being his mother or wife. “We’ll take another trip in to see the doctor if it doesn’t heal up,” she said, sipping her synthcaff. “You might have cat scratch fever or something.”
“Toldja I’m fine, boss. Be back to normal in another day or two.” Drake stomped out of the kitchen leaving his breakfast mostly uneaten.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Rasty said, grabbing his hat. “You still planning to do the big cattle drive to the lower pasture next week?”
“No reason not to,” she said. “The upper is about grazed over and needs time to recover. Why?”
“Wondering if Drake’ll be up to it.” The foreman rousted the other two hands and the trio headed out.
Today was Tamsyn’s day for paperwork and dealing with issues relating to shipping beef offworld so she didn’t interact with the crew until dinner. The five of them rotated on cooking duty and this was Piers’s week. Tonight he’d made spaghetti, which was a favorite but Drake again merely picked at his pasta, spoke little and left the table before the others were done, saying he’d turn in early.
He’d been pale under his rancher’s tan and she decided tomorrow she’d have it out with him and check his bite for herself.
But in the morning Drake didn’t show up for breakfast and she headed to the bunkhouse to check on him. Rasty met her on the path.
“Boss, you gotta come look at Drake. That bite he got ain’t healing. I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s running a fever and he’s feisty.” The foreman held out his hand to show her purple bruises. “Tried to bite me when I was working on changing the dressing just now. Didn’t break the skin but hurt like hell. I had to cold cock him.”
Tamsyn broke into a run, saying over her shoulder, “We’d better get your hand treated— human bites can get infected too.”
“Already doused it with antibiotic,” he assured her.
Drake was in his bunk, unconscious. Tamsyn laid a hand on his forehead and yanked it away. “He’s burning up.”
Rasty moved in and folded the blanket back to show her Drake’s arm.
With a horrified gasp, Tamsyn retreated a step and put her hand on her stomach as her breakfast threatened to make a reappearance. The bite was swollen, angry red and purple, and black streaks radiated out from the spot in all directions up his arm. “What in the seven hells? I’ve never seen anything so bad in my life. We’ve got to get him to town to the doc right away.” Turning to Clemt since both hands had followed them from the house, she sent him to fetch the big first aid kit.
“He’s waking up, boss,” Rasty warned. “Better step back.”
The next half hour was a nightmare which would live in Tamsyn’s memory for a long time. Drake was out of his head with the fever, rambling without making any sense at all. All three of the other men had to hold him so she could sweep the bite with the decontam ray from the first aid kit and daub antibiotic cream on it, before doing a clumsy dressing. She could do a better job under normal circumstances but Drake kept trying to bite and scratch her and the others to get them to leave him alone.
“Why don’t you go get the ground truck, boss?” Rasty suggested. “Me and the boys’ll get him wrapped up in the blankets too tight to fight us and carry him out. I think we’d better go into town with you.”
“I’ll stay,” Clemt volunteered. “I can get the basic chores done.”
The drive was long enough on a regular day but under the current conditions Tamsyn thought it took forever. She broke the speed limits inside the town limits and when she reached the clinic she made a swooping turn into a parking space as close to the door as she could get. “I’ll go get help,” she said, jumping out of the truck.
There was a line of people at the receptionist’s desk but Tamsyn bypassed them all, ignoring the grumbling. “I’ve got an emergency case outside in my truck. He’s got a high fever and his arm is badly infected. I need him to be seen right away.”
The receptionist pressed a button and an automated call came over the intercom, requesting an antigrav stretcher and an orderly.
Drumming her fingers on the desk, Tamsyn waited impatiently, watching the double doors for the litter to arrive. Suddenly there were screams from the front door and when she spun around, Rasty and Piers were manhandling Drake into the lobby. He’d gotten loose from the blanket cocoon they’d wrapped him in and was fighting them, shouting nonsense in broken sentences.
Tamsyn rushed over as the receptionist called for Security.
“He nearly got away from us outside,” Rasty said as he grappled with Drake. “Figured we’d better bring him in.”
Two guards rushed into the lobby, stunners drawn and shot Drake with no hesitation or warning. He collapsed to the floor.
“Situation’s under control, folks,” the older guard said. “Everyone calm down. He’ll be in good hands.”
The orderly who’d arrived during the fracas brought the antigrav litter close and with help from Rasty and Piers got the unconscious Drake onto the mattress. He was already stirring as the guards accompanied the litter through the green doors and into the hospital itself.
“I should go with him,” Tamsyn said when one of the guards stopped her at the doorway.
“Are you family?”
