Blood Hunt by Lee Killough Page A

approaching feet startled him. He never heard the door open. Light blinded him as the sheet came off.
    “ What clown put this stiff on his side?” a voice demanded.
    If he raised upright, would they faint, Garreth wondered. He wished he could find out, but gravity dragged at him, weighting him. He went without resistance as they rolled him on his back again and rearranged the sheet over him.
    “ Hurry,” another voice said. “This one’s a cop and Thurlow wants to get him posted as soon as possible.”
    Garreth worked his hands to the edges of the gurney and clamped his fingers around the rubber bumper. Even if he could not move fast enough to attract their attention and they missed the faint motion of his chest, they could hardly overlook this.
    The gurney halted stopped. An attendant pulled off the sheet. Hands took him by the shoulders and legs and pulled...but Garreth’s grip held him on the stretcher.
    “ What the hell is going on?” snapped the voice of the medical examiner.
    “ I don’t know, Dr. Thurlow. His hands weren’t like that when we put him on the gurney.”
    Now that he had their attention, Garreth forced open his eyes. Half a dozen gasps sounded around him.
    He focused on Dr. Edmund Thurlow. “Please.” The whisper rasped up his throat with a plea from his soul. “Get me out of here.”
     
    2
     
    Why were the doctors out at the intensive care unit desk talking so loud, Garreth wondered. Every patient in the unit could hear them.
    “ I tell you he was dead,” Thurlow said. “I detected no vital signs, no heartbeat or respiration, and his pupils were fixed and dilated.”
    “ It’s obvious he couldn’t have been dead,” a hospital doctor said. “However, that’s beside the point now. The question is, can we keep him alive? We’re pouring blood and ringers into him as fast as we can but his blood pressure is still almost nonexistent and he’s hypothermic and bradycardic. His breathing is so slow only the monitor tells me he’s breathing.”
    Garreth looked up at the suspended plastic bags, one clear, one with contents the same dark red as Lane Barber’s hair. His eyes followed the tubing down to his arms. The blood made him feel better, but still not good. Exhaustion dragged at him. He desperately wanted to sleep, but could not find a comfortable position, no matter how he shifted and turned.
    “ What about the throat injury?” Thurlow said.
    “ A few skin sutures are all he’s needed,” came the reply. “The trauma isn’t nearly as severe as you described, Dr. Thurlow.”
    “ We have photographs of what I saw.” Thurlow sounded defensive. “Both the left jugular and common carotid suffered multiple lacerations, almost to the point of complete severing. There were also multiple lacerations of the trachea and left stemocleidomastoid muscles.”
    “ I’ve seen your photographs, so I believe you...yet twelve hours later the muscles, vessels, and trachea appear intact.”
    They went on talking, but Garreth tried to ignore them. Careful not to move the arm with the needle in it, he shifted position again. The cardiac monitor above his bed registered the effort with an extra bleep. Moving proved pointless, however. Nothing made him comfortable. His bed stood near the window, and the glare of sunlight added to his discomfort.
    Footsteps approached. If it was the nurse, he decided, he would beg for something to drug him to sleep.
    Then he smiled weakly as Harry and Lieutenant Serruto appeared around the curtain across the door.
    “ Hi.” he whispered.
    “ Mik-san,” Harry replied in a husky voice. His hand closed hard over Garreth’s.
    Serruto said, “They’re letting us ask you a few questions.”
    “ Yes. What the hell were you doing up there?” Harry demanded. “I’m your partner. Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing?”
    “ Easy, Harry,” Serruto said.
    Garreth did not mind. He heard the frantic worry beneath the anger and knew how he would have felt in