More could come.
He hacked out the words: “Command!”
He locked his eyes on the door and hallway outside.
Telling himself amidst the pain and blindness of his seeping wound, Can’t pass out… have to stay awake… there may be more of them…
But the white electric light of the apartment, of blood and bullets and bodies, gave way to a blackness that Jack, for once, could do nothing about.
Jack woke up to the sound of someone’s voice, speaking low, but still it made him open his eyes.
He saw Captain Brandt talking to a nurse, hushed tones, unaware that they had already awakened the patient.
“Thank you,” Brandt said to the nurse. Then he looked over at Jack. A big smile, and he came to the bedside.
“Jack. Sorry. Did I wake you?”
Jack forced a small smile. “All I do is sleep, so it doesn’t take much, Captain.”
Brandt’s hand went out as if to pat Jack, then hesitated, as if any spot on Jack’s battered body might hold a painful wound hidden under dressing and bedclothes.
“Looking good, Jack. They say your recovery is going great. They even have your rehab scheduled.”
“Terrific. Can’t wait.”
Jack regretted the sarcasm as soon as the words passed his lips.
Least I’m alive, he thought. No room for any bullshit sarcasm when you’re alive and your partner was turned into roadkill.
Too easy to beat himself up these sleepy days in the hospital. Replaying the way things went down, what he could have done different.
Maybe I should have been the point man, Jack thought.
Maybe I would have seen the trap faster.
We’d both be alive.
“Did they say when rehab would start?” Jack said.
Brandt pulled up a chair and sat close to the head of the bed. Jack gave the bed controls a push and elevated his head a bit.
“Work begins tomorrow. In bed. Then depending on how the leg does, you’ll start the real work with physical therapy.”