Vacation

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.

4

Kings County Hospital

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.”

“Guess I won’t be running any time soon.”

Captain Brandt hesitated. He probably knew the prognosis better than Jack. “Running? Might be a while for that.” Brandt took a breath, then dared some honesty. “Think your running days may be down the road a bit.”

Down the road a bit.

As in never.

Jack nodded as best he could.

Then: “I’ll run. Might be a bit lopsided. Might have a bit of limp. But I’ll run.”

Captain smiled back.

“I bet you will.”

Running.

It was about more than just exercise. Things happened fast out on the streets. Fast. And running, as if some primal ability resurrected from our cave and jungle days, could be the difference between life and death.

“You’re eating well?”

Another nod. Both of them avoiding talk of that day. The first time Brandt visited, Jack had been so doped up, the captain had been a blur, drifting in and out of focus, the sound of his voice echoing from miles away.

Today was better.

That was good.

Today, Jack wanted to ask a few questions.

“Captain, I wanted to thank the guys who got me. I mean, I was gone. How long before—”

Brandt patted Jack’s shoulder.

“Jack, we can review everything later. I don’t think now’s the time.”

Jack couldn’t stop thinking about it, remembering. The smells, the Can Heads all over the place. Rodriguez. And somehow he had been able to stop them.

That part—stopping them—no, that still didn’t seem real.

But he had done it.

“Any more trouble there? That building?”

Brandt smiled. “Trouble everywhere these days, Jack.”

Even though Jack got a regular and powerful cocktail of painkillers, he could still see things … notice things.

Now, he locked on his captain’s eyes. He saw Brandt look left, as if the question might be dodged. He blinked.

More of Red Hook abandoned? The circle of Safe Zones tightening?

“Can’t we leave this for later?”

Jack nodded. He couldn’t demand that his captain talk about it.

The doctors must have told Brandt: no shop talk.

A nurse walked in, smiled at the two of them, looked at Jack’s drip, and then walked out again.

Jack locked his eyes right on Brandt’s.

“You heard my radio?”

“Yeah. No response when we pinged you back.” Brandt took a breath. “The guys didn’t know what they’d find. Pretty surprised. You alive, and a whole lot of dead Can Heads.”

“And Rodriguez.”

A nod. “Yes. Rodriguez dead, too.”

“I … I…”

“Jack. Easy. Let it rest. For now, hm?”

Now Jack looked away.

Suppose I should be grateful.

To be fucking alive.

He didn’t feel that way.

Are we losing this fucking war?

“I guess … I should just say thanks.”

Brandt nodded, shrugging.

Finally: “Captain, I know I can’t be out in the streets for a while. But I’d like to get back as soon as possible. Maybe some desk work. You’ll need all the officers you can—”

Brandt shook his head.

“Jack, how long has it been since you’ve had any time away from the job?”

“I don’t need any time. Soon as my leg is good, in a few weeks, I can—”

“You need a break, Jack. Let psych service see you. Get some counseling. You can’t just shrug this off. You have a lot of time coming.”

Jack arched his back up, raising his head off the pillow as much as he could.