After a moment of silence, he keyed the radio again. “Baby Bird to Momma Bird, come back.” He released the key and added, “Ya filthy animal.” The two chuckled at his off-air joke.
After waiting a bit more, he keyed the radio again. “Baby Bird to Dirty Bird, you listening?”
The radio came to life again. “Go for Dirty Bird.”
The biker cracked a grin. “You hear from Momma Bird?”
“That’s a big negatory, Baby Bird. Maybe he’s still riding and can’t hear ya.”
The biker nodded and looked to his partner. “What do we do?”
The man shrugged and leaned back on his bike. “Fuck it. We can sit here in the shade and take a siesta, or we can go on and look for the ugly fucker.”
The first biker groaned as he considered the options. He lifted the radio to his mouth again. “Dirty Bird, you seeing anything?”
“Another negatory, Baby Bird. Whatchu wanna do?”
“I’m thinking we take a break. Maybe find something to chew on, and if we don’t hear from Momma Bird, we keep heading south ’til we find him.”
“Sounds like a plan. We found an old grocery store with a few canned stuffs still in it. Not enough to warrant calling base to haul off, but enough to make a decent lunch. Want to check back in about an hour?”
“Sounds like as good a plan as any. We’ll see if we can’t scrounge up something to swallow here. Talk to you in an hour.” The biker clicked the radio off, then turned to his partner. “Find food or take a nap?”
“Both?”
The other biker nodded. “Well, alrighty then. Let’s see if we can’t dig up some grub then maybe we can find a nice shady spot to catch a few winks.”
“What if Squirrel doesn’t answer?” The second biker asked. “Do you really want to go look for him?”
The first biker gave him a deadpanned stare. “Hell, no I don’t want to look for him. But do you want to be the one to tell Simon we lost Slug and Squirrel on a simple recon?”
The second biker shook his head. “Hell, no.”
“Then I guess we find Squirrel. Or, what’s left of him.”
Vivian stared open-mouthed at the man on the gurney. “Did you just…”
“Was that coffee?” He gave her a weak smile. “I’d kill for some.” He winced after he spoke.
Vivian stepped over the mess of her spill and approached the gurney.
“Doctor.” Charles handed her a set of gloves and she quickly pulled them on.
“How are you feeling?” she asked as she struggled with the surgical gloves.
“My head is killing me.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Feel like I have a hangover from hell.” He cracked an eye open and looked around. “Am I in a hospital?”
“An isolation ward.” Charles stated as he stepped closer and pulled a light from his coat pocket. He flipped it on and flashed it into the man’s eyes.
The patient instantly squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. “That hurts.”
“Apologies, but I really need to take a look at your eyes.” Charles reached for the man’s head and turned him back toward the light. “Bear with me a moment.”
The man winced, but allowed Charles to peer into his eyes. The light flashed across his vision and Charles turned and nodded at Vivian. “Good reaction.”
She excitedly scribbled onto her chart, then reached for the digital thermometer. She pressed it to his forehead then read the display. “Normal.” She tried not to smile then scribbled on the chart.
“What happened? Was there an accident?”
Charles gave the man a solemn look. “You don’t remember anything?”
The man shook his head slowly. “No, but my head is killing me. Can I get an aspirin or something?”
“Of course.” Charles reached for his wrist and looked at his watch. He turned to Vivian. “68.”
She scribbled on the chart again, then reached for a syringe. “I need blood samples.”
“I hate needles.” The man cringed and looked to Charles. “Does she really got to do that?”
“I’m afraid so, my good man. Buck up. It will be over before you know it.” He patted the man’s shoulder reassuringly.
He closed his eyes again and gritted his teeth as Vivian wrapped a large rubber band to his upper arm. He barely felt the needle and let his breath out hard when she released the rubber tourniquet. “Is it over?”
“Nearly.” She attached a second specimen tube and allowed it to fill. She pulled it back and pressed a cotton ball to his arm, then taped over it. “All done.”
She handed the vials to Charles who attached the labels, then he quickly handed them off to an orderly. “Tell me, what is your last memory?” She held the pen ready.
The man squinted at her and she could tell he was trying to think back. He slowly shook his head. “I think my wife and I were leaving to find a restaurant or…no…” his voice trailed off. “We were leaving town.”
“Leaving town?” Charles asked.
He nodded slightly and winced. “My neck is so stiff.” He tried to reach up and glanced at the bindings holding his hands down. “Why am I strapped down?” A look of panic started to well up in him and Vivian placed a hand over his.
“It’s for your own protection.” She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but he continued to tug at the leather straps.
“Let me go!” His voice rose in volume and Vivian reached for another syringe.
“Let’s sedate him.”
Charles gave her a confused stare. “Why?”
“I said let me go!” He tugged at the straps again and began thrashing his legs. “I want to go home! Untie me dammit!”
“We need to get him calm and verify his viral load before we do anything else. Now hold him down so I can…”
The man’s hand slipped from the leather binding and he began swinging wildly. Charles reached for his arm to reattach the strap and the man inadvertently
