The guy had just shrugged and then, when a call had come in, rushed away. That had settled it. Once Grant was done with this shift, he was never coming back. It had been necessary to sedate the inmate with the eye issue, and it had taken five guards to manage it. He was a big guy and had been in a near psychotic rage, trying to rip the temporary bandages from his face. Grant’s initial assessment of the eye had not been encouraging but he needed a specialist to look at it.
The inmate in the mask had a wound on his arm that, while messy, wasn’t too serious. As Grant had examined him, he’d made a whimpering noise. The wound was two inches long but mercifully shallow, and after he’d cleaned it out he’d managed to seal it up with surgical glue. Grant had asked for the mask to be taken off so that he could assess the man for any other injuries, but bizarrely, the guards had point-blank refused to allow that either. As part of the training course he had gone on in order to cover a prison, he was well aware that some inmates would bite if given the opportunity, but there were plenty of ways to mitigate that. He’d explained this and been met with more blank stares and blanket refusals.
The third inmate had come in virtually unconscious and delirious. He had a deep wound to the left side of his abdomen, but it appeared to have missed any organs. Still, the guy had lost a lot of blood. Grant had cleaned the wound and then stapled it, judging that stopping the blood flow and stabilising the patient was the critical need. He’d have to keep an eye on his blood pressure, and make sure there were no signs of internal damage, otherwise he’d have to open him up, and this place did not have what he’d need to do that safely. Not to mention the fact that he was terrified at the idea of having to do so without back-up.
Dr Grant had been left with one guard for company – the others had rushed off because something was happening outside. In his limited interactions with the guards up until this point, Officer Truant was the only one he truly disliked. The dude was an ass. Even now, he kept hopping from foot to foot like a little kid who was upset because all of his friends got to go out and play.
Dr Grant stood over the third patient, Rourke. “OK, this guy is concerning me. I want to turn him on his side so I can check that wound and then dress it properly. You need to help me.”
Truant looked around. “Who? Me?”
“There’s nobody else here, unless you thought I was talking to the other prisoners?”
Truant shook his head. “I’m not great with blood.”
“Well, I’m not great with lifting large men on my own, so tough shit.”
He was aware he was being a dick, but he didn’t care. He’d been refused the basic support he’d been promised when he’d agreed to cover shifts here, and as far as he was concerned, when this shift was over he was writing to somebody, anybody, to complain about a Nevada prison’s unwillingness to provide basic medical care. He was aware there was a strong chance nobody would give a shit, but he was going to do it anyway.
“Uncuff this guy.”
Truant hesitated.
“Do it. Please. Now.”
“I was told not to.”
“Fine, uncuff his left hand so I can turn him onto his side.”
“I should ask somebody.”
Grant sighed and tried to retain his patience. “OK. Do it.”
“Nobody’s answering the radio. I think there’s something weird going on outside.”
“Well, in here we’ve got some medicine going on. At least, that’s what there should be. Now uncuff this patient.”
He did it, reluctantly.
The patient appeared to be hallucinating. Talking to himself. This was bad. Could be a sign of infection or possibly a side-effect of head injuries.
“Dionne, are we ready?” he was saying.
“Who’s Dionne?” asked Truant.
“He’s rambling,” said Grant. “Ignore him.”
He pulled over his cart with his equipment on it, and then got Truant to take Rourke’s legs. On his signal, they carefully rolled him over onto his right side to gain access to the wound.
“Tell me what you see,” said the patient.
Dr Grant raised his voice. “Mr Rourke, I’m just taking a look at your wound. Nothing to worry about.”
“I’m talking to the woman in the sky.”
Grant raised his eyebrows. “OK, then.”
“The guy is fucking nuts,” said Truant.
“Thank you for that informed medical assessment,” said Dr Grant. “I will be sure to add it to his file.”
“My left or your left?” murmured Rourke.
Grant removed the dressing. The wound looked OK, considering. No sign of infection. He’d need to try to bring him around and examine his head next. There was a nasty bump on the back of the guy’s skull that was worrying.
“No other guards?” asked Rourke.
“OK,” said Dr Grant. “We need to put him on his back again. Same as before.”
“Cameras off now?” mumbled Rourke.
“Right,” said Dr Grant, once they were in position. “After this, I’m going to bring him around to test his reflexes. So you can put the handcuffs back on once we’ve moved him.”
Truant nodded.
“One … two … three …”
As they pushed him, Rourke’s right hand shot out and grabbed something off the cart. Before either Grant or Truant had a chance to react, Rourke was sitting upright and holding a scalpel to Truant’s throat.
“Nobody move!”
The guard yelped and held up his hands.
Rourke turned to Dr Grant. “Sorry about this, doc. The good news is, my reflexes are pretty good.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
“Stop!”
Diller slammed on the brakes to much honking, as a couple of rental cars following too closely behind the Winnebago nearly slammed into it. There also came the sound of a lot of stuff in the
