Chapter Twenty One

Art brought the car to a careful halt, glancing worriedly at his passenger. Raylan's eyes were closed. His chest moved in short, shallow breaths. Art reached over and shook him lightly, flinching a little at the heat coming from Raylan's body.

The taller man opened bleary, bloodshot eyes. "Yeah?" he asked, exhaustion plain in his voice.

"We're at the hospital." Art opened his door. "Stay there. I'm gonna grab a wheelchair. I won't be long."

Raylan frowned. "I can walk," he protested, gathering his last of his flagging energy before slipping out of the car. He braced himself against the car's roof with one hand, keeping the other arm still and close to his body.

"Hey, you can't park that there!" a male voice called.

Art looked up to see a security guard hurrying towards him, hand resting firmly on his gun.

"I'm a US Marshal," Art said and pulled out his badge, holding it up so the security guard could see it. "I have an injured man here who needs urgent medical attention."

The security guard stuck out his chin stubbornly. "Still can't leave that parked there."

Raylan let out a shaky breath, leaning more heavily on the car. The hospital's light reflected off the perspiration on his face.

Art yanked his keys out of his pocket and threw them at the security guard. "I'm sure you'll be delighted to move it for me then."

He ignored the shocked security guard and circled the car to get to Raylan's side.

"Ready?" Art asked.

Raylan lifted an eyebrow. "As I'll ever be." He sucked in a deep breath and started walking.

Pain spiked through his body with every step. He ignored it, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other until he reached the hospital doors. Dizziness sang through him as he paused, chest heaving, for the automatic doors to slide open.

Art glanced around the quiet room, spotting two nurses filling in paperwork at the small nurse's station.

Raylan leaned against the wall, face deadly pale under the fever's flush.

"Need some help here!" Art called, grabbing the taller man's arm as he swayed dangerously.

The nurses abandoned their paperwork and rushed over. One brought a wheelchair. Raylan sank into it gratefully.

"What happened?" The red-haired nurse asked.

"I'll page the doctor," the other nurse said and walked away.

"Was bitten by a dog, few days ago..." Raylan started, falling silent as a violent shiver wracked his body.

Art took over. "His name is Raylan Givens. Until a couple of hours ago, he was being held in a piece of shit cabin. He was there for at least two days."

The nurse pushed the wheelchair into a room. "Okay. We can pull your file." She patted the bed. "Can you get up here for me?"

Raylan shot her a look, despite the fever. "Do my best," he muttered, climbing awkwardly onto the bed.

She smiled, pulling on a pair of gloves. "I need to get that shirt off you."

She reached for a pair of scissors. Art stopped her, touching her arm lightly. "It's evidence. I need you to preserve it."

"Okay," she said. "I'll do my best."

Raylan sighed and fumbled for the buttons with one hand, getting a couple undone before she stopped him. He watched as she unfastened the rest, easing the shirt off his good arm. She picked up the scissors and carefully slit the other sleeve through the seam, peeling the fabric away from his arm.

The movement wrenched a pained hiss from Raylan. His good hand clenched around the sheets, bunching the fabric so tightly his knuckles showed white through his skin.

Carefully, the nurse folded the shirt, slipping it into a brown paper bag. She reached for the tattered bandages on Raylan's shoulder just as the door swung open.

The doctor stepped into the room, a file in his hand. "Hi. I'm Doctor Carter. I'll take over from here."

Raylan nodded tiredly. "Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked the brown haired man.

The doctor cocked his head. "I don't think so, why?"

Raylan waved his hand. "Never mind. You just seem familiar, that's all."

Art shifted in the corner. "I'm gonna go catch up with Tim and Rachel. I'll be back in a few."

He gave Raylan an encouraging smile as he walked past. Long experience had shown him that Raylan didn't like people watching him if he was hurt. It was easier on both of them for Art not to be in the room.

The doctor pulled a pair of sterile gloves on. "Ruby, I'm gonna need you to start an IV. Draw bloods. Run a full CBC and Chem 7."

The nurse nodded, moving to the other side of the bed. She gathered the equipment she needed, taking hold of Raylan's good arm. "Just a little scratch," she said, drawing the blood.

Raylan nodded. "That's what they always say," he muttered.

She glanced up at him. "And we nursed never lie."

The doctor started peeling the bandages off Raylan's shoulder. The dark haired man flinched, then fell still, old habits rising in his mind.

"I'll be as quick as I can," the doctor promised.

Raylan blinked, feeling dizzy. "That'd be nice," he slurred.

The room twirled around him, lights spinning until they blended into one streak of bright colour. It hurt his eyes. He closed them, forcing them open a bare second later when the darkness made him feel worse.

"Raylan?" The nurse called, grabbing his shoulder as he slumped into unconsciousness.