Doctor Paul O'Neil smiled warmly and confidently. "Steve, you can relax. Your partner – Mike's his name, right?" The two heads staring at him nodded. "He's going to be okay. I know it didn't look like it when you got him here, but all is not what it seems sometimes."
Steve eyes widened and he swallowed heavily before releasing a held breath and looking at Noble, as if for confirmation. The sheriff's relieved smile and loud exhale were all Steve needed to see to know he had heard the doctor correctly.
"Now he still has a couple of small hills to climb before he can leave here, as you do as well," O'Neil said with a knowing look at the young detective, his eyes snapping to the bandaged arm and leg, "but believe me, they're not insurmountable. First off, he's quite severely dehydrated and we'll be keeping him on intravenous fluids for as long as necessary, probably for the next several hours at least, but he's already starting to look better in that regard.
"He has a fairly serious infection in the wound channel, most likely caused by the fibres from the layers of clothes the bullet went through, but we've already got him on IV antibiotics and we should have that under control soon as well. The biggest obstacle is his collarbone. It was very badly broken, not by the bullet mind you, but by the… 'shock wave', you could call it, that accompanies such a high velocity round."
O'Neil paused to let all this new information sink in, knowing that the inspector's initial relief was now being seriously compromised with this seemingly endless litany of problems his partner was facing.
"Considering he's a middle-aged man shot in the shoulder with a high velocity bullet then left to fend for himself in the bush overnight and not receiving any medical attention for forty-eight hours, he's doing very well," O'Neil said with a chuckle and hopefully enough encouragement in his voice to take the gravity and sting out of his words.
"Not to worry, Steve," the doctor continued when he figured the young cop had enough time to process, "we have one of the country's best orthopedic surgeons on staff at Saint Joseph's up in Lexington. Our Chief of Surgery here has already been on the horn to him and he's ready and willing to operate as soon as possible. But, we have to get him here from Lexington. And that's where we appeal to the good graces of a higher power, so to speak."
O'Neil sat back with a smile and glanced at Noble, who had been listening with a wary frown. The sheriff's eyes narrowed and he stared at the doctor with a growing appreciation and ever-broadening smile. "Fort Campbell," was all the lawman said, and the doctor's grin got wider as he nodded vigorously.
Steve, who was looking from one to the other, focused on O'Neil. "Um…?" He managed to raise his shoulders slightly in a shrug.
"I've heard about this happening before," Noble began slowly, talking to Steve but keeping his eyes on the doctor, "about using the military to get medical assistance to the more… far-flung areas of the state. Am I right?"
O'Neil nodded. "The commanding general there is very hands-on when it comes to providing services to the outlying communities in Kentucky and Tennessee. And he has authorized the use of military equipment many times over the years – especially during floods or after tornados. It's been amazing, it really has."
"So what's all this have to do with Mike…?" Steve asked quietly.
"The base is gonna send a helicopter to Lexington; they'll pick up Dr. Patel and fly him here. We'll have Mike prepped and ready for him, he'll do the operation and then they'll fly him back upstate. Mike'll have to spend a few more days here to recover, of course… as do you," O'Neil stared pointedly at Steve with a warm smile, "and then we'll be able to send you both home, hopefully well on the mend. How does that sound?"
Overwhelmed, by the logistics, the detail and the heart-warming concern for their welfare, Steve found himself at a loss for words. He had initially thought that Mike would be flown to Lexington and he had managed to hold his tongue; he had no wish to be separated from his partner again so soon. But as he listened and realized the orthopedic surgeon was coming to them, he relaxed.
"That, um, wow, that's amazing, it really is. Thank you."
"No need to thank me, I've got nothing to do with all that. I'm just a small cog in the big wheel." The doctor chuckled and the others did as well.
"So when is all this scheduled to take place?"
"Well, we want to wait until Mike is stronger; we want his fluid levels back to normal and the infection well under control. And we still have some details to iron out with the base and the hospital in Lexington but we're hoping for the day after tomorrow."
Steve nodded, digesting everything. "Is he starting to wake up yet?"
O'Neil shook his head. "Not yet. I'm sure his unresponsiveness right now is a combination of a lot of factors, not the least of which are the dehydration and the infection. But like I said, he's starting to respond to the fluids so I should think we'll begin to see him come around in a few hours." O'Neil got to his feet. "We're going to be taking him to Intensive Care for the next couple of days, just as a precaution but, before we do, would you like to spend a couple of minutes with him?"
"Oh, uh, yeah," Steve stumbled, caught off-guard.
O'Neil's smile got wider. "Then come with me. Sheriff, you care to do the honours?"
He gestured at the wheelchair as Noble scrambled to his feet.
"It would be my pleasure," the sheriff laughed, slipping behind the wheelchair and starting to push as O'Neil led them towards the examination room.
# # # # #
Alone, the heavy wooden door having closed behind him when Noble released the chair and let him wheel himself deeper into the room, Steve slowly approached the gurney. It was high, and from his seated position his head was just slightly above the top of the bed.
Mike was lying flat. The remainder of his clothes had been removed and he was covered with a light blue hospital gown. The white bandage over the wound was still in place, but now his right arm was secured across his chest, his shoulder stabilized. The saline IV remained in his left forearm; the second IV, the antibiotics for the infection, was attached to the back of his left hand. He was still on oxygen, but the tank had been replaced with the line from the panel behind the bed.
As Steve reached for his partner's left hand, he could see the dried blood on Mike's right shoulder and he squeezed the unresponsive hand a little tighter. "Hey, Mike," he started quietly, hoping his voice didn't reflect the stress and worry he was still feeling. "I'm here. We got you back and you're in the hospital in Harlan." He watched as the older man took several strong deep breaths and he relaxed slightly. "You're gonna be okay, it's just gonna take a little while. Same as me. We're both gonna be okay."
He swallowed heavily, unable to continue. He felt content to just sit and watch, and try not to think. It has been a horrific couple of days, and he was still nowhere near to coming to grips with it all. In truth, he hadn't even started.
There was so much he had to get straight in his mind, and he knew it was going to take time, maybe more time that he could conceive of at the moment. The ambush on the road and frenzied scramble through the bush; having to leave his injured partner behind; watching his prisoner turned ally cut down before his eyes; being shot twice himself and almost coldly executed; and then having to witness the seemingly lifeless body of his partner dragged from the back of a pick-up truck and dumped in the middle of a road, were things he knew he would have to deal with, and soon, if he had any prayer of returning to San Francisco the same cop that had left.
There was Mike. He knew his partner was as yet unaware of Rutter's death, as well as his own injuries, for which Mike would no doubt blame himself. And what had happened after Mike had been discovered by the Caudills? How had he been treated? Was his current unconscious state the result of what they had done to him?
And then there were the Scobies. Steve knew he was going to be blamed by them for the death of Alvin Scobie and the as-yet unnamed 'victim' of his hit-and-run. Were the Scobies aiming to settle the score before he and Mike could head back to San Francisco? Were they being guarded? Suddenly unsettled, Steve sat up a little straighter, anxious to bring that up with Noble.
As if reading his mind, the door opened and Noble and O'Neil entered the room, smiling. "See, he's doing better already," the doctor said with a smile and a nod at the injured man on the gurney. "Steve, I'm gonna let the sheriff take you to your room, and we're gonna let the staff here get Mike cleaned up and then he'll be taken to ICU. Once he gets settled in there, you can come back to see him again. How does that sound?"
Anxious to speak to Noble about the Scobies, Steve released Mike's hand, after a final quick squeeze, and nodded. "Thanks, Doc."
Noble wheeled the chair out of the room and when they were in the corridor heading towards the elevators, Steve turned slightly and asked, "Eli, I was wondering about the Scobies. I'm pretty sure they hold me responsible for the death of whoever it was I hit with the Galaxie when we got ambushed, and for aiding and abetting Rutter. And I'm sure they blame me for Alvin Scobie being killed too. Do you think they'll come after Mike and me?"
Noble, who had been listening carefully and nodding all the while, waited until they were alone in the elevator. "Don't worry, Steve, we're on it and we've been on it since that night in the woods. You've never been alone, and you won't be until both of you are safely on a plane and out of the state, so don't worry about it."
"But you guys can't be with us all the time. You have a town to police and there's only the three of you."
Noble smiled. "And that's why we've got the KSP. They, and some of the guys from here in Harlan, are givin' us a hand from now on. They've got some here already and, believe it or not, there's a couple of guys who've even volunteered."
The elevator doors had opened and Noble started pushing the wheelchair down the corridor. "As a matter of fact," he continued in a light tone, "there's a KSP trooper here right now and he'll be with you - well, outside your door – until tomorrow mornin'. And I have a feelin' you, in particular, will be pleased to meet him."
They had turned a corner. Halfway down the corridor, sitting on a chair beside a door, was a KSP trooper, sitting at attention, his campaign hat in his lap. As they approached, the trooper stood.
Noble pulled the wheelchair to a stop. The handsome, tall, dark-haired state trooper with the military crewcut loomed over the seated detective. His dark eyes widened with pleasure as he glanced from Noble to Steve and held out his right hand. "Sheriff." He nodded as they shook hands, and Noble couldn't resist a chuckle at the obvious enthusiasm.
Clearing his throat noisily, Noble gestured between the two men. "Inspector Steve Keller, I'd like you to meet Trooper Daryl Caudill." As Steve's eyes widened and his smile began to build, the sheriff continued, "I think you two might have a lot to talk about."