Page 47 of Homebound
“How much longer, Gemma?” Drexel sounded weak. All that rattling along in a frigid air must have drained her poor uncle of his last reserves.
Gemma shook off her encroaching weakness and pushed ahead. “Halfway there, Uncle Drexel. Are you in too much pain?”
“I’ve been in nothing but pain since the evil Perali tore into my arm. The pain’s never going to end.”
“It will, Uncle Drexel. They have drugs at the hospital. They will help you feel better.”
“What’s the point? I’m useless.”
“We’re going to see about that.”
“No one can fix me.”
“Dr. Delano can. He’s a great doctor, one of the best. That’s why he’s so expensive.”
They hit a particularly nasty pothole, and Drexel groaned out loud.
“I’m so sorry, uncle. It’s hard to see…”
But Drexel ignored her, too caught up in his misery.
“My life is over. Who needs a one-armed mechanic? To what purpose?” His voice sounded emotionless and bleak as if he had already surrendered to the fate of being thrown out of life.
Gemma trundled along the best she could, her heart breaking for Uncle Drexel. He didn’t deserve this agony.
“You’ve so much experience, it’s hard to replace,” she soothed. “You matter down there, at the docks.”
Gemma hoped her encouraging words were true. Drexel was a valued mechanic, but the pressure put on repairmen to complete jobs on time was too heavy. His foreman may have no choice but to let him go in favor of a more efficient, and possibly a younger and healthier, replacement.
Uncle Drexel laughed bitterly, releasing white puffs of air from his breath. “No one will miss me. No one cares.”
“But they do! Your friends are worried about you, uncle. Some wanted to know when they can come by.”
“Why bother? I’m an invalid, a cripple,” he cried out. “I’m worth as much as that pile of garbage over there.”
He angrily adjusted his blanket with his good hand and fell into a morose silence.
So much walking on a slippery uneven road while propelling forward the heavy load aggravated Gemma’s bad ankle, and the pain was reverberating up her calf with every step.
A cripple? Why, yes, she was one, too.
Her life, her dreams had been shot in the split second when her foot twisted under her, when she came down hard landing on her side, and a bull of a man disoriented in the human stampede brought all his weight on that one point of her body: her right ankle. She never knew who he was. She doubted he had even been aware of stepping on her during the flight from the explosion and the earthquake that followed, much less damaging her for life. But she could still remember vividly the physical pain and the dark pit of depression after the accident, the hopelessness, the feeling of being unworthy, a burden, and yes, like so much garbage.
Ultimately, she had found the power and will to survive. So must Drexel.
At long last, the bright hospital lights appeared, drew nearer, and finally Gemma, by sheer force of her will, pushed the cart containing Uncle Drexel into the overcrowded lobby. They checked in and she wearily slid down to sit on the floor as all available benches were occupied by a throng of groaning, complaining people.
The hospital ran the only clinic in the City staffed by trained doctors where the sick could walk in hoping to be seen. Many came every day and waited in line, but only a few got to visit with a doctor. The clinic closed every night before the curfew. Along with the regular security tasks they performed, every night the clinic guards cleared the waiting area from the bodies of the patients who didn’t make it to an appointment.
The atmosphere in the lobby felt tense and toxic. The day was nearing its end, and hope was fading fast among the waiting room occupants. Every single soul in here was desperate and hurting.
When Drexel’s name was called, Gemma didn’t waste time pushing her uncle’s cart through the tight crowd feeling looks like daggers in their backs as they went through the heavy door that reminded Gemma of the prison. The looks were full of envy for someone else’s good fortune. For having a hope of recovery.
Inside the doors, the nurse showed them the way to the examination room. Her uncle was ordered onto the table and told to undress from the waist up.
Unwrapping his multiple layers of clothing with minimal disturbance to his hurt arm took a long time, but by the time Dr. Delano walked in without knocking Drexel was good and ready if only half-lucid from pain.
“Mr. Drexel McKinley,” Dr. Delano greeted him reading from his chart. “With an arm injury complaint.”
