Page 11 of Dr Feel Good
She nodded and released me. Her weak, tremulous smile touched something in me. “Okay, I believe you, Felix.”
I was supposed to be the protector, not the one suddenly feeling so exposed for a reason I couldn’t comprehend. “Your name, sweetheart?”
Flipping me off, she sank into unconsciousness. I saved her from tipping over by clutching her shoulders.
Praying I had everything I needed to help the stranger, I picked her up again and returned her to the dining table, then inventoried what I had on hand and the extras I brought with me. I had planned to hunt. Isolation aside, I always came prepared.
As a minimalist,thingsdidn’t clutter my cabin, a help and a hindrance in this situation. It was easy to move her and prep the dining table to use for her operation. On the other hand, I didn’t have many other options.
Once I laid out what I needed, I carried her back to my version of an operating table and laid her carefully down.
“Hang in there,” I told her, hoping she carried ID in one of her pockets so I could have her full name when I turned her in. As soon as I was done, I would search her clothes.
Though I carried no controlled substances suitable for GA, I always brought along alprazolam for sleepless nights. I swept my gaze over her and estimated her height to be about five nine and her weight no more than one hundred thirty-five pounds. She could’ve been a model instead of a lowlife…
Not my place or my problem. She needed to be saved until I could get her to a hospital.
I had a good four inches and seventy pounds on her, and I didn’t know her medical history, so I split my tablet in half. After sitting her up and placing the tablet as far back on her tongue as possible, I tipped her head back and poured water into her mouth. Most of it slid down her jaw and chin.
“Damn it,” I growled.
Couldn’t do that again. I’d already risked getting water into her lungs, but a part of me was hoping she wasn’t completely out and would swallow on reflex.
I allowed the pill to dissolve and kept her sitting up for several minutes until I felt comfortable laying her down again and got to work removing my hastily crafted sling. To undress her, I decided to take the easiest route and cut away her ruined pullover and the thermal top underneath. Her pretty bra surprised me. Red and lacy with a black bow in the middle, the bullet had ruined one of the straps and probably contaminated the wound with bits of material. I cut away her bra, then immediately removed her belt and boots, but allowed her thick socks to stay on. Careful to keep the tourniquet on her thigh in place, I cut off her jeans and thermal leggings. It dawned on me that she wore no panties at the same time her myriad tattoos registered.
Distaste surged into me, and I frowned.
My eyes zeroed in on a tattoo of a skeleton woman in front of a motorcycle with the words,Royal Harlots, emblazoned on her chest and flat belly. Tattoos marred her hips, thighs, legs, arms, and shoulders, one of which continued to bleed.
She was a damn criminal and a steward of her own misery.
I double-checked phone reception. As expected, I had none. Her life was truly in my hands. And even if comms were working, the nearest medical facility was over sixty miles away.
“Fuck.”
Sighing, I scrubbed a hand over my face and looked at her again. A biker woman. Not a submissive, like I thought. Her type was notoriously belligerent, hardened, and unruly, where violence ruled their lives. Had she been the one shooting at me?
HadIshot her?
My nostrils flared, my disappointment that I’d mistaken her identity was insane and a little unsettling. She was no one to me. As soon as I could, I’d get her out of my cabin and forget her existence.
She gasped, though she didn’t open her eyes. The rise and fall of her chest was alarmingly shallow. Springing into action, I shoved away the criminality of my beautiful, tattooed stranger and grabbed several thermal blankets from one of my bags, then hurried back to her and threw them over her body.
Starting her IV line, something I hadn’t done since medical school, brought me back to a much simpler time in my life. Having to try three times annoyed me to no end, and I questioned my logic of having a supply on hand that I was unfamiliar with. When I flushed it with the saline solution without any problems, my annoyance fled. On this trip, I only had a penicillin IV. An allergic reaction wouldn’t help her, so I didn’t add the antibiotic to the sodium chloride drip. Once she opened her eyes, I’d ask her about allergies.
I took her blood pressure and temperature to have a baseline and wrote the numbers down. BP was lower than I would’ve liked, and her temperature was too high. My gut told me infection was setting in. Maybe I should try the penicillin.
Maybe…
“Stop fucking stalling, Felix.”
I’d never lost a patient. Every time I performed surgery, most of them expensive and elective, any number of things could go wrong. My clients trusted me to turn them into the best versions of themselves and go on about their lives. None of them ever looked at me, pain and fear etched into their faces and handed their life over into my care. She didn’t want to die, and she was afraid, but she still believed I’d save her.
I’d done everything I could to make her comfortable and keep her hydrated. Hopefully, she stabilized, and I didn’t lose her while I got those bullets out of her.
I hurriedly washed my arms and hands, suited up in a disposable surgical apron, gloves, and a mask, and got to work.
I moved with practiced precision, my hands steady and quick, removing the tourniquet and the last bit of her jeans. The overhead light flickered, trying to withstand the storm. I only hoped the electricity remained on until I finished. If not, I’d have to dig out lanterns or candles, then sterilize myself all over again, while she lay bleeding.
