Dr. Stevens stands over the bed in his shopworn lab coat and wire-rimmed glasses, gazing down at the woman from the chopper. “Gonna be a little groggy for a while,” he says to her. “We gave you a couple happy pills.”
The woman named Christina lies in a supine position on a makeshift gurney in the cinder block–lined catacombs beneath the racetrack. Clad in a cast-off terrycloth robe, her right arm wrapped in an improvised cast of kindling and medical tape, she turns her pale, ashen face away from the harsh halogen light shining down on her.
“Hold this, Alice, just for a second.” Stevens hands the plastic vial of IV fluids to the young nurse. Also in a tattered lab coat, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, Alice forces a smile as she holds the vial aloft, its line connected to a stick in the injured woman’s arm.
Again Christina manages to croak, “W-where am I?”
Stevens goes to an adjacent sink, washes his hands, and towels off. “I could level with you and say the Ninth Circle of Hell but I’ll refrain from the editorial comments for the moment.” He turns back to her and says with a warm but slightly cynical smile, “You’re in the sprawling metropolis of Woodbury, Georgia … population who-the-hell-knows. My name is Dr. Stevens and this is Alice, and it’s a quarter after seven, and I understand you were fished out of the wreckage of a helicopter this afternoon…?”
She manages a nod, and then flinches at a twinge in her midsection.
“That’s gonna be a little tender for a while,” Stevens says, wiping his hands on the towel. “You had third-degree burns over twenty percent of your body. Good news is, I don’t think you’ll need any skin grafts … just a little edema we’re treating intravenously. Lucky for you, we had three liters of glucose left. Which you’re sucking down like a drunken sailor. You managed to fracture your arm in two places. We’ll watch that as well. They said your name is Christina?”
She nods.
Stevens clicks a penlight, reaches down, and checks her eyes. “How’s your short-term memory, Christina?”
She inhales an excruciating breath, which whistles softly in her throat. “Memory’s fine.… My pilot … Mike is his name … was his name.… Did they—?”
Stevens puts his penlight back into his pocket and gets serious. “I’m sorry to say your friend died in the crash.”
Christina manages a nod. “I’m aware of that … but I just wondered … his body … Did they bring him back?”
“As a matter of fact, they did.”
She swallows thickly, licks her dry lips. “That’s good … because I promised him a Christian burial.”
Stevens looks at the floor. “That’s very admirable … a Christian burial.” Stevens and Alice exchange a glance. Stevens looks back at the patient and smiles. “One step at a time … okay? For now, let’s just concentrate on getting you up and running.”
“What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?”
Stevens ponders the injured woman. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”
“Is there a problem with me wanting to give my pilot a proper burial?”
Stevens sighs. “Look … I’ll be honest with you. I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”
Christina lets out a grunt as she struggles to a sitting position. Alice helps her sit up, gently keeping her arm elevated. Christina looks at Stevens. “What the hell is the problem?”
Stevens looks at Alice, then back at the patient. “The Governor is the problem.”
“Who?”
“Guy who runs this place.” Stevens takes off his glasses, pulls out a handkerchief, and cleans the lenses carefully as she speaks. “Fancies himself a civil servant, I guess. Hence the name.”
Christina furrows her brow, confused. “Is this guy—?” She searches for the words. “Is he—?”
“Is he what?”
She shrugs. “Is he—what would you call it? ‘Elected’? Is he an elected official?”
The doctor shoots another loaded glance at Alice. “Um … wow … that’s an interesting question.”
Alice grumbles, “He’s elected, all right … by a single vote … his own.”
The doctor rubs his eyes. “It’s a little more complicated than that.” He measures his words. “You’re new here. This man … he’s the alpha dog here in our little kennel. He leads by default. Keeps order by doing the dirty work.” A thin smile crosses Stevens’s narrow features. The smile drips with disdain. “Only problem is, the man has developed a taste for it.”
Christina stares at the doctor. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Look.” Stevens puts his glasses back on and wearily runs his fingers through his hair. “Whatever happens to your friend’s remains … take my advice. Grieve on your own, pay tribute silently.”
“I don’t understand.”
Stevens looks at Alice, his smile fading. He looks into Christina’s eyes. “You’re gonna be okay. A week or so … when your arm’s healed up … you might think about leaving this place.”
“But I don’t—”
“And one other thing.” Stevens fixes her with his gaze. His voice drops an octave, gets very serious. “This man. The Governor. He is not to be trusted. You understand? He is capable of anything. So just steer clear of him … and bide your time until you can get out of here. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She doesn’t answer, just stares at him, soaking it in.
*