Carrion (The Bren Watts Diaries #1)

Chapter 65

DAY 26: May 4th, Tuesday

I opened my eyes.

My head was pounding, feeling like I only slept for a couple of hours, my body ached all over, and I bolted awake. I saw the pristine white walls, the antiseptic smell that clung to the air, the sharp pings of the EKG machine resounding not far from me, and the unfamiliarity of where I was. Suddenly, red signals flashed in my mind, and I quickly sat up.

There was a handcuff attached to the bed rails wrapped around my right wrist. I looked down, wearing nothing except a Johnny gown that went all the way to my ankles and an IV attached to the back of my left hand. I was in the hospital.

I pulled the IV off of me, and the EKG machine started beeping louder like a screaming banshee. With my ears still getting used to working again after who knew how long I had been out, it hurt like tiny insects swarming my insides.

With my free hand, I reached for the cord with its little red button at the end, trying to call for a nurse and maybe get the damned machine turned off. How long had I been out? I looked out of the windows with the blinds half-closed. It still seemed to be mid-day, the sun now out and shining rather than cloudy, but I went into the State Capitol late in the afternoon.

Luke and Logan. Fuck, they must be worried sick. If I had been out for long, they're stuck in this neighborhood, if they're stupid enough to stay and wait for me. I hoped they had the common sense to go back to the construction site. They're safer there.

I gave up looking for the cord. I couldn't find it anywhere, and I focused my attention on the cuffs instead. It was hard to break out of it without a key, and I realized I'm stuck. Well, unless I popped off the bed rails, then I could move around the room. But lugging that massive thing around would only slow me down if I ever want to get out of here.

And I didn't have any clothes. I doubted I'd get that far out the front door. Still, it didn't hurt to try. I leaned over the side, trying to find the latch to take the bed rails off its spokes. And hell, I could use it as a weapon! It felt sturdy and solid enough to take someone out with one hit. Then again, it was heavy, so my attacks would be slower. Well, I got to work with what little I had.

My mind was spinning with all these escape plans and trying to cover my ears from the machine's constant ringing when I failed to notice someone else was in the room.

"Good. You're finally awake. That took you long enough," a voice groaned from the far end of the room.

I looked over, startled. Clemons rose up from the armchair propped at the corner next to the bathroom. He strode toward the EKG machine and shut the noise off, cutting the room into silence. Dean Clemons had traded his combat uniform to something more casual: black pants, a nice tight blue polo shirt, and some Banana Republic gray bomber jacket.

Clemons looked like your typical everyday neighbor who probably worked a nine-to-five job in the big city on the outside, one who would come home late at night in quiet suburbia for a cold beer in his Lazy-o-boy recliner. But he was built like an athlete, trained all his life coming from a long line of a distinguished military family that went all the way back to the revolutionary days. That's how old Clemons's legacy was, a list of captains, generals, politicians, and even an astronaut. Once he put on a uniform, his entire demeanor changed, intimidating and formidable. In civilian clothing, he was just Uncle Dean to me, a good man to talk and listen to, which was probably why he dressed up like this to get me to relax, a wolf in a sheep's clothing.

Clemons took his job seriously. He's following in his family's footsteps, becoming a three-star general at forty-two, the third highest-ranking officer in the army, which was rare to get for his age (and he's only three years older than my father). I had a sneaking suspicion that it had more to do with many people higher up the chain who died because of the plague.