Doctor Who_ Left-Handed Hummingbird - Kate Orman [89]
In the meantime I turned the Doctor over and unbuttoned his shirt. Blood was getting on my fingers (it’s darker than human, with a hint of orange in the red). There was a wet stab wound right over where a human’s heart would be. It looked like a slice in a piece of fresh meat. (I was really glad I hadn’t been drinking, because I felt very much like throwing up.) You never get used to it happening to people you know.
Cris bolted back with the Feinbergers and I pulled out the vital stats scanner – I don’t know the technology, but it looks like a pocket calculator and is as easy to use. Oh ho, we had some green lights: the Doctor was alive.
He confirmed this diagnosis by suddenly coming to, making the scanner bleep and bloop in confusion. He took a deep breath, and it obviously hurt. ‘Hold still,’ I told him.
‘Ace,’ he said, and the silly idiot tried to sit up. At least there was no blood coming out of his mouth or nose. ‘Is she?’
‘Is she what?’ I said, peeling the back off a derm.
‘Is she breathing?’
At that point, dear Diary, I didn’t care whether she were breathing or not. But Cristián had already hopped over to her, and he nodded at me. ‘Get the knife,’ I said.
I eased the derm in place just under the wound. ‘He had a go at her,’ muttered the Doctor. He was already relaxing; the stuff would stop the pain and the worst of the blood loss. Time to try the tissue scanner. ‘Is she breathing?’ he asked again.
‘She’s fine. She can wait.’ Cris handed me the knife. It was made of obsidian – she must have been carrying it since the trip to Tenochtitlan. The blade was broken off, which confirmed what the scanner was telling me.
‘The knife snapped off on a rib,’ I told the Doctor. ‘She got clumsy or you got lucky.’
‘Lucky,’ he breathed.
‘I’m going to have to take the broken piece out,’ I said. ‘Sefior Alvarez, come here and hold onto him.’
Cris didn’t quite know what to do, but he ended up holding the Doctor’s hand while I eased the fragment out with a pair of padded tweezers. He kept shuddering, making me have to stop. I never want to have to do that again. I never want to have to reach inside somebody again.
It was better once I’d got the piece out. I put a strip of stuff over the wound to close it – by this time he was giving me instructions – and attached a little doohickey which would monitor and speed up the healing.
‘Why did she try to kill you?’ Cristián wanted to know. ‘He needs to keep you alive. Doesn’t he?’
‘Just trying to even up the odds.’ Cris had brought a stretcher, and now we slid the Doctor onto it. This time he had the sense to hold still and let us look after him ‘There’s one last confrontation left. He’s coming with us, Bernice, he’ll be there.’
I looked around, I remember – it must have looked brilliant, as though I were expecting H to pop out of the wall and jump us.
We put the Doctor to bed and then we got around to doing something about Ace. I still hadn’t grasped the fact that it wasn’t her fault. It just seemed like all that tension had inevitably blossomed into something horribly physical.
Not fair, is it? I can remember trying to shoot the Doctor’s head off, for some terribly good, some very logical reason.
She was feverish and breathing raggedly. He’d just used her and dumped her – like the cleaner. Another bloody human sacrifice. Cris helped me carry her to her room. It took me forever to work out how to get the suit off. I don’t know if she’s going to be all right.
What scares me the most is remembering the Doctor’s face when he ‘died’. He says he faked it so that H would let Ace go – otherwise she would have burnt up the way Macbeth did. I think he let her stab him.
He looked peaceful. I’m having trouble remembering the last time he looked peaceful. And now we’ve got this ‘last confrontation’ to look forward to. I just hope he’s not planning to get out of this the easy way.
* * *
Chapter 14
Futility
* * *
Let’s pause the videotape for a moment.
Cristián Xochitl Alvarez