Free Emergence by John Birmingham

Outpatient.’
    Dave opened the bag with care, afraid that he might tear it apart, and found a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a grey zip-up hoodie, socks, jocks, and a pair of Nikes. All new.
    ‘Bauer’s a little uptown for me,’ he said.
    No one smiled or reacted in any way. Pradesh was still reading the pro forma complaint letter and fuming silently. The nurse was cloaked in the armour of vindication, and the navy guys stared at him, waiting for him to do as he was told.
    ‘Do I have to, er . . . my wallet is back on the –’
    Heath cut him off.
    ‘Contingency funds, Mr Hooper. You need to get dressed now.’
    Allen herded the two civilians out of the room, with Pradesh still muttering about taking this to a higher authority.
    ‘Section 3 of the form, sir,’ said Heath.
    ‘I told you he was burned,’ Fletcher said again. ‘Must have healed up just like we saw him do. Just then.’
    Both military men stayed in the room. Dave climbed carefully out of bed for the first time since he’d put the unfortunate lieutenant through the cupboard door. He concentrated on the basics: removing his gown, getting dressed. He took his time with each movement, as though learning it anew. It helped keep his mind off things.
    ‘How many dead and injured?’ he asked as he dressed. Better to think about other people’s problems than the pile of shit he seemed to have his face planted in. ‘You never told me.’
    Chief Allen didn’t hesitate. The surfer dude aura faded as he relayed the bad news. ‘Last figures I had were twelve dead, including one woman from your catering staff. Eighteen missing. Twenty-six injured, nineteen of them critical. I’m sorry; I don’t have any individual details. But your colleague Mr Martinelli did make it out.’
    Dave got his leg through jeans that were just a little big for him. He was glad of that. If he had to pull them on with any sort of effort, he feared tearing them like tissue paper. He felt awkward dressing in front of Heath and Allen like this. It was stupid, because he was used to showering with dozens of naked rig monkeys. But Heath in particular seemed to emanate censorious judgment. He hadn’t mentioned the other officer Dave had put into surgery, but you could tell he was pissed about it.
    What’s wrong with me?
    An image of the thing from his nightmare forced itself into his thoughts. He pushed it away and cursed instead at the butcher’s bill from the rig. That was what he should have been worrying about. Not bullshit drug flashbacks. He was responsible. No matter what had gone down out there, he, Dave Hooper, was the guy paid to make sure shit didn’t go down on the platform. And he’d failed. He wanted to climb back into bed and pull the covers over his head.
    It was a miserable feeling. The last couple of years, as everything else in his life turned to shit, he’d at least been able to hang on to the idea that no matter what else might happen, whether he was hungover or reeking of paid-for-pussy, Dave Hooper turned up and got the job done. Dave sat down heavily on the hospital bed, all the giggles gone now. He pulled on the shoes and did up the laces. Tied them as carefully as a first-grader.
    ‘Hello?’
    A candy stripper stood at the door, bearing a paper bag. From the smell of them, the promised cookies. Saliva jetted into Dave’s mouth again. Captain Heath thanked her with more grace than Dave would have thought possible given his uptight personality, but his smile vanished when he turned away from the girl. ‘We good to go?’
    ‘I think so,’ Allen said as Dave shrugged on the blue US Navy hoodie.
    ‘I got some questions,’ Dave said.
    ‘So do we,’ Heath said. ‘So that’s a win-win situation. We can talk in the car. You can eat your cookies if you behave yourself.’
    Dave opened his mouth to ask what they were gonna do if he didn’t behave himself, but the exaggerated head shake from Chief Allen prompted him to stow that particular line of