Free Before the Storm by Sean McMullen Page B

somewhere nearby. While the improvised surgical instruments were being cleaned, and the waxed thread was soaking in an iodine solution, Fox made an operating table out of packing cases. The room echoed oddly, allowing distant conversations to be overheard, Emily now realised. She listened to Daniel and Barry whispering, and she did not like what she heard.
    â€˜Dan Man, did we say we’d help?’ asked Barry.
    â€˜Ah, can’t recall agreeing to.’
    â€˜Then what are we doin’?’
    â€˜Following orders. Emily’s orders.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜Because when Emily says jump, you just say “How high?”, whether you feel like jumping or not.’
    â€˜Those coves ain’t British.’
    â€˜Emily thinks they are.’
    â€˜She’s daft.’
    â€˜Perhaps she knows something that we don’t.’
    â€˜Ya reckon?’
    â€˜Yes, I suppose.’
    â€˜Secret British soldiers. Er, suppose we’d better give a hand then, but I still don’t like it.’
    At last, kneeling beside the packing case platform, Fox began to cut through the bandages, all the while listing things that he needed.
    â€˜Medicinal alcohol, jars, pot of boiling water, bandages, tincture of iodine, potash of permanganate, bicarbonate of soda, darning needles, wax thread, twelve candles, three mirrors,’ he said slowly and clearly. ‘Emily, Daniel, Barry, lay out, have ready.’
    Fox had the last of the improvised bandaging cut away and had cleaned BC’s abdomen by the time Emily returned. Revealed was inflamed flesh and charred skin, along with tatters of cloth and congealed blood. Emily reeled. Barry caught her and guided her to beside Daniel, who was sitting on the floor with his hands over his eyes. The ashen-faced Barry knelt beside Fox, and began passing things as they were needed. Only BC’s stomach was visible.
    â€˜Must operate,’ said Fox. ‘Emily, on target. In wound, char, cloth, causing infection. Must remove.’
    â€˜Why did you not do that earlier?’ asked Emily.
    â€˜Diagnosis wrong,’ said BC. ‘Thought, benzothoractine alone, enough. Operation, last resort. Thought, needing, only last, to NineFive.’
    â€˜Water, boiled, needing,’ said Fox.
    â€˜I shall fetch it,’ whispered Emily, who then got up, dashed out to the window and vomited her breakfast into the guttering space between the roofs. After five very deep breaths she had a grip on herself again, and slowly tottered back to collect the pot of boiling water.
    To Emily’s considerable surprise, BC made no sound at all as the charred cloth and dried blood were soaked and eased away with damp swabs, then the dead skin was cut from his wound. Emily kept thinking that a splinter in her finger from the firewood was her worst injury for as long as she could remember. A messy pile of debris slowly built up in a tin pan beside Fox. Barry began to feed it into the fire. The scent of burning cloth and flesh hung heavily on the air, and the steam from the hot water condensed on the peeling wallpaper. Finally Fox took out a kit no bigger than Emily’s thumb and began mixing tiny amounts of crystals into some type of lotion.
    â€˜What’s the coloured goo, guv?’ asked Barry, holding a jar as Fox spread a blue paste on the edge of the wound with a salt spoon.
    â€˜Thorenzaline-dermo-bethanalide, skin, stretching, for purpose of, wounds, sewing,’ replied Fox.
    At this point Daniel fainted. Barry dragged his friend over to the window, and looked relieved to have something to do that removed him from what was happening on the improvised table. Emily knelt beside Fox as he worked.
    It was only when Fox was preparing to bandage BC again that Emily realised what was odd about his body. It looked like the paintings of the Greek and Roman gods, because the muscles stood out hard and firm beneath the skin, yet that skin was smooth and hairless. This