Free Cracks by Caroline Green Page B

against my skin . I can’t feel it but I shudder anyway. It looks like a pen’s drawing a thin line of bright red
in an L-shape. I can only feel a slight tickling sensation as she gently tugs the skin to one side as a flap. The very worst part is a meaty smell and my stomach heaves but I can’t stop
looking. She reaches for a long, thin pair of tweezers and rummages about in the gory wound while my blood pools in scarlet streams down my wrist and onto the table.
    Then she’s holding a black metal oblong with the tweezers. ‘There we are. I hope you believe me now and understand why this was necessary.’
    I stare at the tracking device then glare at Helen, hating her for cutting me and being right.
    ‘I’ll be as quick as I can getting you stitched up,’ she says as she pours a chemical over the wound. Then she gets out a tiny needle that’s already threaded and begins
stitching my hand as though doing some embroidery. The tip of her tongue pokes out the side of her mouth. Each tiny stitch seems to take hours.
    The blokes holding me relax their grip and I suddenly see myself jumping to my feet and escaping. But I know that wound needs stitching and, anyway, where am I going to go? I’m too
confused to know what to think about anything. I’m so tired, suddenly it feel like Pigface’s weights have been attached to my limbs. My eyes are gritty and heavy and I keep
blinking.
    A lifetime later she’s done. She sprays my hand with something that instantly dries into a shiny film before wrapping gauze around the wound and bandaging it up. The dressing goes high, up
and over my wrist bone too.
    ‘All done,’ she says. She throws the gloves onto the bloodstained plastic on the table and goes to the sink, where she gets a glass of water. She puts a couple of pills and the water
in front of me and nods again to the men, who let me go and stand back. I immediately jump to my feet and turn on one of them, shoving him hard in the chest. But he barely blinks. Humiliated and
close to crying, I sit back down again with a thump.
    ‘Easy now, Cal,’ says Helen. ‘That local anaesthetic will wear off quite soon so it’s very important that you take these painkillers every four hours. You’ve had a
minor operation and it will be sore for some time. If there is the slightest discolouration or oozing from the wound, you must take these antibiotics, without fail.’ She pulls out a tube of
pills from her pocket. ‘They’re very precious and you must not lose them. This is very important. I’ve sprayed a powerful antiseptic on there but you must watch for infection.
Peel back the bandage every couple of days and check, OK?’
    She moves her head, her eyes earnest, to make sure I’m looking at her. I feel exhausted now. It’s hard to follow everything she’s telling me.
    ‘Cal, I need to know that you’re understanding this. You’ve been in the same environment for twelve years. Your body is going to have to adjust very quickly to the bacteria and
viruses that most of us are used to. Coupled with this operation on your hand . . . well, those antibiotics could save your life. Especially nowadays. Only a few people have access to drugs like
these.’
    ‘OK, I get it,’ I say, thickly, running my good hand under my snotty nose.
    The other woman comes into the room holding a black and white cat. And not just any black and white cat – it’s the one I saw in that other place. My old life. It was there when I
walked to Riley Hall, just before I woke up.
    She’s nuzzling it under her chin with a blissed out expression and Helen gives a tight smile.
    ‘You can’t keep that cat, Julia.’
    The woman hugs the cat tighter. ‘I know, but I wish I could.’
    ‘I know that cat,’ I say.
    Helen gestures to Julia to bring it over. ‘I’m not surprised. This cat belongs to Cavendish. He lives on site and the cat is allowed to go anywhere. But it has an important job to do
now.’
    ‘Job? What job? Don’t hurt