Free The Hurst Chronicles (Book 1): Hurst by Robin Crumby

back. He stepped inside and glanced around the room, checking that Will was still cuffed to the bed. He moved aside to let in a young man with glasses and thin stubble on his chin. He was wearing a white coat, moderately tall, black hair, dark complexion, Asian and seemingly awkward to Will, as if he were somehow uncomfortable in his own skin.
     
    The heavy metal door swung back and clicked closed behind him, sealing them off from the bustle of the hospital beyond. Will heard the key turn and heavy footsteps walk away down the corridor.
     
    “How are you feeling?” asked the new arrival, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his white coat. Will sized him up before answering.
     
    “You don’t look old enough to be a doctor,” barked Will in a gruff voice. He swung his legs back up on to the bed, putting his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling, ignoring the doctor.
     
    “Hey listen, if you don’t want me to take a look at that cut on your head. Fine by me. I’m just doing my job.” He made to leave turning his back on Will.
     
    “Don’t kid yourself, yah. You’re as bad as the rest of them. First you beat the crap out of me, and now you want to fix me up? What kind of hospital is this? Don’t tell me, you were just ‘following orders’. Don’t make me laugh,” he mocked.
     
    “Whoa there mister. I’m one of the good guys. Don’t lump me in with that other lot, will you, please? Those new guys are off their rockers. Nut jobs. I’ve been here since the beginning, before those guys arrived and took over. We could have got out, they gave us that chance, but we chose to stay. They made this place secure and for that they get my gratitude. For the record, that doesn’t mean I like what they do or how they do it. Give me a break yeah?”
     
    Will shrugged his shoulders and looked back at him, unrepentant.
     
    The young man dumped his bag on the floor, strode over to the chair and sat down purposefully, unrolling the tools of his trade on the bedside cabinet. The surgical kit contained scalpels, scissors, what looked like a sewing kit and syringes, all neatly secured in their Velcro holders and fabric loops.
     
    Will inclined his head submissively towards him and the doctor firmly grabbed hold of both sides of his head, like a veterinarian might grab hold of a wild beast. He ripped off the gauze and tape without warning, ignoring the patient’s howls of protest. He leaned in close to get a good look, peering through the glasses perched on the end of his nose at the nasty looking cut behind Will’s left ear. Some heavy bruising surrounded the wound. He donned a pair of disposable surgical gloves and gently pressed either side of the wound.
     
    “Yes, you’ll definitely need stitches. How did you get this, dare I ask?”
     
    “One of your boys hit me from behind. Won’t forget him in a hurry. The others called him ‘Copper’.”
     
    “OK, I know who you’re talking about. Friendly chap. Like I said, I don’t condone violence. I just get to patch people up. More work for me, you might say.”
     
    Will winced as the doctor worked away efficiently behind his head, gasping a couple of times when gloved fingers pressed too hard. For a big hardy builder, who had been a labourer all his life, he hated needles, and blood. At school, he was forever the boy who fainted in the playground after slicing his shin open on a rusted nail. He’d been balancing on a plank of wood when he’d slipped and fell, but his classmates knew better than to make fun of him. He had always been just a little taller and heavier-set growing up which made others fear him. His physique and imposing presence had made him a promising rugby player until he clean broke his wrist when he was barely twelve and never played again.
     
    Looking down at his feet, Will mumbled into his chest, his voice sounding awkward and strained. “You’re Indian right? Never been treated by an Indian doctor