Free Bully by A. J. Kirby Page A

amputate my foot!
    ‘No,’ I said, quietly. ‘Let me out of here and I’ll make my way back to…’ ‘There’s no way I can let you out of here… Disease will spread from it if we do not act now,’ he said. ‘You won’t survive.’
    He probably expected me to fly off into a rage, because rather too quickly, he swung his legs round and climbed off the bed. But he hadn’t reckoned with the fact that this wasn’t the scariest thing I’d heard recently. Not by a long chalk. I closed my eyes yet again and breathed a heavy sigh.
    ‘I’d like a second opinion,’ I asked him calmly.
    ‘Son, uh, son. I know that this must be a shock you… You can get angry; I’d understand,’ he muttered. He was the one that didn’t understand.
    ‘Okay, I’ll get angry,’ I said in this awful monotone voice that came from somewhere deep within me – perhaps the Tommy part. ‘I don’t believe anyone so stupid-looking could ever have made it through seven years of med. school. So bring me someone that doesn’t whistle fucking ‘Purple Rain’ while they read med. charts and I’ll say no more about it.’
    Of course, Montaffian took it all with a pinch of his salt and pepper hair; he showed me the x-rays and I couldn’t really argue against that evidence. Yet still, he brought one of his colleagues to see me for the fabled ‘second opinion’. The new guy was a tall, vampire-like man that simply looked at my foot and shook his head before leaving the room as though I’d really wasted his time. The lanky twat didn’t even bother to speak to me; it reminded me of the two sergeants up on the ridge before we went down into the gully, before the building and before Tommy.
     
    When he came to collect me to take me down to the operating theatre, Montaffian was flanked by two burly looking orderlies that looked as though they’d been through a spell in the marines. The doctor nodded to me as though acknowledging the absurdity of the situation; as if I was going to escape. In fact, he looked a little guilty about the whole state of affairs. Part of me wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, but I’ve never been that guy. I’ve never been the kind of person that will go out of his way to make another people feel better, I know that about myself. And I reckon that I’m pretty much excused any recriminations considering the fact that I was about to have my foot amputated.
    It was strange the way that I couldn’t seem to get properly angry about what was to happen to me. The old me would have kicked and screamed so much that they would have needed five or six of the big, mean orderlies to restrain me. But the old me hadn’t had so many other things on his mind. Meekly, I allowed myself to be lifted onto a gurney and then wheeled out of the room. As we went through the door, the gurney jolted against the door jamb. Pain shot through my foot. I met the eyes of the meaner looking orderly and he gave me this revolting sneer as though he’d done it on purpose. I grinned back at him; he’d just given me the last feeling that I’d probably ever have in my foot.
    I didn’t feel sorrow or anger or even fear. Just numbness. As I was wheeled down the sterile corridors, I spotted the military police. There were four of them; all had their arms folded tightly across their chests and their chins jutting out. When they saw me, they stood up even straighter, if that were possible, and one of them tipped me a wink. Later, the wink said. After the operation, your ass is ours. At least, I thought that was what the wink said. It would probably have had an American accent after all.
    I twisted my head and looked the other way. And I just so happened to see the black and white chequerboard tiles on the floor of the corridor. Just like at Newton Mills School. It had to be a sign from Tommy, it just had to be. And if he could infiltrate this place, then I had nothing to worry about from the damn military police. Assuming I wasn’t just