Free Infested by Mark R Faulkner

the
room. “Better?” he said to me after I’d taken a few sips. The water did
indeed feel tremendous as it soothed my throat with coolness. I nodded but the
itching in my leg was intolerable and I resumed my squirming. My voice was
still a croak as I tried to tell the doctor, but from the pointing of my chin
and my wriggling, he got the message.
     
    The doctor took the glass of water and placed it gently on the bedside
table before taking a small step back and standing with his back ram-rod
straight. A sincere look came over him, one I didn’t much like and I studied
the crow’s feet around his eyes, trying to read his expression.
    “Can you still feel your leg?”
    I wanted to scream: Of course I
fucking can! but I just nodded, not liking the tone of his voice.
    “It’s not unusual in a case like yours.”
    The penny dropped that something wasn’t right and I raised an eyebrow
at him.
    “There’s no easy way to say this,” he started. “But I’m afraid I had
to amputate. Just above the knee.” The doctor paused for a moment, to gauge
my reaction and I slowly nodded to show him I understood before he continued.
“It was dead I’m afraid, we had to remove it to stop the rot from spreading. I
think it was only because of your immobility in the canoe that it didn’t kill
you before. In a way you’re lucky,” he said with a wry smile.
    He was right and I knew it. Although my head was reeling with all that
had happened, I accepted the news better than I would have predicted. I’d
heard of amputees being able to feel their ‘ghost’ limbs, but I never imagined
it could still itch enough to drive me to the brink of madness.
    “Do you want some time alone?” the doctor asked.
    I nodded but signalled to be fed more water before he left.
     
    After more sleep I woke assuming it was the next day, although having
no window to the outside made it impossible to be sure. The doctor was up and
about, checking his instruments and my charts and when he heard me moving he
came over to the bed, smiling. “And how are you today?”
    I discovered I’d regained enough strength to reach over and bring the
glass of water to my lips myself. I drank a good swig and dribbled some down
my chin because of still lying down. “Good,” I said and although my throat was
sore and my voice feeble and hoarse, it pleased me to be speaking. Evidently
it pleased the doctor too as he beamed at me.
    “Ready to try speaking to the Captain?” he asked.
    “Uh-huh,”
     
    Shortly afterwards, the Captain had pulled up an orange plastic chair
and was sitting near my head. Anxiety was etched onto his face and he kept
chewing his fingernails. His voice was steady though, when he asked my name.
    “Erm… Bobby Jones,” I replied.
    He didn’t bat an eyelid, “Well Bobby, it’s an… unusual situation we
find ourselves in, yes?”
    I nodded.
    “I haven’t flown the helicopter in a few days, want to save fuel you
see, but from what I can gather it’s pretty bad.”
    I nodded again.
    “Did you see any other survivors?”
    My mind turned to the old couple in the car, and to Lindsey, of course,
and I responded with a slow shake of my head.
    The Captain seemed to sag slightly before composing himself. “What,
none?”
    “No,” I said. “What about you, have you come across anyone else?”
    He gazed off into the distance, through the wall, and I knew he hadn’t.
It seemed unbelievable, and I waited in silence for him to resume speaking.
“You’re the only one.” He mumbled. “Apart from the few fishing vessels which
have joined us and the three Navy vessels we have. There’re more boats coming,
not many though, I don’t think. Nothing from the land.”
    “So, what’s the plan?” I asked after a long silence, during which he
understandably appeared deep in thought.
    Captain John Warren looked me directly in the eye. “I have absolutely
no idea.” He shrugged. “In the absence of any chain of command it’s my duty
to