章 44: Wake-up Call – Chapter 43
[Gunshot wound perforating left triceps. Profuse bleeding. Brachial artery damaged. Blood loss from major artery likely to become lethal in—]
"Tay! Tay, stay with me!"
Her eyes are closed, her face a mask of silent pain as she lies on my wooden floor, the pool of blood spreading—
[Lethality of blood loss—]
I take off my shirt in a hurry and go to apply pressure on the wound like every first aid guide will tell you to do, except the guides don't tell you about a clean wound going through the arm, and I—my belt! I take it off, wrap it just below Tay's shoulder as she barks a pained yelp—
"Sorry! I'm sorry, Tay! Please, hold on, please, please, hold on, don't leave me—"
No! Focus! I can focus, I can do this, can save her—
[Single shot. Sniper highly skilled. Highly prepared. Unlikely to leave without accomplishing—]
He wasn't after me. Not really. We're covered by the sofa, but he knows where we are, and this isn't bulletproof. He would shoot through it if he wasn't waiting for something. Something I—
[Attack telegraphed. Attack waited until Taylor Hebert was aware of it. Attack meant to lure Taylor Hebert—]
I know that! Wait, no, Tay, please, just—
"Bite this," I try to tell her, try to pretend to know what I'm doing, and I offer her my rolled-up shirt until she wordlessly does so.
And then I tie my belt above her wound as tightly as I can.
[Tourniquet likely to cause loss of limb in—]
Yes. But not if I can help it. Power, I need to go to my bathroom—
[Sniper waiting.]
Yes, but for what—no, who is it? He's a professional, well equipped, but not with tinkertech. Prepared; a planner. No obvious use of powers. Could be a hitman, hired by one of the gangs?
[Coil's failsafes dismantled. ABB dismantled. Faultline's crew non-lethal. Merchants' elite troops equipped with tinkertech. Empire—]
Victor.
[Thinker. Power usage undistinguishable from highly skilled operative. Diverse set of skills. Motivation—]
The bugs. The bugs Tay and I planted. He found them, inferred… what? That I work with Armsmaster? Miniaturized tech that can be carried by Tay's bugs—
[Sommer's Rock attack. Usage of same tech to warn gangs about Lung—]
Fuck!
All right, all right. So, Victor's pissed because we broke the rules and invaded his home, but he's come alone. This isn't an attack from the E88 en masse, this is just him, torturing me, threatening my fiancée like he thinks I threatened his wife…
He won't kill me.
[Rage likely motivator to go against planned actions—]
Don't worry, Power. I've got this.
"Tay. Tay, I'm gonna go to the bathroom and get the first aid kit, all right? I'm gonna make this all better, so, please, hang on, just… hang on…"
I look at her, writhing on the ground like she never should, fighting through the pain like she has one time too many.
"Please, don't leave me," I whisper.
And then I stand up.
There's another shot, another shattered window.
The wall of my living room gets a new hole.
And I'm untouched.
I walk to my bathroom. Tay has minutes before the tourniquet becomes a health risk, so I try not to run, to make it look as if I'm in control and not losing my mind, not thinking about all the ways this can still go wrong.
So I walk into my bathroom as another bullet goes through the wooden door, showering me with splinters and making me jerk my hand back.
And I switch on the light to find a mirror full of spiders.
I almost laugh.
I wave at them, a frail, broken smile on my lips, and then I allow myself to hurry the fuck up as I dive to the cabinet beneath the wash basin, opening the double doors and throwing aside every single stupid thing I keep in here that's not letting me get in time to what will save Taylor's life, and, hopefully, her arm.
And once I get the white box with a red cross out and I grab as many clean towels as I can, the spiders jump on the kit, each one of them holding a trailing line of glittering silk that are only visible with the shimmering colors they leave behind.
Good. Good. That's better than surgical sutures. Stronger. Thinner.
I walk out of the bathroom, the first aid kit protected by my body as I walk slowly and purposefully.
And then I kneel next to Taylor, see her pale face warped in pain as she keeps biting into my shirt to not scream her suffering, and I almost fall over her.
One of the spiders, a cute thing—
[Jumping spider usually considered—]
Yes. That. The jumping spider pokes my right hand so I look at it and, when I do, she pats the back of it reassuringly.
This time, I laugh.
It's… ugly, bubbly with tears no longer held back, and I try to tamp it down as soon as it leaves my lips, but…
"Thanks, Tay," I tell the spider, forcing a real smile on my lips. Something confident. Something that knows something you don't.
Something me.
And then I open the kit, and I lay the tools I'll need on a spread white towel that won't be white by the time this is over.
***
All right. I can do this.
Ferdinand Waldo Demara, the Great Imposter. A conman who switched lives more easily than Tay changes wardrobes, he once impersonated a surgeon on a Canadian military vessel during the Korean war. Which was already risky enough, but he was then forced to operate on sixteen Korean soldiers on the verge of death.
And what did Demara, somebody who hadn't even finished high school and whose latest exploits had involved becoming a college professor of psychology or a Benedictine monk, do?
He ordered the prisoners be moved to another room, went to his chambers to prepare…
And read a textbook on general surgery.
All of the prisoners survived.
And I read a surgery textbook three months ago after Alec cackled like a maniac while reading an article about this guy.
So, now the question is: are Power and I as smart as Demara was?
And that's not a question at all.
The first step to surgically repairing an artery is to stop the flow of blood, with either a tourniquet or clamps. Ideally, I should also scoop out any clots inside the wound, as there's—
[Likelihood of clot formation in sectioned arteries stated to be near fifty percent—]
Right. I [need] to scoop out the clots.
That, or cheat.
I lean over Tay's arm, the pooled blood on the wound no longer freely flowing, but still making it hard to see—stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I grab a pack of sterile gauze and tear it open, then I force myself to breathe, to steady my hands. Golden light coming down the top of my head, flowing down my arms, my hands, my fingers…
No, I'm not calm, but I'm [calmer], and that's about the best I can do.
So I dab the gauze on the blood, letting it redden as capillarity absorbs the blood up white fibers, and then I grab the spray of topical anesthetic. It shouldn't have an adverse reaction on an open wound—
[No stated precautions about—]
Right. Perfect.
So I spray Taylor's wound and the skin around it, giving her as much as I dare while I keep taking away old, spilled blood that isn't renewing that quickly after applying my impromptu tourniquet. A tourniquet I really need to take off before it does any kind of permanent damage.
[Access to parahuman healing—]
Right. No such thing as permanent damage. Except death.
Fucking Hell—don't think about it, don't think about it, don't—
[Likelihood of clot formation—]
Right. Focus. Thank you.
I take up a couple of surgical clamps from the kit—all right, maybe I should stop calling it a first aid kit. This is far beyond the intended purpose of the term.
This is now my Demara kit. Right.
Don't giggle, Lisa. That wasn't even funny, and you're about to go into full hysterical laughter while your girlfriend writhes in pain—
The jumping spider pats the back of my right hand yet again, looking up at me with its enormous eyes, and I feel even more pathetic than usual when said girlfriend tries to reassure me.
"He's wearing a protective suit, isn't he? Victor's come prepared, Tay, nothing we can do other than survive this," I tell her, because I know how she thinks, and I can imagine the veritable plague she must be gathering to—
The jumping spider crosses its front legs above its head, and [this] time I giggle at the ridiculously cute display of obstinacy.
Only you, Tay. Only you.
Right. The anesthetic must've already done everything it can do, so I lean down to take a look at the wound, delicately pulling the edges open with a surgical clamp. The artery's edges look almost smooth, as if the bullet had cut through it rather than torn it, and I can manipulate it without risking further breakage. I pull it a bit out of the surrounding flesh, trying not to notice the wet sound it makes as it slides out of—
[Blood flow consistent with applied pressure. No signs of clot formation—]
Right. That's good. Really good. Maybe it's because of how immediate this has been? Clots obviously take time to form—damn it, not the time to ponder this.
Read. I need to read more about surgery. If there's ever a next time, I'll—
Gloves! I forgot to put on the gloves, and I haven't sterilized the tools, just laid them on a fricking towel like a moron—
Alcohol spray. Just… Just spray it all down, and then put on the surgical gloves, and this is not that hard, Lisa, it's just that they are stretchy, and uncomfortable, and maybe my nails are too long, and I just tore one up, and what the fuck's wrong with me, why can't I stop messing up while Tay just—
My phone's ringing.
Fuck.
I take it off my pocket. Unknown number, of course.
I hesitate to answer, and then the wall behind me cracks with another bullet tearing my calm to shreds.
I put it on speaker and put on a new pair of gloves.
"I'm sorry if I'm not very good company, Victor, but I'm kinda busy right now."
"Dreadfully sorry to interrupt, [Lisa], but, you see, I was near the neighborhood and thought I'd say hi. How's the headache?"
Pretend weakness when strong. Pretend strength when weak.
Which one am I right now?
Victor knows enough about Thinkers, being one himself, to understand how I work. Bursts of inspiration, of enhanced cognition, that steadily tear away at my mental resources. Each use of Power bringing me nearer and nearer to a paralyzing headache.
The jumping spider, yet again, pats the back of my hand.
And that may have been what brings Victor's plans to ruin.
Because Tay cared. Enough to make me take a break. Enough that today I was fresher than I've been in years—and that includes pre-trigger me, yes. And Power…
[Lisa Wilbourn anthropomorphizing of parahuman interface—]
Love you too, you big goof.
But, what I meant to say, is that Power seems to have realized how he was hurting me, and… and he's doing something. I still feel the strain, but it's… lesser. More focused. No longer a random deluge of information I need to constantly keep back, but something that flows according to both our intent. Our intent to keep Tay—
[Taylor Hebert's positive influence on Lisa Wilbourn's—]
Yes. That. Thank you.
[Victor assigning value to Lisa Wilbourn's silence—]
Right.
Right.
I'm rested, supported by both the love of my life and the voice inside my head, and Power's working better than he ever has since I triggered.
I am strong.
So I'll pretend to be weak, pretending to be strong, because Thinkers are bullshit like that, and I need at least a layer of detachment.
"Headache? What headache, Johnny? I'm just peachy, right as rain. I just woke up, after all."
I lean over Tay's wound, hold her hand, and clamp the upper end of her torn artery, then grab another clamp and do the same to the fleshy tube poking out from below the hole. Her muscles shift, and so do the edges of the wound as she squeezes my hand, her face briefly relaxing even as the clamps wiggle inside her arm with even that slight movement, the thin metallic spikes glinting in the morning light I'd admired not even minutes ago after I woke up with my beautiful fiancée in my arms.
Taylor's closed eyes soften, reassuring me in her silence, her lack of pained moans.
I miscalculated. It's now that the anesthetics are doing their job.
"So, that's how you want to play it?" Victor says, his tone—
[Disaffected tone. Emotionless. Holding back emotion. Bluffing. Pretending not to be off-balance by Lisa Wilbourn's lack of reaction—]
"Play?" Tay goes to take off the shirt she's biting, and I hold her hand, shaking my head as she finally opens her big, green eyes. "I'm not playing at all. I'm dreadfully serious."
He snorts.
I clench my jaw.
Carefully, trying not to jostle anything, I undo the tourniquet. Plenty of blood oozes out of broken capillaries, but it's nothing major. Nothing to worry about. And if I keep thinking about it, I may even believe it.
[Minor blood loss—]
Right. Thank you, Power.
Three of Taylor's spiders hand me a threaded needle with a thin line of trailing silk, and then I have to stifle my laughter yet again. I take it from them and pour iodine over it before washing it away with saline solution, the towel beneath me already soaking up the spreading pool of blood and now stained with diluted iodine.
It's… maybe unnecessary, but I don't want to sterilize the [inside] of her wound. That would kill plenty of cells I want alive and well so they can contribute to the healing, and any trace of infection I manage to leave behind… well, that's what antibiotics are for.
"You do realize, no matter how much you struggle, I can just shoot her again, don't you?" Victor says.
My fingers tremble, the needle almost slips from my grasp, and I can't stop myself from trying to look through my sofa to the rooftop Victor's observing us from.
I take a deep breath, golden light pooling on my belly before I let out the air, and it carries away the grey mist of my anxiety.
"What do you want, [Johnny?"] Keep needling him. Just another reminder that I intruded on his house, his life, his family. Just make him wonder whether I really am in control or blindly lashing out at him because I'm that freaked out.
I [am] that freaked out.
"What? Can't the powerful Thinker predict this lowly man's moods after all the hints I've given you, [Lisa?] When I've made it this clear?"
[Attack planned and meticulous. Call delayed. Not at optimal point to further unbalance Lisa Wilbourn. Victor reacting emotionally. Victor deviating from plan. Victor rethinking plan. Victor about to suggest—]
Of course.
Well, time to play the scared blonde in a horror movie talking to the stalker on the phone, I guess.
Don't worry, Tay. We're great at pulling plot twists.
"I think I'll let the villain monologue his plan at me. Professional courtesy, and all that," I grumble out as if I really was in a quipping mood rather than an 'I need to perform surgery for the first time in my life' mood.
"I hoped you would say that. So, keeping in the spirit of things…. [Let's play a game."]
Of course we will, you unoriginal, derivative [hack].
And you will lose it all.
==================
This work is a repost of my most popular fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/wake-up-call-worm.15638/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 86 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).
Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Power's intrusions into Lisa's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance
Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, Xalgeon, and aj0413. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and helping me keep writing snarky, useless lesbians, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!
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