Fortunately, Yefim at the Dugout Inn woke up just enough to take the caps for a week's stay and hand me the key, waving towards room #2. I went to move past him, then paused. He might recognize me, but I gotta chance it.
"My friend here is sick." Keeping my voice low and rough, I watched his groggy attention from the corner of my eye. "Got hit by a radscorpion and is burning up with fever. I'll pay you another fifty caps right now if you can get the doc here by the time I unload our gear and get him on the bed." I held my breath until his palm slowly extended to accept. Breathing a silent sigh of relief behind my bandanna, I poured out the extra fee. Nodding in approval at Yefim's swift departure, I stumbled towards our room. Good, now hopefully the radstorm outside will distract him from trying to figure out if he knows us.
My pack hit the floor as soon as I cleared the doorway and I nearly planted head-first into the bed. Catching myself with my trembling arms unbalanced MacCready enough that he slid down my shoulder to land awkwardly on his side just barely on the edge of the mattress. Good enough. I had been awake and on the move for nearly twenty-four hours at this point and ruthlessly pushed away the exhaustion creeping across my mind like a relentless fog. I tugged our weapons free from MacCready's back, setting them on the low table by the couch. His pack was next, and I was finally able to haul his unresisting body more fully onto the bed.
The doctor hadn't arrived yet, and a thread of anger burned away some of my fatigue. He'd better show, or I'll wake all of Diamond City and damn the consequences. MacCready was still unconscious, and I didn't know what to do. A quick examination showed his neck, shoulder, and wrist were all swollen and red. Is that from the venom? I thought in panic. I don't know how to deal with venom, especially if the wound is already closed. How many of those bugs are venomous? I lay the back of my hand on my partner's scorching forehead, feeling helpless.
The door suddenly swung open and an older Japanese man wearing a white doctor's coat entered the room. "I'm Doctor Sun. Yefim says you have an emergency?" he inquired in a brisk voice. At the sight of MacCready's flushed and swollen face, he launched into immediate action. Pushing me aside, he took out a diagnostic tool, starting his examination. "What can you tell me?"
"He..." my vision wavered as tears filled my eyes. "We were attacked by bugs. Lots of bugs," I added when I got control of my voice. "Bloodbugs, stingwings, and bloatflies. We were trying to fight them off, but there were so many. They kept going after him. And then a giant radscorpion..." I took a breath around the tired sob in my throat. "It went for me, but he pushed me out of the way..."
"And got stung. I see." Stung. Such a simple word that made a mockery of the intense agony my partner suffered, was probably still suffering. Doc Sun listened intently with his stethoscope while reading the diagnostic scanner, and I wrung my hands together, not wanting to disrupt him. "He has a dangerously high fever," the doctor pronounced, "most likely caused by a reaction to the multiple venomous attacks." He pocketed his scope and proceeded to unzip MacCready's leather jacket. "We have to cool him down, and fast. When did the fever start? How long has he been unconscious?"
Stepping around to assist in stripping my companion, I answered him tentatively. "I only know he was fevered when he started hallucinating, which was late afternoon. He said he hurt all over. Knowing how stubborn he can be, he probably had been feeling sick for a while." My guts wrenched at the thought. I bet he was fevered and hurting when he stopped ranging about. Why didn't I realize something was wrong with him? I am a horrible partner. "He was delirious for a while, but became completely unresponsive shortly after full dark last night. But I know he took a couple of stimpaks as soon as the fight was over. Why didn't they work?"
"Stimpaks are miraculous for healing wounds and other physical trauma, but they don't work on poisons or radiation. I thought that was common knowledge. Why didn't you get here sooner?" Sun's voice was accusatory. "The longer his fever is this high, the more likely there's going to be permanent brain damage."
By this time, we had stripped MacCready of his clothes, and the doc directed me to help carry him to the tub in the bathroom. "I got here as fast as I could when I realized he was sick," I snarled through gritted teeth, at the accusation and my lack of perception both. "It's not like I had a saddled deathclaw to ride, you know." At the inadvertent reminder of our last loving evening together, I had to blink rapidly to clear my eyes. "What happens now?"
"Now?" The doctor grabbed a scrap of cloth to cover MacCready's modesty and turned on the cold water tap. "We get his temperature down as quickly as possible." He disappeared into the main room for a moment, leaving me to support Mac's head, returning with his medical bag. "Fortunately for you, Yefim passed along the story about the radscorpion. I can kill two bloatflies with one round." He grimaced slightly. "It's almost a blessing that he's unconscious. This is not going to be comfortable for him."
Handing me a washcloth with the instructions to sponge cold water across Mac's head and face, Doctor Sun prepared an IV bag, deftly inserting the cannula into a vein on MacCready's arm. Once the bag had been hung from the curtain rod, he busied himself preparing a small selection of hypodermic needles. The tub filled slowly with cold water, soaking my unconscious companion and rinsing off a film of bloody dirt to skim in random patters around the swirling liquid. I dutifully sponged his face, supporting his head to keep his nose and mouth clear of the rising water. He still felt hot to the touch, and I tried not to let worry overwhelm me.
As soon as the tub filled with cold water, Doc Sun closed the tap and picked up the first of the syringes. "Your friend is suffering from venom fever, a violent toxic reaction to the bites and stings he received. Most people can usually fight off the effects of a stingwing attack, or a bloodbug bite, but a radscorpion's jab is very dangerous... and to have been envenomed by so many different creatures at once?" He shook his head. "I have an antidote... of sorts." He inserted the needle into the branching line, administering the drug. "This should help him fight off the worst of the poison and remove accumulated rads, but it's going to be a rough couple of days."
"Days?" I asked, my tired voice cracking. Sun nodded, picking up the second syringe. This one I recognized as Med-X. "Hey, I gave him that yesterday. It seemed to help, but not for very long." The look I received was stern, and I inwardly cringed as he paused halfway to the IV tube. Stop talking before you give something away. You're too tired to have a filter.
"Just one?" was the mild question that accompanied the intense stare. When I nodded, he lowered his hands, placing the injector back on the tray. "All right. Med-X is highly addictive, so we don't want to overdo it, but he will be feeling quite a bit of pain. If... When he wakes up, you can give this to him if he's still hurting." He reached out a hand, grasping MacCready's wrist and leaning in to examine his neck and shoulder. "Hm. Pulse is steady and strong, if a bit fast. The cold water is helping, but only time will tell." He reached for his diagnostic tool again, gesturing for me to hold still.
"Yes, this is working. His temperature is nearly back to normal. We'll keep him in there until the saline drip is done, then it'll be up to you. Keep him hydrated; purified water, broth, anything not irradiated." He pointed to the small tray of syringes. "Give him this one tonight; it's a booster for the antivenom, and this one tomorrow morning. I'll leave the cannula inserted for you. You saw how I did it? There's a Med-X here for him if he wakes up, but only if he's in pain," Doc Sun emphasized strongly.
"Got it." I said, rubbing my tired eyes when they refused to focus. Fortunately, the syringes were different colors. "Is he going to be okay?"
"As high as his fever was?" Doc Sun pondered for a moment. "I don't know. Be prepared for a rough time of it, though. It's likely that his fever will return. He may be delirious and uncooperative as his body works to fight off the poisoning. Send for me if he worsens or you can't control him."
"What?" I looked at the still form of my partner. Mac, please be okay.
"If worse comes to worst... we can calm him down on a more, ah, permanent basis." When he saw my shocked reaction, he amended, "it's only in a worst-case scenario, which is unlikely at best! Your friend seems pretty strong, I'm sure he'll pull through. Just take good care of him. Talk to him while he's unconscious," he suggested, "hearing a familiar voice might help bring him around."
When the IV bag finally emptied, we drained the tub and Doc Sun lifted the much improved sniper out, instructing me to clean myself up while he settled his patient comfortably on the bed. I scurried out to grab a towel from the packs, tossing the spare set of MacCready's briefs towards the bed as a hint, and hastily scrubbed the worst of the last two days off my face and hands, not wanting to keep the doctor waiting. As soon as caps exchanged hands, he left to finish his interrupted rest. I locked the door and, completely exhausted, crawled clumsily into the bed next to my unconscious partner, asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.
-0-
Waking up after a short, restless nap, I checked on MacCready to notice he hadn't moved at all from the position Doctor Sun had arranged him in. I was still groggy and sore from the trek to get to Diamond City, but the worry I felt for my partner kept me from sleeping any longer. Tentatively, I reached out to feel his neck for a pulse and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when I felt the strong, steady beat against my seeking fingers. His skin was warm, but no longer burning hot with fever and the angry red patch on his shoulder where the radscorpion had stung him was fading into a healthier pink healing color.
"So far, so good," I commented aloud, remembering the doctor's suggestion to talk to my companion. "Let's get you rearranged a little to keep your circulation going."
Grunting with effort and soreness, I managed to prop MacCready up against every pillow and cushion I could find in the room. To my relief, Doc Sun had wrangled the briefs into place while I was washing up, and I tucked blankets around him to hopefully keep him comfortable and warm as a temporary solution. It's not like I haven't seen him naked before, I mused, and the rest his clothes are a complete mess. Maybe I can find something for him to wear while he recovers.
I grabbed a mouthful of radstag "jerky" to silence my growling stomach and cracked open a can of purified water. "All right," I announced to my unresponsive partner. "Let's get some liquid into you."
The task was easier said than done. I had no previous experience with an unconscious patient, and no amount of encouragement triggered a response. After more than fifteen minutes of trying everything from brushing his cracked lips with moisture to trying to drip a careful spoonful into his mouth, I sighed in frustrated defeat, drinking the rest of the water myself. "RJ," I pleaded, tears in my voice, "you need to wake up. I don't think I can do this without you."
No response. The pulse beat strongly in his neck, and his chest rose and fell steadily, but that was the only movement.
I thought hard, desperately staving off the desire to sink into hopeless weeping. That was our last can of water. I need to go out and get more. Doc Sun suggested broth. I know MacCready absolutely adores the noodles here; maybe I can get him to respond if I try something he likes? I have to do something.
But we're supposed to be hiding. It's sheer luck we haven't been recognized. I don't know if I can do this! I fidgeted, brushing my fingers through MacCready's hair in an absent gesture. "You said Trashcan Carla was asking about a woman named Anne with a fancy Pip-Boy and long brown hair, huh?" I mused aloud to my partner. "Well, I used a fake name, so that's one identifier down. The Pip-Boy is in my pocket, and I suppose I can wrap my arm in a bandage to cover the receivers. And long brown hair...?"
I sighed sadly, bringing the rough braid around to twist in my fingers. My hair. My one real beauty. It had taken years to grow out, the tight natural curls relaxing into rich red-hinted brown waves with the weight of its length. I loved the feel of the braid down my back, the very tip brushing my waist. But it was too recognizable as a feature. Very few Wastelanders have long hair. It takes too much effort to maintain it.
I came to a decision. Standing up, I headed over to MacCready's discarded clothing, carefully extracting his combat knife. He shaves with this, so I know it's razor sharp. I firmly shoved away the memory of this exact knife being placed against my throat not all that long ago. Returning to the bed, I patted the unresponsive sniper's hand. "Here goes nothing. I hope you'll like it."
Firmly grasping the braid in one hand, I gave a quick slice upwards and away from my head. The cascade of strands around my head felt almost dizzyingly light and I shook my head instinctively to settle the ragged locks. Taking a length of cord, I tied off the cut end of my braid, stuffing it into the bedside drawer. I know it's a risk, but I can't bear to get rid of it just yet, I thought ruefully. "Okay," I encouraged myself, "I'll go get a real shower and see what I can find in the market. Don't go anywhere." My attempt at humor fell flat in the deafening silence that followed.
I didn't linger in the hot spray, but did start the soaking process for our clothes while I soaped up. "It's not perfect, but it'll have to do," I said as I toweled off, finger combing my new hairstyle into some form of order. The light brown locks were already coiling up into a curly halo around my head as they dried. "Well," I reasoned aloud, "it's about as different as I can get without dyeing it or shaving it entirely."
An old length of bloodstained fabric worked to disguise the metal pin receivers in my arm under the long sleeve of my shirt, and I tied on the still-damp bandanna to cover my mouth and nose. I figured if I pretended to be sick with a cough, people would keep their distance which reduced the chances of being recognized. I grabbed my pack, slinging it over one shoulder. Returning to check on MacCready one more time before braving the marketplace, I murmured quietly, "All right, Mac, time to test the new look. Wish me luck."
There was no response.