I breathed a sigh of relief as Purity’s squad disappeared. I held my breath again when I saw Grue and, further down the alleyway, Angelica. Grue’s darkness was reduced to mere wisps around his body, which I took to be a bad sign. Hurrying toward him, I retrieved my cell phone, went down to the bottom of the contact list.
Are we going to that parahuman doctor from Shell again?
It rang three times before it picked up. I heard ambient noise, maybe a fan, but the person on the other end didn’t respond.
“Coil,” I spoke, “It’s Skitter. We need that doctor of yours. Fast.”
…Coil not responding is not a good sign. Are we sure Coil is the one picking up? No. No, we are not.
“Can you get to the same location as last time?”
Oh, there he is. Never mind!
“I don’t know. Grue and the dogs are hurt. We may need a ride.”
“I will arrange it. Expect a call from the driver shortly.” He hung up. Not quite so friendly as the last time we’d talked.
Maybe he’s been dealing with his own repercussions from the e-mail throughout the day.
Maybe he regrets it after seeing the cost in civilian lives, for that matter?
I set to helping Alec steady Angelica while Bitch worked with Judas, who’d been effectively blinded in the fight with Night.
Poor doggo 😦
She guided his head and shoulders under Angelica’s body, so the smaller ‘dog’ was draped over him.
Once Angelica was in position, I hopped up behind Grue and helped him turn him over, to examine his chest. I applied pressure and used the remainder of the bandage I had in my utility compartment to try to staunch the bleeding. When I talked to him, asked him to verify that he was okay, his replies were monosyllabic and fairly nonsensical.
“You okay?” “blep”
Yeah, this is very bad.
Between Judas’s canine burden and the damage Brutus had apparently sustained to his side, the two dogs moved slower than I normally walked as they plodded down the alley.
😦
Every moment was nerve wracking. I kept waiting for someone in the Wards, New Wave or Empire Eighty-Eight to find their way into the alley, spot us and pick a fight. Worse, I harbored grave concerns that Grue might stop breathing.
Or both.
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