第9节

gral

part.

And - as if to add insult to injury the three horses he had obligingly

taken on board were pissing buckets and dropping large steaming piles

of crap all over one of his spit and polished cargo floors.

Steve gazed down at the sleeping figure inside the sterile plastic

tent. A breathing tube that reached down into her larynx had been

inserted between her pale lips.

Her mouth and nose were covered by a clear oxygen mask. There were

drip feeds in her arms, drainage tubes from internal organs, and wires

linking her to electronic monitoring equipment. Clearwater was a long

way from Mr Snow's herbal mash remedies. Another world...

Her olive brown skin had taken on a deathly pallor.

She had no head wounds but someone had cropped her long dark hair, and

they'd done it badly, leaving it looking like a porcupine who'd

blundered into a chainsaw. But she still looked beautiful, her head

and neck resting on a single pillow, miraculously untouched by the hail

of bullets.

Steve, who had kept vigil over her broken, bloodstained body, tried not

to think of the splintered bones and ruptured flesh that lay beneath

the covers. A body so fragile, a curved frame had been placed over it

to support the weight of the top sheet.

He turned to Roz. The sides of their bodies came into contact as they

gave each other a supporting hug. 'Is she going to make it, little

sister?"

Roz grimaced. 'At the moment, her chances are no more than even. When

the surgical team saw the state she was in they were amazed she'd

survived for so long.

In fact, there were a couple of times they nearly lost her on the

table."

'And all because of a stupid, fucking argument - that I provoked."

Steve broke away and raised his hands in despair. 'Why?! Ohh, Roz!

If she's crippled for life I'll never forgive myself!" Roz flashed him

a warning glance and touched her ear to remind him that someone might

be listening to their conversation. 'Guilt is a recognized symptom of

shock,' she said, adopting her best bedside manner. 'After all you

came close to getting killed yourself. It was a pilot from Red River

who gunned her down. You and I just did what we had to do."

'Yeah, you're right,' said Steve, cottoning on. He looked down at

Clearwater then eyed the screen monitoring her weak heartbeat. 'Would

it be all right if I just held her hand for a minute?"

'Yes, but very gently- okay?" Roz gathered up the side of the sterile

tent and lifted the sheet. Clearwater's right hand lay palm up outside

the metal frame.

Steve knelt down and sandwiched her hand between his own. The flesh

was moist, the fingers limp. He pressed his palm against hers and

tried to reach into her mind, tried to channel his life force into her

body. He'd done the same thing in the deserted renegade camp in a

desperate effort to infuse her with the will to live as they waited for

Roz and the Red River medics to arrive.

'We've got to save her, Roz."

'We will. Don't worry. Everything that can be done will be done."

Then, for the benefit of the hidden microphones she added: 'You and I

aren't the only people with a vested interest in keeping her alive."

'No . . ."

Roz smiled. 'And if you think this happened just because you got into

an argument with Cadillac then I should take some of the blame. After

all, the argument was over me."

'That's true." Steve laughed for the first time since they'd been

reunited. 'You've been nothing but trouble ever since you were

born!"

He parried her playful punch and looked down at Clearwater's hand in

time to see the fingertips twitch then curl slowly upwards against the

side of his hand. 'Roz! See that?!" 'Yes. Take a look at the

screen."

The weak green trace of Clearwater's heartbeat had changed. Not

dramatically, but every fourth pulse was a little deeper, a little

stronger than the others.