Heatwave by Oliver Davies (read any book .txt) 📕

My last thought, before the painkillers from the paramedics kicked in, was of Alistair’s young, cold face with his dark eyes as he told me that everyone would see how powerless we were. Even as blurry as my head felt, the thought struck me as terrifying.

Fifteen

I woke up in the hospital with a warm hand tucked into mine.

“Mm, Sam?” I mumbled as I was trying to open my eyes and squinting against the bright light. My nose felt stuffy, and it was difficult to breathe through it.

“I’m here.” She squeezed my hand, and I heard her move closer to the bed. “You scared the hell out of me. What is it with you and getting yourself into trouble?”

“Not my fault this time,” I said, my lip feeling thick and sore as I managed a weak smile. My throat was painfully dry since I couldn’t breathe much through my nose, and Sam helped me drink from a cup when I asked.

Later, Stephen swapped places with Sam when she had to go back to work.

“Take it easy,” she said firmly.

Stephen fetched me coffee and helped sit me up, which was a painful and laborious process considering my ribs were wrapped tightly.

“You broke your nose, and your shoulder was dislocated. One broken rib, two cracked,” the doctor told me succinctly when he had a chance to come in. “You’re lucky to have no internal damage that we could see on the MRI, but if you start getting new bruises for no reason, you’re to come straight back in.”

He went on to tell me a number of other scary symptoms I should watch out for before informing me that I had a concussion and I’d be staying at least till this evening under observation.

“You’re such an idiot,” Stephen said, once the doctor had left, giving me strict instructions about resting and not going to the bathroom without a nurse.

“I’m an idiot?” I protested weakly, my eyes already closed again. My voice sounded nasal from my broken nose, and the doctor had told me it would take a while for the swelling to go down.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re not,” he sighed. “It wasn’t your fault. But Jesus, Darren, why’s it always you in the hospital? It’s enough to give a man grey hair.”

“Reckon you’ve already got a few.”

“See, I’ve got so many great answers to that, but I can’t be mean to you when you look like you’ve been through a blender.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” I teased.

He swore at me gently. “‘Course I care, you complete pillock. Me and Sam are gonna be wrapping you in bubble wrap from now on.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” I said, or I thought I did. I might have fallen asleep again by that point.

The weekend passed slowly, with me being in pain and frustrated at all the things I couldn’t do. The hospital threw me out on Saturday morning, and Sam insisted on me staying with her while I recovered, setting me up in the main bedroom and making sure I was comfortable. I could see the worry plain as day on Stephen and Sam’s faces, so I didn’t overexert myself and rested up like they wanted me to.

I did what little I could to help the case in the meantime, making sure Stephen knew exactly where the attack had happened so that he could check for CCTV.

“None, it’s a blind spot,” he grumbled at me from down the phone line. Sam was sitting with me, currently reading a book in her armchair, and Stephen had nipped into the station to follow up what I’d told him.

“They planned it,” I surmised.

I was on fewer drugs now, so there was more pain but less fuzziness in my head, and I could think more clearly.

“You mean they knew where the CCTV was?”

“Aye, they must have. Adams said that they had some tech skills, didn’t she? With the messaging site and all.”

“True. That’s worrying. Worrying that they know that, and it was all premeditated.”

“I shouldn’t have run the same route.” I went to push my hair from my face, but the movement sent a spike of pain all up my ribcage, and I winced.

“You can’t have known,” Stephen told me firmly. Sam had heard what I’d said, too, and was giving me a frown.

Not your fault, she mouthed at me. I smiled slightly.

“Sam agrees with you,” I told Stephen. “Look, thanks for following it up, mate. Can you do me another favour? I’ve still got no phone, and I’ve lost all my contacts.”

“You want me to get you a new one?”

“No, no, I can handle that. Just, in the meantime, can you handle having Jules’ face put on the news? He’s dangerous, and I want it known so people can stay away from him, make it harder for him to move around.”

I carefully rotated my shoulder as I spoke, the one that’d been dislocated. It was back in place now, but the muscles were still fiercely achy.

“Yeah, of course, I can do that. I saw your email about the identities of the other kids, too, and that’s all on the system. If they’re sighted or get picked up, they’ll be brought straight in.”

“Good,” I said, tired from even the short conversation.

Sam stood up and gently took the phone from me, ignoring my raised eyebrows. She took over talking to Stephen, and I didn’t mind. I’d told him all I’d needed to, and I was already falling asleep again. The heat, my injuries, and my blocked nose made it difficult to stay asleep for long, but I kept nodding off, regardless.

Rashford had told me to take a week off at least to heal up, but both Stephen and Sam knew how likely it was that I’d stay lying around at home for all that time. Still, Sam took Monday and Tuesday off to hang out with me, and we had a good time trying out a couple of new recipes and reading together in the garden. The