Page 13 of Trash and Treasure
“No, no, no, no,” he sobbed, as tears ran down his face. “You can’t leave yet, Jack. We haven’t even gotten started.”
Mico gathered the possum into his arms, holding the small body against his chest, and rocked back and forth. “I was trying to take it slow and not scare you off, but I know in my bones we’re mates. So you’ve got to wake up. You hear me, Jack?”
He could feel the reaction to his fast shift getting worse, and Mico knew that if he was going to take Jack to the hospital, he’d better get going while he still could.
He groaned as he got to his feet, and headed back the way they had come, clutching the possum against him. Mico made it to the SUV where they had left their clothing, and pulled on his pants and boots, then wrapped the possum in his shirt. He bit back a sob when he couldn’t find a pulse.
“Gonna get to the hospital,” he told Jack, hoping the fast-shift reaction let him get that far. “See if they can fix you up, bring you back to me.”
Mico placed the possum on the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel, needing to pause long enough for his vision to clear. “Not that far,” he muttered to himself, wincing as the engine’s rumble felt like an ice pick through his brain.
He kept the car in its lane, veering back and forth between the solid lines like a badly thrown bowling ball. Mico pulled up to the shifter-friendly Emergency Room in Fox Hollow, slammed the SUV into park, and fell more than climbed out of his seat, holding Jack—still wrapped in the bloodied shirt.
“My partner needs help,” Mico managed as people rushed toward him. A nurse took Jack, and an orderly steadied Mico when he pitched forward and nearly fell. “Please—you’ve got to save him.”
Two men maneuvered Mico into a wheelchair. One went back to turn off the SUV and lock the doors, tucking the key into Mico’s pocket. Jack’s blood left a rusty streak down Mico’s chest. If he’d been injured by the coyote, he hadn’t noticed in his panic. As they pushed him into the ER, Mico didn’t care how bad the aftermath the fast shift might be. He just wanted Jack to be okay, although he feared the worst.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the bright lights, and the sounds of the Emergency Room were painfully loud. Mico thought he managed to answer the questions they asked, but the pounding headache made it difficult to think.
A man in white crouched down to meet his gaze. The nametag readDr. Greg Alton. “What happened?”
Mico licked his dry lips. “Jack and I were out for a run, and a coyote attacked. I fought the coyote, but Jack got hurt bad. I’m okay. Please—help him.”
“Did you shift too quickly?”
“Had to. Jack—”
“You’ve got Forced Transition Syndrome,” Dr. Alton said. “Let’s worry about you right now.”
“Jack—” he protested, barely able to raise his voice before he slumped in the wheelchair and lost track of time.
The next thing Mico knew, he woke in a hospital bed. An IV ran to a bag hanging from a stand on his left, and monitors to his right relayed the data from wires running from everywhere on his body.
“Mico—can you hear me?”
Mico stared at Dr. Alton through slitted eyes and groaned in reply.
“We’ve got you on pain medication as well as anti-inflammatories and an IV to keep you hydrated. Fast-shifting puts a tremendous strain on every part of your body, so we’re checking to make sure you don’t have any permanent damage.”
“Jack—”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t share that information,” Dr. Alton replied. “Is there anyone we should call for you? You didn’t have a wallet, and so all we know is what we could find from the registration card in your SUV.”
Mico managed to remember his boss’s name and gave it to the doctor. “New in town,” he muttered. “My partner—”
“Let’s worry about you for now,” Dr. Alton replied, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ve recommended a pain medication designed for shifters. It puts you under deep enough that your body can heal the damage without needing to go through another change. You’ll feel much better in the morning, guaranteed.”
Mico wanted to protest, but the cold needle in the back of his left hand meant the drug was already flowing, stealing him away.
Jack’s dead. We only just found each other, and now he’s gone. Mates—and I never got to claim him, never told him how I felt. Now it’s too late—for everything.
Mico didn’t resist the promised oblivion of the pain killer as it dragged him under. But the worst pain was in his heart, something no medicine could reach.
* * *
When he wokethe next morning, Mico panicked, disoriented until he remembered what had happened.
We were going to sleep together. Instead, I carried his body to the hospital. I failed him before we even really got started.
