What do you think?
Rate this book
331 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 13, 2012
The next night, I was finally assigned the gentleman in room five. I got the report and then looked at the chart myself. He was a zombie . . . firefighter? That was a bit odd. We'd only had two zombies on the floor while I'd been here--Mr. Smith was the second of them, and I'd never been assigned the first.
But I had a mission tonight, above and beyond mere nursing. I needed to get more blood. I walked into the darkened room, tubes in hand. If I got his blood now, I could toss it in my purse on break. The monitor was still in standby, casting a faint glow over him where he lay on the bed. I knew what smelled different about this room now, it was the scent of warm earth.
"Hello, Mr. Smith."
He smiled in the dim light. "Hello again, ghost nurse."
I snorted. "Well, neurologically, you're intact. Mind if I turn on the light?"
"Feel free."
My hand found the switch and I got my first look at a real live--dead?--zombie.
Mr. Smith was tall, stretching almost the entire length of the bed, with wide shoulders. The parts I could see of him outside of the sheets and his hospital gown--his arms, his neck, and his face--were all covered by almost-healed smooth rippling scars. Between the dark color of his skin as it was and the slightly lighter color of his skin as it healed, he looked like a dark pond on a windy day.
"I remember you," he said. His eyes were a light golden brown, and the skin around them crinkled when he smiled.
"I remember you, too." I smiled back. "Thanks again--and sorry for waking you up."
"I don't really sleep." He sat up straighter in his bed. As I walked into the room I formed my plan. I would do the blood draw last, so I could hurry away and hide. I hadn't heard about any IV sites, but I had a butterfly needle for the draw. I didn't really like poking someone unnecessarily, but it wasn't like he could get an infection and die from a needle stick now, was it? I reached for the blood pressure cuff, to start my set of vitals, and held it aloft. "Which arm?" I asked. A lot of patients with heavy scarring had a side they preferred, one which the cuff's squeezing hurt less.
Faint eyebrows rose. "I believe the previous nurse was having you on."
"How so?" I un-Velcroed the cuff.
"I don't have blood pressure." The corners of his lips quirked into a smile. "I have blood, but to the best of my knowledge, it doesn't really go anywhere."
"Oh." The lab tubes in my pocket felt heavy, and I felt my face flush. "Damn."
"You were . . . looking for some?" he asked, tilting his head forward.
"Actually, yes. Sorry." I frowned at myself. How was I going to get Anna to come closer tomorrow night, when I was off-shift again
"I could . . . give you a finger?" He held up his right pinkie. "I don't need all of them. One won't hurt much." I blanched, and he laughed out loud. "I'm teasing. It would grow back--but I'm teasing.
It was strange being there, eating dinner with them. They knew that I knew, and I knew that they knew, and there we all were, a zombie, an assortment of werewolves and/or weredogs, and me, a nurse who was getting used to dealing with vampires. I was struck by how completely normal it felt to be with them, for all of our differences.
Nurses are natural kleptos. You don’t want to be in a room without enough supplies, so every time you walk past the med-cart you pocket another saline flush. By the end of the shift you can look like a chipmunk if you’re not careful. Some days it’s hard to remember that the gum at the end of the grocery checkout aisle isn’t there just for you.
“Because. I don’t want to die alone.” I separated myself and looked at him. If I blinked right, and fast, I could see him there, looking like a soft yellow haze beside me. “My whole life I haven’t been good at making connections. There was me and my brother, yeah, but other than that? No one else really. And most days he doesn’t even count. I do all right at work, but no one really gets me. School was lonely, except for the times that I was taking care of patients, because they were happy to see me, you know? I either talk too much, or tell too much, and it scares people off, and I’m not sure what to do about that.” I looked up at him, and saw his expression momentarily cloud. “Like now.”
Sure, nurses were all trained on STDs. That hadn’t stopped me from having unwise and unprotected sex with a British stranger two nights ago, though. Shit.