Dead Man's Land by Robert Ryan

Author:Robert Ryan [Ryan, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781849839587
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 2013-01-02T16:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-SIX

They were battling in the dark, fighting a spectre with no shape or form, with no idea what it might be vulnerable to. Watson felt as if had been transported back to the Middle Ages, facing up to disease and pestilence armed only with primitive herbal medicines and superstitious spells.

De Griffon leaned over the bed and vomited noisily into the steel bucket. As he swung back Mrs Gregson wiped his mouth and placed the rubber oxygen mask back on. He was still fitting, but less often. They had purged him, with syrup of ipecac as an emetic and compound powder of glycyrrhiza plus Rochelle salts as laxatives, to try and eliminate whatever toxins were in his body. Guaiacol antipyretic had been administered to bring the temperature down. Although he hadn’t yet turned blue – his pallor, though, was distinctly grey – his pulse was wildly erratic and the fits caused the facial muscles to spasm towards that awful grin.

Watson was close to his wits’ end.

‘I’m going to change his blood,’ he said as the patient lapsed back into quiescence.

‘Change it?’ asked Mrs Gregson.

‘Total body transfusion.’

‘Good Lord. Isn’t that dangerous?’ asked Mrs Gregson.

Watson didn’t answer. There was only one he could give: yes it is. But so was doing nothing.

They had managed to get de Griffon back to the CCS by hijacking the lorry that had arrived towing the mobile bathhouse. For one tense moment the Leigh Pals thought he intended to take the entire rig, trailer and all, and there was a hint of mutiny in the air. Watson had let Platt disconnect the bathing machine before Mrs Gregson had commandeered the Dennis and driven it at reckless speed to get back to the transfusion tent.

Now Watson took a sample of blood from de Griffon’s ear and smeared it onto a porcelain dish. He intended to make a cross-match with his own blood.

‘I can’t think of anything else. If it’s a poison, then cleansing the blood should work. Some members of the royal family have it done on a regular basis. For their blood disorder.’

‘Over how long a period?’

Watson smiled at the pertinence of the question. ‘At least twenty-four hours.’

‘How long have we got?’

He shrugged. ‘Less than that I would wager.’

‘And isn’t there a shock to the body?’

‘In a weakened state there can be acute dilation of the heart when the myocardium is shocked. The more blood we put in, the harder the heart will have to work. So we’ll have to drain him a little as we infuse.’

Watson waited for an objection, but none came. In truth, he was at the boundary of his knowledge here. Transfusion was a young science, one forged, and forged quickly, in the heat of battle.

Watson pricked his own finger and put a few drops into a suspension of sodium citrate solution in a test tube, which he held up and shook vigorously.

‘You are going to give him your blood?’

‘I can spare a couple of pints. Can I take a sample of yours?’

She held out her finger and he used a lancet to collect some of hers into a citrate solution.

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