Field of 13 by Dick Francis

Author:Dick Francis [Francis, Dick]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Short Stories (Single Author), cookie429, Extratorrents, Kat
ISBN: 9781417688005
Publisher: Pan
Published: 1998-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

He woke up a long time later in a high bed in a small room. There was a dim light burning somewhere. He could feel no pain. He could feel nothing at all. His mind seemed to be floating in his head and his head was floating in space.

After a long time he began to believe that he was dead. He took the thought calmly and was proud of himself for his calm. A long time after that he began to realise that he wasn't dead. There was some sort of casing round his head, holding it cushioned. He couldn't move.

He blinked his eyes consciously and licked his lips to make sure that they at least were working. He couldn't think what had happened. His thoughts were a confused but peaceful fog.

Finally he remembered the carrot, and the whole complicated agony washed back into his consciousness. He cried out in protest and tried to move, to get up and away, to escape the impossible, unbearable guilt. People heard his voice and came into the room and stood around him. He looked at them uncomprehendingly. They were dressed in white.

'You're all right, now,' they said. 'Don't worry, young man, you're going to be all right.'

'I can't move,' he protested.

'You will,' they said soothingly.

'I can't feel… anything. I can't feel my feet.' The panic rose suddenly in his voice. 'I can't feel my hands. I can't … move … my hands.' He was shouting, frightened, his eyes wide and stretched.

'Don't worry,' they said. 'You will in time. You're going to be all right. You're going to be all right.'

He didn't believe them, and they pumped a sedative into his arm to quiet him. He couldn't feel the prick of the needle. He heard himself screaming because he could feel no pain.

When he woke up again he knew for certain that he'd broken his neck.

After four days Arthur Morrison came to see him, bringing six new-laid eggs and a bottle of fresh orange juice. He stood looking down at the immobile body with the plaster cast round its shoulders and head.

'Well, Chick,' he said awkwardly, 'it's not as bad as it could have been, eh?'

Chick said rudely, 'I'm glad you think so.'

'They say your spinal cord isn't severed, it's just crushed. They say in a year or so you'll get a lot of movement back. And they say you'll begin to feel things any day now.'

'They say,' said Chick sneeringly. 'I don't believe them.'

'You'll have to, in time,' said Morrison impatiently.

Chick didn't answer, and Arthur Morrison cast uncomfortably around in his mind for something to say to pass away the minutes until he could decently leave. He couldn't visit the boy and just stand there in silence. He had to say something. So he began to talk about what was uppermost in his mind.

'We had the result of the dope test this morning. Did you know we had the chestnut tested? Well, you know we had to have it put down, anyway. The results came this morning.

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