For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak by Colin M. Drysdale Page B

rest of him sorted.’
Claire ran her eyes over Tom’s body. ‘Looks like he’s dislocated his shoulder.
Daz, hold him down.’
    Daz
put his weight on Tom as Claire pulled and rotated his arm. There was an audible pop as it slid back into place. As Claire sorted out the dressings Daz
and I had applied earlier, Sophie took some gauze from Claire’s bag and tipped
some of the gin onto it. 
    ‘This
is probably going to hurt.’ With that Sophie dabbed it onto my face. Pain shot
through me like a lightning bolt and I jerked backwards.
    ‘Sorry.’ She drew back her hand apologetically. ‘I’m trying to be as gentle as I
can.’
    She
dabbed at the cut on my forehead again: it still stung, but not as badly as the
first time. After she’d cleaned the blood away, she opened the surgical dressing
and applied it, using some of the Elastoplast to keep it in place. Claire
glanced up. ‘Good job there, Soph. Ben, you’ll need to keep some pressure on it
until it stops bleeding.’
    I held
my hand up and pressed the dressing to my forehead. I turned to Sophie,
‘Thanks.’ Then to Claire: ‘why’s he still unconscious?’
    ‘I
don’t know.’ Claire sounded concerned. ‘Daz, Can you help me get him up?’
    Together, they lifted Tom onto the seat on the other side of the table where he
lay motionless.
    Claire
walked over to the galley and washed Tom’s blood from her hands. ‘There’s not
much more I can do for him now. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.
     
    To
take their minds off Tom’s condition, Claire set the others to work, putting
everything back where it belonged down below. I chose, instead, to go outside
and make sure the danger had passed, at least for the time being. As I pulled
back the hatch, the first thing that hit me was the smell of partially burned
fuel and of thick, acrid smoke. Darkness was falling, but the eastern sky was
ablaze as far as the eye could see. Tongues of fire leapt fifty or sixty feet
into the air, consuming the city and all those who’d still been in it when the
bombs had been detonated. Above the fire, thick black clouds were building,
rising high into the air until they disappeared into the descending night.
Grabbing the handheld spotlight from its bracket just inside the hatch, I moved
round, checking the boat for damage.
    Beneath my feet, the deck was coated with a greasy film which was mixing with
ash falling from the sky, making it difficult for me to keep my footing. I was
relieved to see that, despite the battering it had received, the boat seemed to
be undamaged and the anchor was holding firm. I turned the key in the ignition,
but the engine remained lifeless. Checking the batteries, I found the wires had
been knocked off. I put them back in their rightful places and retried the
engine. This time it turned over, but it didn’t catch. Pulling up the covers of
the engine compartment, I peered inside; the smell of diesel hit me almost
immediately. Looking at the fuel tank, I saw the fuel line had come loose. I
shimmied into the confines of the compartment and reconnected it, then tried the
engine again, but still there was nothing. After three more attempts, the engine
finally started. This was a relief: even though it was several hundred yards
wide at this point, we’d have difficulty navigating in the confines of the river
without the engine.
    Not
wanting to waste any more fuel, I turned it off again and was just about to go
below when I heard something bump against the bow. I shone the spotlight onto
the water and saw a large plastic dumpster floating past the boat. It had
partially melted and fused to its lid was the burnt remains of a human arm.
Shining the light upstream, I saw the river was filled with debris which had
been blasted into the water by the explosions; some of the larger pieces still
burned and smouldered. In amongst these floated charred and disfigured bodies,
or parts of them, and as they