Chapter 13 #2
Thurlee wrapped her arms around herself.
"It was about five months ago. Seth got gored by a bull, caught him in the side.
One of the ranch hands at the time had been an army medic.
We did what you just did. Cleaned it, stitched it up.
Gave him the antibiotics we had on hand.
When he spiked a fever a day later, they took him to town, but the doc there is worthless, told us to give him aspirin.
" She rolled her dark eyes. "So we brought him back to the ranch and gave him another round of antibiotics. "
"And then?"
Thurlee's voice dropped. "He got sicker. Fever, chills. We thought it was just his body fighting the trauma. But it got worse. The fever spiked. He started vomiting. The wound started to smell. That awful, sweet smell."
Infection. She was describing infection.
"By the end of the third day, he was delirious," Thurlee continued. "Couldn't keep anything down. The fever wouldn't break no matter what we did. We called that piece of shit doctor again, but he just said to keep giving the antibiotics, that sometimes infections take time to respond."
"And the fourth day?"
"He died." Thurlee's eyes were wet now. "We tried to get him to the hospital in Frisco, but he died in the truck on the way to the helicopter. Brylan was driving. He said Seth just stopped breathing."
My hands had started shaking.
"You gave him antibiotics every day?" I asked slowly.
"Every day. The same ones you're holding right now." Thurlee's voice broke slightly. "I keep thinking if we'd done something different. If we'd taken him to the hospital sooner. If—"
"It wasn't your fault," I said automatically, but my mind was racing.
Seth had died of sepsis despite antibiotics. Despite proper wound care. Despite everything they'd done right.
I picked up the vial again, turning it in my hands. The label was clear. Broad-spectrum antibiotic, standard dosage. The expiration date was three months away. The seal looked intact. Nothing obviously wrong.
But something had to be wrong.
I crossed to the cabinet and pulled out three more vials of the same antibiotic. Different lot numbers. I held each one up to the light, examining them. The liquid inside looked normal. Clear, slightly yellowish. No cloudiness. No sediment. No discoloration.
I checked the labels again. All from the same manufacturer. All within expiration dates.
"Tammy?" Thurlee's voice seemed to come from far away. "Are you okay?"
I wasn't okay. Because a pattern was starting to emerge. One I didn't like.
Seth had died of sepsis despite antibiotics.
And Ripplan had nearly died from a snake bite despite anti-venom. Despite antibiotics. Despite pain medication. Despite everything I'd given him.
The anti-venom should have neutralized the venom within hours. The antibiotics should have prevented any secondary infection. The pain medication should have at least taken the edge off.
But none of it had worked. None of it.
He'd been in agony. Fever. Vomiting. Delirium. His leg had swollen to twice its normal size. And then, suddenly, he'd healed. Not because of anything I'd done, but because his Orc constitution had finally overcome the venom on its own.
My stomach turned over. I looked at the vial in my hand. If the medications were compromised, then Seth's death wasn't an accident.
It was murder.
And if Ripplan hadn't been an Orc, if he hadn't had that incredible healing ability, he would be dead too.
My mind raced back to John, lying on the table just minutes ago. I'd given him pain medication before I started working on his leg. He'd nodded when I asked if he was ready. Hadn't flinched once during the entire procedure.
But had the medication actually worked?
Or had he just sat there, stoic and silent, while I dug around in his wound? Cowboys were tough. Everyone knew that. What if John had been gritting his teeth through agony, trusting that I knew what I was doing, while I'd unknowingly tortured him with useless drugs?
The thought made bile rise in my throat.
I thought about the way his jaw had been set. The slight tension in his shoulders. The way his hands had gripped the armrests. I'd attributed it to normal nervousness about a medical procedure.
But what if it had been pain? What if every probe, every stitch, had been excruciating and he'd just endured it?
"Oh God," I whispered.
I thought about every medication I'd used since arriving. The anti-inflammatories I'd given to ranch hands with sprains. The antibiotics for minor infections. The pain medication for various injuries.
Had any of them actually worked? Or had people just healed on their own and I'd taken credit for it?
My hands were shaking badly now. I set the vial down before I dropped it.
"I need to go into town tomorrow," I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. Distant. "To the pharmacy."
It wasn't about restocking supplies. It was about finding out what the hell was going on.
"Oh, I need to go too!" Thurlee brightened slightly, clearly relieved to move past the dark conversation. "For kitchen supplies. We can make it a girl's day. Get lunch, maybe do some shopping."
I forced a smile, even though my stomach was churning. "Yeah. That sounds great."
But it wasn't great. It was terrifying.
Because if I was right, if someone had deliberately tampered with the medications, then I was about to confront a killer. Someone who'd already murdered one person and tried to murder another.
Someone who might try again.