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eerily silent it had been, apart from our stupid voices of course. Immediately, I felt the fear creeping up inside me, slivering like a parasitic animal into my bowels. What if it was the enemy? What if they were coming to finish us off?
    What if it was whatever had pulled me out of the building?
    The thoughts that I’d been trying not to acknowledge gathered around me and clung to me like cobwebs. Deep down, I knew that whatever it was that had touched me was not human. And deep down, I knew that it had plans for me. My survivor’s-guilt told me that; my dreams told me that.
    Finally, we heard the door to our building being unbolted. We heard the rattling of keys and the slight sound of breathing. Like a baby, I pulled the sheet up higher. I pulled it up until it was almost covering my face, ignoring the pain which was ringing out from my arms.
    And then I heard the chuckle from Do-Nowt’s bed and smelled the unmistakeable smell of a woman – one of the nurses surely – as she entered.
    ‘Good evening, Dean,’ sing-songed a posh, Southern voice. It sounded like the best voice I’d heard in my life. ‘And how are you feeling today?’
    Already, I could picture her from the voice. She was probably early-thirties; experienced enough not to sound as though she was going to faint at the sight of blood but using that kind of disassociating voice in order to distance herself from the full reality of the situation. She was probably not much of a looker, despite Do-Nowt’s earlier protestations; most likely she was the tom-boy outdoorsy-type that usually volunteer for these thankless jobs in thankless places.
    ‘He’s awake,’ I heard Do-Nowt say to her. Then I heard her clip-clop sensible shoes crossing the room until she reached my bed. Gingerly, I lowered the sheet from my face.
    ‘Welcome back to the land of the living, Lance Corporal Bull,’ she said, smiling broadly as our eyes met. She was an uncommonly tall woman, I saw, with deep red hair which was almost spilling out of an elastic band. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a tight black T-Shirt; in all, she was nothing like the Florence Nightingale that I’d expected.
    ‘Um… hello,’ I said, my voice sounding weaker than I’d meant it to.
    ‘Not still feeling sorry for yourself, are you?’ she asked, hands-on-hips in a pose just like one of my old teachers used to have when they confronted me about another terrible excuse for not doing my homework.
    I was taken-aback. I’d been expecting her to be cooing over me and fussing with the sheets and pillows. I’d been expecting her to at least show some sympathy for my predicament. Evidently, she didn’t have time for sympathy.
    ‘You’ve been yammering and moaning away through the night since you got here,’ she said. ‘Nice to see that you’ve finally agreed to allow your fellow patients a little bit of rest.’
    Then she started to walk away, back to Do-Nowt.
    ‘Um… Do you not need to do tests on me and stuff?’ I asked.
    She turned and again looked at me as though I was a disobedient child. ‘Tests on what , Lance Corporal Bull? You are in pretty good shape, physically. If you are talking about mental tests, then I can get in Dr. Fisher…’
    ‘My arms!’ I blurted. ‘I can hardly move them.’
    She tutted. Unbelievably, she tutted at me. ‘Lance Corporal Bull; a lot of people pull muscles in their arms in everyday, normal situations. You dragged yourself out of a building that was about to blow-up. I think you can expect a little strain.’
    ‘Meet Nurse Thomas,’ laughed Do-Nowt. ‘She’s a fuckin’ proper trooper!’
    Nurse Thomas narrowed her eyes at Do-Nowt: ‘That’s enough of that language in here,’ she chided, but from the way she said it, I could tell that she didn’t mean it. I watched her apply soothing lotion to Do-Nowt’s stump out of the corner of my eye. It felt like I was intruding on some private ritual. And all the while, I started to wonder whether what