Gunpowder

Poppy laid on a soft, feathery, surface that she could only assume was some sort of hospital bed. The bed itself was itchy, scratching as what wasn’t covered up by the blue hospital gown draped over her body. However, a blanket was sprawled over her, much to her delight. It was the same blue as her gown, with colorful flowers running across it’s every inch. The covering offset the coldness of the hospital room she was laying in the center of.

The technician was hardly conscious, her vision blurred and every other sense muted. She knew she was in a hospital, badly injured, but that was truly all. She closed her eyes and attempted to recall what exactly was happening.

Got in a car crash, blacked out, was taken onto a helicopter, was brought back to a hospital.

That was all she knew about her current situation. The hospitals name and location a mystery, her status, as mysterious as the first question. But she was subconsciously glad to have received medical care as promptly as she did. If that woman hadn’t found her, well, she didn’t know what would have happened to her. Bled to death in the middle of a wasteland? Starved? Died of dehydration? Became prey for some passing dog? She shivered just thinking about it.

Though the woman who had saved her was a mystery, Poppy was still grateful for her. She had only seen her once or twice since the accident, but she could still remember every detail about her. She tried to remember every detail of everything and keep all the jumped details in her mess. It was hard, but it kept away the boredom of being bed-ridden. She closed her eyes yet again and tried to recall the stranger in her mind.

The first thing she remembered was a scar- yes, right above her eye. Her hazel eye that stared at her with a mix of awe and scorn. And she remembered her body, how she was tall but not quite lanky, muscled but not large. And over that body was draped a shining black bodysuit that was held together by a silver zipper running down the front. The suit always sparkled somehow, as if it were fresh snow in the sunlight.

She could see her now, in her mind. The woman who had saved her. She had visited her a few times, she had told Poppy her name. She had to have remembered it. How could she forget something so simple as a name? It started with an A she remembered. It had reminded her of a car, yes, something on a car. Axle? No, no, not a car. The world. That’s what it reminded her of. The Earth as it spun. What was her name? Axis! Yes, Axis Adlven.

Poppy chuckled to herself. Was she going insane from being stuck in this room? How long had she been there anyways? The room had no clock, and she had no way to check the time. The window was closed and blinds were thrown across it, so, she truly did not know. It felt like a few weeks had passed, at the very least. She had even made a mental schedule, based on when white-uniformed doctors and nurses would come in and check on her.

After she woke up, someone would come in and change her IVs, which were dripping into both of her hands. Then, about four hours after they had left a doctor, who she assumed was assigned to her, as he seemed to be the one doing the actual medical stuff, would arrive with a chatty little nurse at his side. They would check that everything was in order, then check it again. The doctor was very meticulous. After that nonsense was finished, they would take her legs from the suspenders they were held in and slowly bend them up and down, to exercise them or something. The doctor himself never spoke, but his assistant, Camille, sure did. She would talk, loudly, about whatever she could think of: Poppy’s condition, gossip around the hospital, how the equipment always seemed to work against her, and of things outside the establishment. The place she described seemed nothing like any place Poppy had ever been to.

She would talk about the sprawling streets of quartz and the buildings that rose miles into the sky, and sports games and parades and so many wonderful things. Poppy wondered if she was in some sort of Loyal capital city, for the nobles and the generals. She knew this wasn’t true, but she truly did not want to imagine being captive in the territory of a tribe, or worse, the rebels.

She shook her head and thought of the schedule once more. After the doctor left, she would be left alone until it was what she assumed to be quite late. At that time, the doctor would come in by himself and string up another bag to her IV. The bag contained a small amount of a purple liquid that would quickly make Poppy fall asleep. Then, she would wake up, and it would start all over again.

The boredom was immense. It felt so strange to her. She was used to always having work to do and always being busy. Being hospitalized was the opposite of that life. All she did was wait around while the medics did all the work. She longed to get up and stretch, but couldn’t do so. Her legs were both broken, though they were healing. They were hanging slightly elevated, supported by white slings that blended in with their flexible casts of the same color. Not only that, but Poppy could hardly move her head, as her neck was held in a stiff brace.

“How the hell did I get myself into this,” She fake-laughed, glancing over at the mess of technology hanging beside her. It was mostly connected to her IVS, but then there was the heart monitor, and the breathing monitor, among other things she truly didn’t know about. She took a deep breath, seeing the line rise on the screen monitoring her lungs. Such trivial pursuits were the only things she could truly use to fill the empty time.

Poppy relaxed, letting her whole weight sink into the relatively thin mattress beneath her. She had calculated that the afternoon checkup was soon, and that any minute her doctor and Camille would arrive and she would hear the nurse’s high voice. Though she had no clock, she had a sense of time.

Sure enough, she heard the regular noises outside of the door. The clanking of keys, the mechanical whirr of a hand-print detector. And then the held out creak as the large, heavy metal door was opened. It was all in time, as if a play meticulously practiced. She exhaled, remembering the breathing mask that was slipped over her head. She knew what the third large screen was now. It was the machine to help her breathe. She wasn’t sure why she needed help to do such a simple action. Was it that her throat wasn’t working? Oh, yes. Glass had cut into her throat. Nanobots were in there as she thought, fixing everything up.

It took around a minute for the door to finally open, but Poppy was not surprised of who walked in when it did. As she expected, her doctor and nurse Camille stood there in their starch white uniforms with the red crosses painted on them.

Poppy’s doctor was large and well muscled, like a soldier. His skin was quite dark, and he was bald, except for a few hairs sticking out from his ears. His whole face was very stern and pronounced as he gestured for Camille to follow him into the room.

Camille was short, looking almost like a schoolchild. She had fair, white skin, dappled with red little freckles. She truly looked like a young girl playing nurse.

“You know what to do Camille,” the doctor spoke, looking at the younger woman as if she was his child.

“Of coarse!” she replied with enthusiasm, scurrying over to Poppy’s bedside. Without acknowledging the patient, she dragged a step-stool over and began to fiddle with the IV bags hanging above the rest of the metal machinery.

Poppy glanced at her with annoyance, her brow furrowing.

“It’s all working smoothly!” the freckled woman annoyance, jumping off her stool with an exaggerated landing.

“Alright, now...” the doctor said, waiting for something.

“Oh, yeah. On it!” Camille shouted, so loud that Poppy wanted to cover her ears. She saw as the woman ran up beside her legs and freed them from their suspenders. Poppy winced at this, for her legs were still broken and moving them was quite painful for her.

“Now what, doc?”

“Bend the legs to exercise them,”

Camille nodded swiftly and took one ankle in her grasp. Long fingernails dug into Poppy’s skin. They felt like they clung to bone.

“Stop it!” Poppy croaked, clenching her teeth as she sat up in bed. Her core muscles burned from the simple movement.

Camille stopped in her tracks, pale-faced. She cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure.

“Y-you can speak?” she stuttered, looking surprised.

Poppy’s arms shook as they supported her.

“Somewhat,” she said back, her voice still incredibly hoarse.

“Lay back down. Camille, lay her back down,” the doctor ordered, butting into the conversation.

Poppy held her position as long as she could, but didn’t fight it when Camille gently pushed her back down. She took a few shallow breaths to regain lost oxygen, then relaxed again.

“Camille, bend legs,”

“For sure, Doctor Cazmen!”

Poppy ground her teeth as the freckled nurse gently moved her legs up and down. She tried to distract her brain with the new information she had gained. She mentally filed away the name. Doctor Cazmen. What a strange name.

She was relieved when Camille had finished. She looked up at her boss, awaiting orders. Cazmen gestured for her to follow.

“You won’t be needed tomorrow Camille. A more experienced nurse will be taking your place for that procedure,” Dr. Cazmen reported to his assistant as they left the room. The door gently closed, locked.

But that left Poppy to wonder about the male’s peculiar dialogue. What did he mean “the procedure.” Such a thing shrouded in mystery could only go badly. Whatever it was, she hoped it was going to be alright. She hoped it would keep her alive.