Wolf stared. “You – home? Scars… you have weeks and weeks of treatment here before you can go anywhere.”
“The f**k you say.”
“No lie, man.” Wolf was mystified at how the seriousness of his condition had totally escaped Scars; maybe he wasn’t as mentally aware as Wolf had assumed? He broke the bad news as gently as he could now. “You need skin grafts on sixty percent of your back, and on about half the backs of your legs… the wounds are still open under all those bandages, and they’re still healin’.”
“How many rounds of skin grafts?”
“Sam says at least three on your back, to build up the layers right. Your legs… I dunno. Maybe two? I mean – you’re lookin’ at months lyin’ on your front, Scars. Weeks in hospital, gettin’ a graft and then recoverin’ from it and buildin’ up resistance and c
