Chapter 23
The sound of cart wheels rumbling by, vague. Smells of isopropyl alcohol, disinfectant, bad food. Hunter tried to grasp at the sound of voices weaving in and out, like spinning the dial on an old-fashioned radio. All over, he felt pain. Heat sliced through him like jabbing needles, and as the smells and sounds around him clarified, so did the pain.
Wincing, he attempted to open his eyes. Above him was an array of colors, with white predominant, followed by a pale, sickly green. Hunter opened and shut his eyes rapidly, trying to bring into focus the blurs of color and motion. A warm yellow light spilled across the other colors, paling them. He was transfixed by the changeability of the colors and the play of light and shadow in the room.
And the voices—he was certain a man and
