According to the glowing green numbers over the cooking stove, it was five in the afternoon when Sarah and the orderlies tucked me into the comfortable bed. One of the helpers filled a metal ewer with water and ice, set it on the small table next to the bed, and departed with the other orderly.While the orderlies were fussing over me, Sarah had retreated into the tiny area that passed for a kitchen, and started removing things from the ice box. She put some containers into the instant stove thing-a-ma-bob, closed the glass door and pushed some buttons before she came over to where I was laying."I had someone make us some red beans with ham and rice. As soon as it's warm, we'll eat. I know you must be starving," she said.She knew me too well, because by then, my big intestines were eating my little ones. She fixed me a bowl of beans and rice and adjusted the table so it was over my lap. Then she adjusted the bed until I was sitting upright. As we were eating, I asked her if she had. ‘The boys said they have gas for it.’ ‘They don’t.’ I shrug, and nod to Sophie, Saku and Kristen. ‘These are his friends – they can talk him down. Let’s go.’ * * * We go across, into the Market. Despite the floodlights and spotlights outside, the inside is near pitch-dark. One of the Westwood Cetas explains that they never had to deal with an intruder before – they always got them before they were inside. He leads us down a long hallway until we finally come to a place that looks like it’s been the victim of a horrible fire. There’s a doorway at the end of the hall – the door has been blown off its hinges, and the hallway is littered with gore and about eight bodies – five old ones and three Westwood men. ‘…Jesus Christ,’ Sophie whispers. ‘What happened? Someone drop a grenade?’ I ask, stepping into the room. ‘There were three men from Westwood here with us – plus my ten men,’ the one in the mask says from the hallway. ‘When we opened the door, it exploded. Glass shrapnel –.
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