I look up from my work and see Igor shuffling past with a hunting rifle, followed by all the interns, similarly armed. Having been years since I even knew where the old weapons locker had been moved to, I thought nothing of it since I was preoccupied with emplacing an inner bone transceiver on a specimen who was giving the gurney straps a very thorough test of binding tolerance.
Later up in my office I am making notes when I see down across the floor the bunch of them returning. Two of the interns are limping, one has a huge bandage over his head and one eye, and four of them are dragging one of those extra extra large neoprene cadaver bags. Whatever is inside is not a cadaver and might be more easily transportable in the next largest bag size.
Igor comes by on the catwalk in front of the office door overlooking the scene at just the opportune moment that would have afforded me the clearest view of the drama enfolding below. He pretends to be surprised to notice me here as though he was walking by on his way to somewhere else. The rifle is slung over his shoulder, it's stock and strap stained with some kind of fluid.
"Oh, there you are. This came in the mail", and places a package on my desk that I know actually came four days ago. I wonder that he isn't shrewd enough to have handed me the package with the other hand that perhaps doesn't have fresh bite marks... or perhaps the other hand has worse wounds. I play along as I notice he continues to stand in the spot that perfectly blocks my line of sight down to where I can hear the interns struggling with the bag and it's content. A short exclamation of shock is quickly shushed by three other voices. From somewhere else below I hear a sharp sudden wail that can only come from the dispensary as I picture the two limping interns removing the field dress head bandage from the third.
As if concerned and noticing it for the first time I indicate the bite marks on Igor's hand. I can now hear something dripping on the floor behind him.
As if concerned and noticing it for the first time I indicate the bite marks on Igor's hand. I can now hear something dripping on the floor behind him.
"Oh, we were out..." he pauses and I realize he didn't prepare a cover story. "uh...um...deer hunting. One of the kids saw a deer."
Later I must personally go down to the holding pens and try to discern which specimen had escaped and how it managed to do so.
