Forty Days of Flash Fic: Day Seventeen
Jul. 6th, 2012 05:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalContinuing For Your Safety.
* * *
Two days later they finally let him out the bed. He was given a pair of soft cotton pants and a matching shirt to wear, and a pair of slippers. Then he was bound again in soft restraints, padded nylon leg cuffs connected by a hobble strap, then wrist cuffs attached to a belt around his waist.
When they brought the wheelchair around, he protested, "I can walk."
"Standard discharge procedure, sir," the fox nurses explained. "And it saves you from attempting anything unwise."
He glared at them, debating whether to struggle. But they had been careful not to let him get out of range of their hands before dressing and binding him, and he was afraid to find out what they might do if he put up serious resistance. So he sat in the wheelchair, to be secured with a locking five point harness over his shoulders and lap, to be wheeled out of the hospital and into a waiting van.
They drove for a half hour through the remains of the city. A few minutes after they left he snapped his head back when he heard a loud boom behind them, to see the hospital collapsing in on itself. "What the hell did you do that for?" he demanded.
"It's no longer necessary," the nurses explained.
A few minutes later they reached the airport. They drove the van right into the cargo bay of a waiting aircraft, the clamshell doors closing behind them as the van was secured. Then a few minutes later the plane's engines revved and they took off.
"We should be at our destination in about an hour and a half," the nurses assured him.
"Where's that?" he asked. They answered with a set of map coordinates that meant nothing to him. "What's there?" he demanded.
The fox nurses shared a brief look, then one of them simply answered, "Your final destination."
* * *
Two days later they finally let him out the bed. He was given a pair of soft cotton pants and a matching shirt to wear, and a pair of slippers. Then he was bound again in soft restraints, padded nylon leg cuffs connected by a hobble strap, then wrist cuffs attached to a belt around his waist.
When they brought the wheelchair around, he protested, "I can walk."
"Standard discharge procedure, sir," the fox nurses explained. "And it saves you from attempting anything unwise."
He glared at them, debating whether to struggle. But they had been careful not to let him get out of range of their hands before dressing and binding him, and he was afraid to find out what they might do if he put up serious resistance. So he sat in the wheelchair, to be secured with a locking five point harness over his shoulders and lap, to be wheeled out of the hospital and into a waiting van.
They drove for a half hour through the remains of the city. A few minutes after they left he snapped his head back when he heard a loud boom behind them, to see the hospital collapsing in on itself. "What the hell did you do that for?" he demanded.
"It's no longer necessary," the nurses explained.
A few minutes later they reached the airport. They drove the van right into the cargo bay of a waiting aircraft, the clamshell doors closing behind them as the van was secured. Then a few minutes later the plane's engines revved and they took off.
"We should be at our destination in about an hour and a half," the nurses assured him.
"Where's that?" he asked. They answered with a set of map coordinates that meant nothing to him. "What's there?" he demanded.
The fox nurses shared a brief look, then one of them simply answered, "Your final destination."
