Page 41 of Hoofin’ It

Marian’s bite drew a lot of unwanted attention, and since the wound wasn’t healing like the CDC wanted, they decided to give me an injection of antibiotics. To my disgust, I discovered the antibiotic was coupled with a sedative, one that knocked me flat within five minutes.

While I needed the sleep, I would have preferred to rest on my own terms. Sedatives always left me groggy upon waking up.

Daryl was the only one in the examination room with me, and most of his attention was focused on the meter in his hand. “In my defense, they didn’t tell me they were going to sedate you.”

“It keeps the prisoners from staging an escape,” I slurred. “How long have I been out?”

“Six hours. The doctors are going over your x-rays now. While you were under, you were tested with transformative substances, you were petrified twice, and you’ve been subjected to every single scanning machine in the building, including the MRI. You woke up following both petrifications, but they knocked you out again immediately after, so I doubt you remember that. We’ve pinpointed the general cause of the meter readings, but we haven’t been able to refine the results.”

“I was petrified?”

“Twice. Your benchmarks are below average, so a flag will be added to your medical record in case you’re exposed to gorgons outside of testing.”

“Below average? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you petrify three times faster than average, and it takes twice as long for the neutralizer to do its job, even the highest grade stuff. They’ll want to do a third petrification test to see if you’re as susceptible to a gorgon’s gaze.” Daryl set aside the meter, picked up a clipboard, and grabbed a pen. “While the doctors are trying to make sense of the first batch of tests, I get to handle your initial interview.”

I lurched upright, wincing at the throb in my shoulder. Marian’s bite hurt even more than before, and I poked at the bandage. “Did they tell you why the hell this hurts so much?”

“We have some theories, but until we have a confirmation of the cause, I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Isn’t that just grand? All right. What are your questions?”

“What are your dietary habits?”

“I see food, I eat it.” I shrugged. “I’m not picky.”

“Any known allergies?”

“None.”

“Any foods you find particularly offensive?”

“Tripe.”

“Tripe?”

“Stomach lining of a cow. I’m also not a fan of haggis.”

“I don’t know anyone who is.” Daryl chuckled. “Do you consider yourself an adventurous eater?”

“I’d say so. I know from experience I don’t like tripe or haggis.”

“Are there any foods you won’t try?”

The questions puzzled me, and I shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Have you ever had food poisoning?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“Do you cook at home or eat out?”

“I’d say an equal mix.”

“Do you like seafood?”

“I tried pufferfish once. Obviously, I didn’t die.”