I tried my sense of perception, but like any delicate and critical sense, perception was one of the first to go. I could not dig out beyond a few inches. I could sense the bed and the white sheets and that was all.
Some brave soul had hauled me out of that crack-up before the fuel tank went up in the fire. I hope that whoever he was, he'd had enough sense to haul Catherine out of the mess first. The thought of living without Catherine was too dark to bear, and so I just let the blackness close down over me again because it cut out all pain, both physical and mental.
The next time I awoke there was light and a pleasant male voice saying, "Steve Cornell. Steve, can you hear me?"
I tried to answer but no sound came out. Not even a hoarse croak.
The voice went on, "Don't try to talk, Steve. Just think it."
#Catherine?# I thought sharply, because most medicos are telepath, not perceptive.
"Catherine is all right," he replied.
#Can I see her?#
"Lord no!" he said quickly. "You'd scare her half to death the way you look right now."
#How bad off am I?#