“You might need an operation.” Gabriel’s eyes went wide. “Fuck no. I won’t be put under. Won’t be cut open in my sleep. I’ll die first.” Getting to his feet, Joey paced restlessly. His own supper weighed heavily on his stomach. The more he thought about Gabriel’s symptoms, the more he worried. A boy in Joey’s home village had died of a burst appendix. Timely intervention was essential; once the infection spread through the gut, death was almost assured. “Hey! Buckland! Someone!” Joey called, pounding on the bars with a library book. “I need help! I’m sick!” “Goddamn it,” Gabriel snarled, trying to sit up and failing. “You think it was bad in the showers? I’ll hurt you worse, I’ll fucking kill you, don’t you grass on me, Joey, don’t you tell them—” Buckland turned up, crumbs from his supper decorating his tie. The moment he saw Gabriel, his expression changed from curiosity to genuine concern. “Cooper? Are you and MacKenna both sick this time?”
