Sangre De Toro (Old Draft - Now Published!)

Chapter 47 - Too Much

'...poor thing's so scared of humans. Try to keep him still while I sedate him, every time he moves those darts lacerate his back even more. They're stuck so deep. It could take hours,' a woman's voice urged in a slight London accent. The spectators' screams and shouts of abuse faded as crime scene officers and medics invaded the arena.

No longer trying to keep himself awake, Pepelito opened his eyes and glanced briefly at the people helping his friend. The two bulls lay side by side in the sand, with his head just touching Chicero's bloody side, one front leg sprawled over his foot.

The woman replied to Chicero's bellows of pain with soothing, comforting words. 'Aw, darling. I know. You're so brave. It'll be over soon.'

'Isn't Peps loyal? He's done for, bless him. Look how tired he is,' Heather said. She seemed kind but Pepelito wished they would all go, feeling ill and utterly finished. After another few gulps of water, he shut his eyes tightly, his legs too stiff and tired to move.

When Heather spoke next she was on the edge of tears. 'I was one of the first on the scene when we found Aidan. To think people paid money to watch him hurt a bull like that. It's...it's...'

'Evil,' Rita said.

'Yeah. Make sure you save Chicero. Please,' Heather begged the vets, her voice choked up with emotion.

'Peps needs some help too, his nose is very dry, his breathing's quite laboured. Shit, he's very hot.' A young guy pressed Pepelito's nose a bit too hard with a sandy finger. Confused, he opened his eyes, then shut them again. While uncomfortable, he didn't have the energy to protest. His throat felt tight; his sides ached.

'Yeah. He's not well, he needs to be treated,' the guy said. 'And Rita? Let's get you to A and E.'

*

After what Pepelito thought was a few minutes, voices woke him up again. The woman who'd helped them said, 'Well, Chicero survived the night. He even stood up and had a little walk around. We'll see, but I think he has a good chance.'

Why were these people dressed in weird uniforms? Surely he wouldn't have to fight again? Was he back with Maribel in his field? Or was he there? Where was he? Confused, ill, sleepy and boiling hot, he half realised someone was stroking his back; a lot of humans were talking about him.

'How's our legend doing today?' one of the nurses said brightly in a Scottish accent.

'Better than last night. We were worried, weren't we, Peps?' said the young man who had touched his nose before.

A drip led from his leg to the ceiling. Standing up, his legs wobbled, and something was restricting his movement. Looking over, he saw Chicero lying in a pen adjacent to his, a thick blue coat around his neck and back. Were they hurting him? Would he have to save him again?

Maybe not.

A bed of thick straw covered the floor. They both had plenty of food and water. He took a gulp, lay back down and buried his face in the straw. His muscles had given up after yesterday, or today or whenever it was.

'...well, his temperature was 42.5 last night. It's still over 40. He needs lots of fluids and medication. This action hero stuff is all a bit too much. He's got a bacterial infection, probably from his original injuries. Isn't that right, Alfonso?' Pepelito dimly heard the vet from London say.

'...yeah, he had a few days left to go. He just needs another course. And yeah, he's meant to spend his days grazing in a field, not fighting serial killers. Aren't you?' Looking up, he saw Alfonso standing in front of him, holding hands with Rita. Both OK. He licked Alfonso's hand and tried to settle back to sleep, knowing these humans were here to help.