The House of Thunder by Dean Koontz Read Free Book Online

need a little assistance, but if I could just lean on your arm at first, then I’m positive I could—”
     
    “Tomorrow, you can try walking a few steps,” Mrs. Baker said as she put down the side rail on the bed. “But today you’re going to ride, and I’m going to play chauffeur.”
     
    Susan frowned. “I hate being an invalid.”
     
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you’re not an invalid. You’re just temporarily incapacitated.”
     
    “I hate that, too.”
     
    Mrs. Baker positioned the wheelchair beside the bed. “First, I want you to sit up on the edge of the bed and swing your legs back and forth for a minute or two.”
     
    “Why?”
     
    “It flexes the muscles.”
     
    Sitting up, without the bed raised to support her back, Susan felt woozy and weak. She clutched the edge of the mattress because she thought she was going to tumble off the bed.
     
    “Are you all right?” Mrs. Baker asked.
     
    “Perfect,” Susan lied, and forced a smile.
     
    “Swing your legs, kid.”
     
    Susan moved her legs back and forth from the knees down. They felt as if they were made of lead.
     
    Finally, Mrs. Baker said, “Okay. That’s enough.”
     
    Susan was dismayed to find that she was already perspiring. She was shaky, too.
     
    Nevertheless, she said, “I know I can walk.”
     
    “Tomorrow,” Mrs. Baker said.
     
    “Really, I feel fine.”
     
    Mrs. Baker went to the closet and got the robe that matched Susan’s blue pajamas. While Susan put on the robe, the nurse located a pair of slippers in one of the suitcases and put them on Susan’s dangling feet.
     
    “Okay, honey. Now, just slide off the bed nice and easy, lean your weight against me, and I’ll help lower you into the chair.”
     
    As she came off the bed, Susan intended to disobey the nurse, intended to stand up straight all by herself and prove that she wasn’t an invalid. However, as her feet touched the floor, she knew instantly that her legs would not support her if she dared to put all of her weight on them; a moment ago, they seemed to be made of lead, but now they were composed of knotted rags. Rather than collapse in a heap and be humiliated, she clutched Mrs. Baker and allowed herself to be settled into the wheelchair almost as if she were a baby being put into a stroller.
     
    Mrs. Baker winked at her. “Still think you can run the mile?”
     
    Susan was both amused and embarrassed by her own stubbornness. Smiling, blushing, she said, “Tomorrow. I’ll do so much walking tomorrow that I’ll wear big holes in my slippers. You just wait and see.”
     
    “Well, kid, I don’t know if you have a whole lot of common sense or not, but you’ve sure as the devil got more than your share of spunk, and I’ve always admired spunkiness.”
     
    Mrs. Baker stepped behind the wheelchair and pushed it out of the room. Initially, the rolling motion caused Susan’s stomach to flop and twist, but after several seconds she got control of herself.
     
    The hospital was T-shaped, and Susan’s room was at the end of the short, right-hand wing at the top of the T. Mrs. Baker took her out to the junction of the corridors and wheeled her into the longest wing, heading toward the bottom of the T.
     
    Just being out of bed and out of her room made Susan feel better, fresher. The halls had dark green vinyl-tile floors, and the walls were painted a matching shade up to the height of three feet, after which they were a pale yellow, as was the pebbly, acoustic-tile ceiling; the effect of this—darkness below, light above—was to lift one’s eyes upward, giving the hall a soaring, airy quality. The corridors were as spotlessly clean as Susan’s room. She remembered the big Philadelphia hospital in which her father had finally succumbed to cancer; that place had been ancient, dreary, in need of paint, with dust thick on the windowsills, with years of grime pressed deep into its cracked tile floors. She supposed she ought to be thankful that she