In order to continue this narration, and to tell you of the things which came to pass while my mind was shut off, I must base my words upon a second-hand account of the events, which was later related to me. Keep in mind that if there are any discrepancies, I am not to be blamed.
<^>
After I lost consciousness, Casiel succeeded in releasing my final limb from the Wingeater. At that point there were only two functional poachers remaining in the room; one was trying to convince Morocco that, despite his claims, his ribs were not broken, and the other one was far too fond of consciousness to even consider approaching Casiel. Two men had apparently departed already with a kicking and screaming Emili, and all of the rest who had been involved in the previous fray were either out cold or pretending to be so.
Thus Casiel went unmolested as – with more effort than was reasonable, due to his manacled condition – he maneuvered my limp, bleeding body away from the Wingeater and onto his shoulder. The black-haired girl was mostly revived by then, though she was still a bit groggy from the lingering effects of the shock spear. She looked at Casiel, who now had my blood streaming over his bare chest, and then blinked her eyes rapidly as if trying to shake off a bad dream. Unfortunately, she was still in the middle of a bad dream, which she quickly realized as the room’s door was knocked open and at least thirty men, armed to the teeth, began to stream into the room.
“This way!” Casiel beckoned to the girl, and, as quickly as possible under his burden, crossed to the white door with the red cross. The girl followed instantly.
“Stop them!” Morocco jumped up and bellowed, forgetting all about his alleged rib injury.
“The button, quick!” Casiel urged. There was a green button beside the door and the girl punched it with her bound fists. The door slid sideways into the wall with gratifying speed, and Casiel and the girl dashed through it. There was an identical button on the other side which the girl hit hard, nearly breaking it in her haste. The door slid closed again and sealed just as the advancing poachers were mere inches away. There immediately followed the sound of fists pummeling the door from the other side.
“Find a way to lock it!” Black Hair exclaimed, but the door was already opening again, activated by the men on the other side. Below the green button on our side was a red button. Casiel shouldered it, and the door, less than a third of the way open, immediately stopped and re-closed.
“Phew, that was close,” Black Hair breathed.
We were in a small room containing some operating tables, some beds, and a row of cabinets, no doubt full of medical supplies. Four medics were in the room – the same four who had bandaged and retrieved their first two patients from the Wingeater earlier. They seemed to be oblivious to the upset that had just gone on in the adjacent room, for, upon our entry, they simply stared at Casiel with blank, confused faces. The older man and the brown-haired girl were both lying face-down on beds against the wall. Their wing stubs were wrapped with thick clean bandages, and at the moment they were both apparently under the influence of some kind of sedative.
Casiel walked forward and deposited me on the nearest table. I dropped flat against it like a hunk of meat, splattering red blood across the sterile, white room. “Fix him up,” Casiel instructed the medics.
The closest opened his mouth to protest, but before he could do so, Casiel swiped a surgical knife from a tray and brandished it menacingly at the white-clad man. “Do it.”
“Okay, okay. Take it easy, man.” Without another word, the medics set to work. They cleaned my wound thoroughly, stitched it, and wrapped the whole stub tightly with thick gauze. “He’s suffering blood loss,” one medic explained, “but since we staunched the flow, he should be coming around soon.”
“Excellent,” Casiel said gruffly. During the whole doctoring process, the incessant pounding on the door had continued, but it was only unlockable from our side, and so it remained securely closed.
“Tell me there’s another way out of here,” Casiel said as he once-more managed to get my limp body over his shoulder.
“Just the way you came in,” a medic hesitantly replied. “…unless of course you want to go into the maintenance corridors.” He gestured at a small door at the back of the room, and then tilted his head towards the main door. “What’s going on out there?”
“Where do the maintenance corridors lead?” Casiel demanded.
“Pretty much all throughout the ship, but why would you-“ the medic suddenly realized his slip and his face lightened a shade. “Uh-oh. The Captain will kill me.”
“Thank you for your help, you’ve been wonderful.” Casiel crossed the room and pressed the green button that opened the smaller door. He ducked through, followed by Black Hair, and entered into the airship’s maintenance corridors.
That must have been right about when the second airship attacked.