Twenty Five
Though I am held fast in the Martin Rigid stock, my Neosteel belt and crotch piece remains in place. With the log rolled away, the tension on the spinal cord spurs the need to tumefy yet Pattie has not removed the device. The p***s tube restricts.
“I hear the engines, Thomas. It will be soon.”
Pattie’s young ears prove to be most attentive as within moments I too hear the low drone of turboprop engines. With my neck confined, the mobility of my head is limited so I must listen, not watch, as the plane circles, the throttles pull back, the hum lowers in pitch then becomes a whine. The screech of tires follows to indicate touchdown.
A few yards away, the entire island population cheers, all assembled to greet the semi annual visit of the hospital plane. I count some thirty to
