welcomes it. He drops Meadow, but she is conscious enough to hold on to his neck, and as she falls she pulls him off the lever, which reams its way back through him again.
Without realizing it, he is standing, breathing. His lungs are on fire. He has to get out. He throws an arm around Meadow and drags her three feet to the hatch. He releases the hatch and it swings down, half open. It’s de-signed to function as a stairway to the ground, designed for a plane that is standing on landing gear. Gloved hands reach into the opening and start pulling at it. “We’re going to get you out of there,” a fireman says.
The hatch comes open with a shriek. Tuck sees blue and red flashing lights illuminating raindrops against a black sky, making it appear as if it is raining fire. He takes a single breath of fresh air, says, “I’ve torn off my dick,” and falls forward.
3
And You Lost Your Frequent Flyer Miles
As with most things in his life, Tucker Case was wrong about the extent of his injuries. As they wheeled him though the emergency room, he con-tinued to chant, “I’ve torn off my dick! I’ve torn off my dick!” into his oxygen mask until a masked physician appeared at his side.
“Mr. Case, you have not torn off your penis. You’ve damaged some major blood vessels and some of the erectal tissue. And you’ve also severed the tendon that runs from the tip of the penis to the base of the brain.” The doctor, a woman, pulled down her mask long enough to show Tucker a grin. “You should be fine. We’re taking you into surgery now.”
“What about the girl?”
“She’s got a mild concussion and some bruises, but she’ll be okay. She’ll probably go home in a few hours.”
‘That’s good. Doc, will I be able to? I mean, will I ever…?”
“Be still, Mr. Case. I want you to count backward from one hundred.”