Read 1. Just One Damned Thing After Another for Free Online Page A

scribbling at all. Major Guthrie threw down his clipboard and walked off.
    ‘Oh dear,’ I said to a watching Murdoch.
    ‘No, you’re OK. He’s gone round the corner where no one can see him laugh.’
    So I felt quite pleased with myself and then on Thursday, it was Field Medic Test time and I got Barclay.
    At first, it was theory; plague, cholera, and typhoid symptoms, how to treat simple fractures, shock, resuscitation, no problems at all. In fact, I enjoyed it. Then, in the afternoon, we had to go out and find ourselves a body. A number of volunteers lay scattered around the place and we had to find one. They had a label tied to one arm with a list of symptoms and injuries so we could diagnose and treat. With my usual luck, I fell over Izzie Barclay.
    We didn’t like each other. I never forgave her for Stevens and she definitely didn’t like me. Physically, we looked alike; maybe that was it. Maybe because I didn’t find her as fascinating as she thought I should. I don’t know.
    She lay stretched out near the entrance to Hawking, muffled up to the eyebrows against the cold and reading Computing for Geniuses, or some such thing. Her label said she’d been in an explosion. With dear old Mr Swanson from R & D looking on, I questioned her closely and got to work. Severe head trauma, broken limbs, burns; I worked away, bandaging, improvising splints and doing a good job. Mr Swanson scribbled away again. I sat back on my heels, satisfied, and then the sackless bint said, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m on fire!’
    My heart stopped. I’d failed.
    I checked her label.
    ‘No, you’re not.’
    ‘Yes, I am.’
    ‘You didn’t say.’
    ‘You didn’t ask.’
    I took a deep breath. She was smirking. Everyone knew this was our examination. Everyone cut us some slack, Murdoch falling over more times than he had to, Guthrie rounding people’s scores up instead of down. I bet Professor Rapson held up his broken limbs for bandaging without even being asked. And I’d got Bitchface Barclay and she’d screwed me.
    I said, ‘Oh dear,’ deliberately omitting the ‘ma’am’ she so coveted. ‘This is an emergency. I must deal with it at once.’
    I stepped away to the outside tap, filled a bucket with ice-cold water, and emptied it all over her. She screamed and shot to her feet, soaked to the skin. It was bloody excellent. I didn’t dare look at Mr Swanson. She had to drip her way past a small crowd of interested techies who had turned up to see who was screaming. Someone sniggered. I swear it wasn’t me.
    I waited all evening to hear I’d been failed.
    ‘Don’t panic,’ said Sussman. ‘Why would they fail you for something so trivial? They’ve invested hugely in us. And it’s not as if you actually set her on fire, which is what I would have done. You put her out. Don’t expect any gratitude from the rest of the human race.’
    And so we came to the dreaded Outdoor Survival, appropriately scheduled for Friday and all over the weekend. It was November! It was freezing! It was pissing down! I was going to die!
    I had already made some plans. Actually, I’d been making provisions since they first told us. We would be dropped off separately and make our way back somehow, to arrive before Sunday lunchtime. That wasn’t going to be a problem because I planned not to leave the building in the first place.
    I acquired (!) a black jumpsuit, one of Barclay’s. She was such a Grade A bitch that I had no qualms at all. People see what they expect to see. Take away the greys and I was no longer a trainee. If I put on a techie-style baseball cap, grabbed a clipboard, slipped my scratchpad in my knee pocket, and looked as if I knew what I was doing, then I might just get away with it.
    Next, I needed to avoid getting on the transport. I slunk into admin, brought up the lists, deleted my name, and re-printed. Hopefully, each driver would think I was with one of the others. We weren’t the only ones to have this inflicted upon us.