His head was splitting, as much from being hung by his heels as from being knocked out in the first place. “I may have a skull fracture here.”
“That’s the least of your worries.” The man pointed to the bandage on his leg.
“It’s not a bite. I told you already. I got hit with some shrapnel when the Army was blasting away at anything that moved. Francine dressed the wound but it’s gotten infected. I need antibiotics—”
“Ain’t none. If you don’t turn we’ll amputate.”
He swung silently for a while. “Fine. But, can you cut me down?”
“Tomorrow.”
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