Nine weeks after the crash, news reports had moved on to more exciting topics like corrupt ministers and the latest titillating affairs of celebrities. But the police and security forces were still waiting at the hospital to take Max into custody as soon as he was pronounced fit.
Max, with his confirmed links to murder and terrorism, had no chance of avoiding life imprisonment.
During this time, the memories of his past remained lost to him. Nobody attempted to stimulate his memory, what was the point; he was a brain damaged terrorist, according to the security forces and public opinion, scum of the worst kind. Even the hospital staff willed him to do the honorable thing and die. He was a waste of limited resources and blocking the bed. Max had no defense to offer, he must be everything they said he was, though deep down he felt it ran contrary to his nature.
The stitches in his scalp and face had been removed, his pelvis was healing rapidly and his ribs were no longer painful. All medications had been stopped, except for some mild pain-killers.
To bide his time, Max continued to act confused and drowsy. He seldom spoke, even when questioned about his condition. An interesting and possibly unique case but never likely to recover mentally, was the medical team’s prognosis.
Max realized he had to leave the hospital at the earliest. Whenever alone, he compressed and relaxed each muscle in turn, a silent workout to tone up his physique. With his lower body in plaster, he was not considered a flight risk, so this incapacitated cabbage of a man was not handcuffed to his bed.
Max feigned discomfort with the plaster, forcing the medical staff to investigate. X-rays showed his bones were healing well, so it was decided to remove the plaster. Just as Max had anticipated, a nurse wheeled him to another part of the hospital where the cast was cut open. The nurse examined his limp, uncooperative body and went to consult a doctor, leaving Max alone and unguarded. With considerable effort, he eased himself from the examination table and into an empty wheel chair. Dressed in an open backed gown with a thin sheet covering his lap and lower legs, he looked like any other patient as he wheeled himself into the busy hallway. Directed by the wall map of the hospital, he made his way to the staff locker room on the same floor. He needed to get some street clothes and leave the building within minutes.
He found a couple of unlocked cabinets containing a thin, light grey hoody, enormous cheesy trainers and a pair of very tight jeans. With the hood covering his head and making him less recognizable, Max made a shuffling dash for the A&E department to merge with other dressed patients and exit to freedom.
Now completely alone, Max needed money. He would not survive long in this bitter cold wind and light drizzle, so shelter and food were his next priority. He also knew someone had to help him get food and other essentials whilst he hid from the authorities. On full alert again, they would hunt him for the rest of his life.