He tried to lift his hand to take the cloth. At least, he thought he had tried to lift his hand. He could feel it now, at least, as heavy as lead at the end of his arm, which still lay limp. "...it's not moving."

If he had the energy, he knew, he'd be afraid. He wasn't any use if he was paralyzed, he'd be sent home and he wouldn't even be able to take care of Mags. He'd waste away in a hospital, or an institution- but he was too tired to worry. He'd have to do that later.