This might be one of the darker chapters of Knuckles, Just Knuckles, so I think I'll change the rating to R, to be safe. Nothing else you should really know, so on with the show.
- TK
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Rouge ran her finger nervously through her fur, shivering, from cold this time. I'd gotten her a blanket and some bourbon, which had done a real treat.
"What happened?" I asked gently.
"They torched his place. He tried to make a run for it. I guess they shot him."
"How bad do you think it is?" I inquired, a little less gently than before.
"I think he's lost a piece of rib, and his lung's been nicked."
I sighed. Shadow, apparently, had the chances of a virgin on a troop ship.
Rouge, after some silence, said fairly panicky, "I would have taken him to a hospital, but you know –"
" -you thought that if Cinos did this, they'd just finish him off when he arrived at a hospital," I finished.
"Yeah," she said brokenly.
"Hey," I said softly. She looked up. "You did okay."
She gave a small smile, and brightened a little.
I sighed. "I guess it's time to go to work, then."
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An array of sterilized probes, scalpels, and tongs lay before me, plus the greatest tool I own for surgery. The kind that comes in a bottle.
Rouge had got Shadow on the table with his shirt off, and I knew looking at all four holes that it wouldn't be easy. Those wheezing gasps were getting more desperate now. It was time to work.
The first bullet went as smooth as the seat of a girl's panties, so to speak. It had gone in crooked, and not very deep, and so with one deft flick of the tongs, one bloody lump of metal lay on the table.
The next shot had gone into his shoulder, which, although non-severe, had gone in pretty deep, taking quite a bit of meat with it. It was bleeding still – not gushing, but still oozing – and so it looked like the shot had hit a vein.
I took a swig of J.D. By now Shadow was conscious but delirious, endlessly muttering about someone named Maria, whoever that was.
The scalpel lay in my hand, the flat of the blade gleaming in the light above. Gently, I made a slit across the wound, carefully trying to open the hole a little further. Blood spurted out around the blade, soaking my gloved fingers as it did.
It had probably gone about four inches below the surface. I could see the metallic glint of the 9-mil through all the crimson flows. Carefully, oh so carefully, I got out the really long set of tongs. I reached down into the cut I had made, arching my hands, getting ready to begin pulling.
My hands were shaking. I took a swig of the bourbon, waiting for them to settle down. When they did, I tried again.
I reached in, somehow managing to get the tongs around the bullet. I gave a forceful yank, almost letting go of the metal as I did so. It ripped up even more meat in Shadow's shoulder, but it was out. Swiftly, I got the gauze pad, wiping away the gross amounts of blood, applying a bandage as well.
The next one wasn't so tricky, but the damage was. It had taken him in the chest, and, by the look of it, had nicked a rib while doing so. No blood vessels had been affected, so I could move less carefully. I simply moved the bullet out with a probe. Even though there wasn't any blood I bandaged it anyway.
Which left the last one. The hole was in his lower chest. The bullet had gone in perfectly straight, so it was hard to tell exactly what damage was like. I took the scalpel once more, making a medium-sized slit across the hole, which allowed me to see the inside of the wound.
Oh, man.
The bullet had obviously passed close to a lung but not pierced it, judging by the wheezing gasps coming from the wound. Blood was spurting out of the hole in a torrent. Shadow had a pierced artery. Maybe two. Worse still was the fact that this slug was a dumdum, specifically designed to rip up meat when it hits it. Simply yanking it would cause more harm, maybe even opening the lung.
I got the extremely narrow tongs out, but first I wanted to see what applying pressure would do to the bullet. I pressed gently on the wound, moving the bullet up only a micron. Blood rushed out, soaking my hands even through the gloves.
The tongs would have to do. I reached for them on the metal table when the inevitable happened.
Shadow gave a small cough, and as he did, his lip became covered in sickly red juices. The inevitable had happened. Shadow's lung was breathing in the blood.
I had maybe ten minutes to get the slug out and close up the wound. After that, Shadow would drown in his own blood.
Gently, I tried slowly moving up the bullet with the tongs. It got about two inches before it got stuck on some muscle tissue.
I reached for the probe, trying to knock the bullet off the muscle. As I inserted the point of the instrument, I noticed how forcefully the tip was shaking. My hands were at it again.
One mouthful of whiskey later, and I was in business again. Slowly, I pushed the bullet away from the muscle, also moving it away from all the torn tissue below.
That was it. I got out the tongs again. Shadow gave another bloody cough. Time was a-wastin'.
Firmly, I grasped the bullet, pulling at it with all I had. It began to move out, slowly but surely.
I lost my grip. The tongs slipped free of the bullet. Shadow gave a sharp intake of breath – the pain must have been excruciating – but then lapsed back into those weak, wheezing gasps.
If I didn't do it now, I wouldn't ever get it.
I grabbed the bullet, squeezing it with every ounce of effort I had left. I yanked.
And suddenly, miraculously, it came loose. With a sound like tearing paper, the bullet was out. Quickly, I mopped away all the blood in and out of the wound, waiting for it to congeal. When that was over, I lifted the lung just away from the gore, so that it would close up.
And that was it. If the lung healed the miniscule nick in it, and the blood vessels didn't break again, Shadow would be okay in a few hours. After I had stitched up all the holes, I sat back in my chair with a heavy sigh, utterly drained.
Which was when I saw that he was watching me.
"Not bad, knucklehead."
Not bad? I'd just saved his life! Christ, what a world!
But there was something else. Shadow was trembling, and it was then that I realized that he was well and truly scared. He could have been in shock
"What happened to me?" he said, though not in his usually dark, calm leer of a voice. This was a higher, more desperate voice.
"Rouge says Cinos torched your joint and pumped you fulla lead," I replied simply. "Course, you'd know that better than us, right?"
"I'm blanking right now on what happened."
"It'll come back. Just rest now."
"Right," he said blandly.
He lay back, and as he did, I noticed how tense he still was.
"You hurt?" I asked calmly.
"Like hell," he replied. "You have anesthetic?"
"The best," I said, pushing him the half-filled flask of bourbon.
He chugged it in one go. He lay back, significantly more relaxed.
"Knuckles?"
I looked at him. "Yeah?"
"Thanks."
With that he passed out, mercifully. After his breathing (now back to normal, thankfully) had lengthened, I left him alone, passing out on the bed next to Rouge. We gave each other one tired, broken smile before we both simply dropped from pure exhaustion.
I had a new ally in Shadow, hopefully.
Like I said, the case to end it all…
