Chapter 5
Here's the next part! I hope you enjoy it!
The row of street lights come to an end and I veer off the highway onto a small dirt path through the woods. The car tumbles as it struggles through the twisted vines and broken branches of the forest. Phillip winces at each shake of the car and reaches for his swollen leg. His shirt is completely soaked through now and the blood has flowed onto his palms and under his finger nails. The color in his face is gone. His skin is a pale, ashen color and his lips are quickly turning blue. His chest rises with each labored breath and I can feel his shaking body next to mine.
"Just a few more minutes. We're almost at the site. Hang in there." I say.
His head barely nods. I glance at him just in time to see his eyelids slowly droop closed. I clutch his shoulder and shake it with what little strength I have remaining.
"Stay awake for me, Phillip! Just a bit more."
I keep my arm on him and attempt to hold him steady for what's coming next. I make a sharp left at the old dumpster-my only landmark on a very vague map and I can hear him fight back a groan.
"You need…." He takes a deep breath, "driving lessons."
I smile; thrilled he's still well enough to speak, "You'll have to teach me some time."
I don't get a response. His head falls forward and his eyes drift away. I slam on the breaks and reach for him, barely stopping his nose from crashing into the dashboard.
"Phillip!?" I say.
His eyes roll further back into his head and I can feel the weight of his body in my arms. I make sure he is stabilized in his seat and swing open the door on my side. I kneel beside the car and feel through the darkness for the edge of the car rug. My hand scans the entire surface, feeling every crumb Phillip's left behind, but no lever.
"Come on!" I whisper.
I stick my finger in the corner of the car floor and in one solid swoop rip out the entire sheet of brown carpeting. Underneath, I see the tiny lever. I pull the small compartment open and grab the bag with what he needs.
I cross the front of the car to the passenger side and loop my arms under his shoulders. I struggle to carry his weight as I remove him from the car tug by tug. I lay his head in a small pile of leaves and keep his legs elevated on the floor of the car.
The movement just barely wakes him, and I can hear him mumbling something to himself.
I ravage through the bag until I see the slight reflection of the syringe. My hands shake as I screw the small needle into place. I attempt to remember what we learned in basic training. Puncture. Aspirate. Inject.
"Puncture. Aspirate. Inject." I whisper to myself.
I use my left hand to keep my right steady as I guide the long needle toward his leg. Phillip inhales sharply letting me know I've gotten through his skin. I can hear the clatter of the metal pieces as my thumb pulls back on the head of the syringe. A tiny bubble forms in the anesthetic, my signal to inject, and I shoot the entire carpule into him.
I toss the syringe aside and give the medicine a moment to work. The bullet's not in Phillip anymore-it couldn't be. I saw the hole it made in the wall with my own eyes. I start to untie his make-shift bandage and his hand makes a weak attempt at pushing mine away.
"It's just for a moment." I say.
With each unraveling of the cloth around his leg the blood flows heavier. A small puddle of red quickly forms in front of my knees. I drop his shirt into the mud and pull out a large roll of gauze. He looks up at me, displeased with my treatment.
"It's the best we can do for now."
He angles his head just the slightest bit toward the bag, "Hook," he whispers.
I shake my head, "No, I've never done that on somebody."
"The hook!" he repeats.
I ignore his request and begin wrapping the gauze around the entrance and exit wounds. He throws back his head in defeat and the leaves crackle beneath him.
"The guys will do it for you at the contact point."
I tie off the bandage and tear off the excess with my teeth. I hold out my hand to him.
"Come on, let's get you back in the car."
He can barely clutch his hand around mine. I stand behind him and attempt to lift him once again under his shoulders. My small arms are no match against the dead weight of his body.
"Help me out here." I say.
My heart quickens when he doesn't respond. I lay him back down the ground and make sure I can feel air passing through his nose and a beat in his neck.
"Phillip!" I yell, grinding my knuckles against his chest, "Wake up! Please, please wake up!"
My eyes burn and I can feel the water flowing to them. I continue to force my hand against his chest but he barely flinches.
"He needs fluids." A voice calls.
My head snaps toward the sound—half in shock and half relieved that help has finally arrived.
"What?" I say.
But when I look behind me I see no-one. Suddenly my eyes meet another set glaring back at me through the backseat window; eyes that should still be fast asleep.
"He needs fluids." The doctor repeats.