Chapter 23
I sometimes think life is a maze and we’re all just rats scurrying around like crazy looking for a way out. Death is really the only exit. But even that’s not an easy escape. The Creator fashioned our bodies to be wondrously resilient.
The gunshot wound to Tucker Jackson’s thigh was not, at the moment, life threatening.
And although my heart was doing its best to leap from my chest, and I couldn’t help thinking about the vision of the wolf eating that vital organ, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to die. At least not from atrial fibrillation.
In the emergency room, the doctor had offered some advice about how to get through an episode.
Calm your nerves. Breathe deeply. Relax.
He even suggested something called a Valsalva maneuver, which is basically straining as if I was having a bowel movement.
Apparently, it’s good for the heart. But when you’ve got a wounded man beside you and with him a girl crying her eyes out and above you a vicious beast holding a gun, relaxation is no easy matter.
And faking a crap? In truth, I was pretty much ready for the real thing.
Still I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. While I was at it, Stan said, “Okay, we’re holding all the cards now. Where’s the pack?”
When I didn’t respond immediately, Ollie kicked me hard. “He’s talking to you.”
I opened my eyes, pointed toward my heart, and said weakly, “Bad ticker.”
Which got me another kick from Ollie.
“Cut it out,” Stan snapped at his brother.
“He’s stalling.”
“We don’t need brute force. We have leverage now.” Stan nodded toward Leticia.
“Yeah,” Ollie said, like a man about to feast at a buffet.
“If you want that pack, you’ll need to keep her healthy,” I said between gasps.
“And why’s that?” Ollie said.
“Give my heart a minute to settle down and I’ll tell you.” I was starting to relax, my heart beginning to return to a regular beat. “In the meantime,” I went on, “how about letting me tend the bullet wound in that guy’s leg.”
Ollie looked at me as if I was an idiot. “With what?”
“I’m sure Cordell brought a first aid kit. It’s probably with the gear in one of your tents. It’ll be in a clear watertight bag.”
“I know where it is. Watch them,” Stan said to his brother.
Which was a needless instruction. Ollie was watching us with the hungry intensity of a vulture.
“Where were you two headed?” I asked, as if I had no idea who the recent arrivals were.
Leticia wiped her eyes and gave me a quizzical look. She didn’t understand. But her father said, “Me and my daughter, camping on Paternoster. Just checking out Devil’s End. Heard a lot about it, the stories of evil spirits.”
He was probably in pain, but he spoke in a normal voice.
He was clutching his leg where blood continued to seep through the lightweight material of his quick-dry pants.
But he’d caught on. Best not to let these jokers know the truth.
What I figured was that either the cop in him or the pleas from his daughter had changed his mind and he’d followed me, hoping to be able to give a hand in work that was right up the alley for a guy who wore a badge and had a daughter who admired him.
It was a decision I was certain he was kicking himself for now.
“You hear that?” I said to Ollie. “Evil spirits everywhere here.”
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll kick the evil spirits right out of your ass.”
Stan came back with the first aid kit and handed it to me. “Now tell us why we need the girl.”
“Give me a minute.” I opened the first aid kit and riffled through the items inside—a bunch of big sterile pads, a roll of gauze, a roll of adhesive tape, an assortment of Band-Aids, and antiseptic wipes.
“That multitool you took from me,” I said to Stan. “I’ll need that.”
“What for?” Ollie said.
“I have to cut off his pant leg to tend the wounds.”
“Wounds? I only shot him once.”
“There’ll be an entrance and an exit wound. Just like there was with Cordell.”
“Give him the thing,” Stan said. “That little blade couldn’t hurt a flea.”
My heart continued to slow its gallop, but my hands were still shaking as I took the multitool from Ollie and opened the knife blade.
I cut around the pant leg and slipped it off.
The wound to the front of the thigh was a little hole spilling out lots of blood.
I had Tucker turn over so I could see the exit wound.
As a bullet passes through the body, the nose tends to flatten so that when it exits, it does a good deal more damage than on entering.
But Tucker had got lucky. The bullet hadn’t hit a bone and had passed through only muscle, so the exit wound wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d feared.
I cleaned the front wound with an antiseptic wipe, then put a sterile pad over it and taped the pad to his leg. I had him roll to his side and I did the same with the exit wound.
“Hold up his leg,” I said to Leticia.
She’d stopped crying and did as I directed. I wrapped several layers of gauze around his thigh to help hold the bandaging in place.
“Okay,” I said to her, and she gently lowered his leg.
Throughout the whole process, Tucker Jackson made no sound. If he was in pain, you’d never have known it. One tough cop. One tough father.
“You look like you know what you’re doing,” Stan said.
“I had some EMT training once.”
“You a fireman or something?” Ollie asked.
“Did some first responder work in the past,” I said.
Ollie thought about that a moment and then burst out, “A cop! This guy’s a cop.”
Stan said, “Is that true?”
“Long time ago,” I said.
“Well, that’s just perfect,” Ollie said with genuine pleasure. “Always wanted to shoot me a cop.”
“Enough!” Stan said. “Tell us why we need the girl.”
“Because,” I said, then paused for a little dramatic effect. And, as always, to stall a bit more. “Because she’s your ticket to getting that pack.”