Running in the Red
“Hang on,” I said, doing a pretty lousy job of managing exactly that myself. The overhead bar worked great, but it wasn’t particularly useful when you had both hands on the wheel.
And that’s exactly where mine were, on the wheel.
Technically, they should have been on the person bleeding out next to me. You see, blood, much like water, excels at filling whatever spaces you give it: bodies, bags, and as luck would have it, car seats.
The young man was far too busy filling my car seat to manage much more than a grunt. People running low on blood tended to do that.
I know.
I see it all the time.
Hospital signs raced past, their blue and white lettering stark against the rain-soaked night. I got the impression he missed the first one, but definitely caught the second. I knew that because a weak hand reached for the door handle but barely managed the strength to pull it.
Mercifully, I’d had the foresight to throw the child locks before we’d gotten underway. That much blood loss can really mess with a person. They start to get confused, tired, and sometimes think pulling the door open on a moving car is a good idea. These were all precursors to actually dying.
That I didn’t need.
I had entirely no patience for dying.
We hit a bump and the wheel turned. It wasn’t enough to take us off the road, but it was enough to kick up more gravel and remove the young man’s hand from his gut.
Jesus, guts bleed a lot.
I knew that. I totally knew that. Yet there it was just the same: a young man with a bleeding gut in my passenger seat looking for all the world like he might actually die at any minute.
All of this was entirely inconvenient and very much off-putting.
“You just had to be tough, didn’t you?”
That question didn’t receive an answer. He only stared forward, that clearly-eyed look that said there was someone behind the wheel, but just barely.
“Hey, tough guy, I need you to keep pressure on that.”
The phone I’d left in that little holder on the dash flashed up a warning.
Bright orange.
Orange was bad, but red was worse. Much like the blood gently dripping down the seat cushion and finding its way into the grooves on the rubber floor mats. Red was much, much worse.
“Hey.” I snapped my fingers a few times. “Hey, I need you to stay awake. You fall asleep and that’s it. Listen, I’ve seen this before.” I hesitated, one eye on the road and the other on the blood. “Okay, well, I haven’t seen it exactly this bad before. Jesus, that’s a lot of blood.”
His eyes glazed over and I got the distinct impression he might have moaned.
“Oh, shit.” The phone’s orange warning started to take on a decidely reddish hue. “No shuffling off that mortal coil. You hear me?”
Eyes that had been so tough at the club did that little flutter and rollback move that most dying people seem to excel at.
I smacked a hand across his face, forcing those eyes open and trying not to get too much blood on the money-maker.
The notes indicated a preference for clean faces.
His face wasn’t so much clean as it was not completely bloody. There was a difference, and I planned to argue as much if pressed.
The young tough guy slouched, his head hitting the window a little harder than I’d have wanted it to.
“Damn it. I told you I need you to hang in there.”
If he cared what I was saying, he certainly didn’t show it.
The phone’s display now included a lovely countdown clock which ticked away expertly.
“Gah!”
Drooping eyelids went into what I hoped wasn’t permanent resting mode and I took a hand off the wheel to mash it against the bullet hole. It was hot and wet, two things I had absolutely no tolerance for.
“Listen, I know you don’t care, but I need this. It’s pretty important to me, so if you could just try then I’d appreciate it.”
He didn’t try.
The man who’d been more than happy to try and punch me into next Tuesday didn’t put his hand on the gunshot wound and certainly didn’t help me apply pressure to it. In fact, all he did was sit there and grow paler by the second, seconds that were already disappearing from the damn phone mounted on the dash.
“I don’t know why I even bother. You know that?” I shoved one knee under the wheel, doing my best to keep from ending up in the ditch that lined the twisty road, before putting everything into leaning forward enough to pull the first aid kit out from under my seat. Oncoming headlamps flashed and I got the distinct impression we were taking our half of the road in the middle. A long and overly aggressive honk later and my knee got us back on the proper side, giving me just enough time to fire off a single glorious finger.
You do not remotely have time for that.
I didn’t. The phone screen went solid red to remind me of this fact.
My thumb made short work of the plastic box lid, while the rest of its brothers dug inside for the needle’s rounded casing.
Bingo.
With my knee solidly keeping us moving loosely between the lines, I jammed the plastic covered end of the syringe in my mouth and spit out the cap. “Okay. This shit costs money, so try to be worth it.”
“You’re late.” The pale woman hung from the door frame. Hints of red lined her powdery lips and lay speckled across an ample chest. “App says I get a discount if you’re late.”
I pushed the young man into her hands before turning around to grab the rubber floor mat I’d pulled out from beneath the passenger seat.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”
I shrugged, glancing at the money appearing in my account. “I don’t know, but I have a strict policy regarding leftovers in the car.”
