Flesh 02 Skin(72)

Oh, holy fucking hell. What she’d done.

At the first sight of her bushy red hair his heart nearly gave up. She was slumped in the driver’s seat, almost out of view.

“Ros.” He wrenched the door open. “Ros!”

Her eyelids opened and she blinked repetitively, giving him a stunned look. Slowly, she smiled. “Nick.”

Above her left breast, her shirt was covered in blood. Justin had hit her in the shoulder. More blood dribbled down from a small wound on her ear.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” he said, trying not to lose it. He tore off his shirt and held it against her, putting pressure on the gunshot wound. There was a med kit in the glovebox. He remembered it now. The compartment had popped open during the crash and its contents were spread across the floor.

“Hey,” she croaked, her eyes glazed. “You got your shirt off.”

“I know. Don’t move.” He grabbed up the bright red kit and tore into it. Gauze and pads. Tweezers and cream. A bottle of antiseptic. With his teeth and one hand he ripped open a packet of pads. Lifting the shirt for a second, he placed the pads over the bloody little hole in her shoulder. Fuck. So much damn blood.

“I drove a car into a building. Cool, huh?”

“Yeah, I noticed. Don’t. Move.”

“I’m fine,” she said with an awkward giggle. Pain suffused her face and she grimaced. “Though that hurt.”

“You’ve been shot, Ros.”

“Yeah, my ear.” She frowned and stared at her left arm lying uselessly beside her. “What? Why won’t my arm work?”

“It’s okay,” he lied, biting open a packet of gauze. There was a roll of tape too. Amongst all of it he should be able to put together a decent enough bandage to get her to Blackstone. He had to. “Stay still for me.”

“I couldn’t leave you.”

Everything in him squeezed tight. “I know. How do you feel?”

“Okay. Are you okay?” she asked, her voice slurred.

“I’m not the one who’s been shot. You’re going to need to sit forward for me.”

“Just a little,” she said, breathing heavy.

She whimpered when he carefully pulled her forward and he almost fucking burst into tears. Her skin felt clammy and her face was too pale.

“More than a little. You’ve been hit in the shoulder. Fuck, sweetheart. What were you thinking?” He pressed his balled up T-shirt against her, hard, and started working the gauze around her. “I was trying to keep you safe.”

She didn’t answer.

“Ros?”

Her eyes were closed. She’d passed out.

***

Nick stared at the remodeled dump truck that now served as Blackstone’s front entrance with grim acceptance. It they killed him, then so be it. Whatever happened next was out of his hands.

He turned off the ignition of Pete and Justin’s shiny green Camaro.

Roslyn’s breathing was shallow. She hadn’t stirred since he’d bundled her into the vehicle. Blood stained the makeshift bandage he’d tied around her shoulder. He’d never been so fucking scared in his life.

If she died …

A couple of men slipped out from between the truck and wall, rifles in their hands. Everything possible made up the wall surrounding Blackstone. A tipped train, bulldozed buildings, cars and trucks. Almost a hundred people lived inside the barricade of rubble surrounding the town’s main street and a block or two in either direction. The only haven he knew of for her. The only place that could help.

Nick threw open the car door and climbed out, hands held high.

“Shit,” muttered one.

“It’s that bastard,” said the other.

“She’s hurt. Please.” Nick stood still, empty hands stretched above his head. “Help her.”

“Get on your knees,” said one of the men while the other started talking rapid-fire into a walkie-talkie. “Slowly.”

Walkie-Talkie Man moved around to the passenger-side door and looked in at Ros through the open window. The other guy kept his rifle pointed at Nick’s head as he sunk slowly to the ground. Beneath his knees the bitumen felt like ice, as if the whole world had frozen. It had rained here recently and the damp soaked into his jeans. He hadn’t bothered to find a shirt. Every second counted.

“Was she bit?” Walkie-talkie asked.

“No,” said Nick. “I swear. We’re both clean. She was shot. A couple of hours ago now. Please help her.”

The man spoke again into his walkie-talkie. “Tell Lila she’s got a patient. Is Tom on the way?”

“I’m here.” A bull of a man slipped through the gap and strode forward. Late twenties, maybe. “What is this?”