Touch of Death(11)

"Yeah. He said he wants to talk to me."

"So, maybe you should talk to him. It might be the only way to get him to leave you alone. I could come with you if you want."

"He wants to talk to me alone. He said we needed privacy."

"No way. After all he's done to you, you can't talk to him by yourself. It's crazy."

"I know. But what else am I supposed to do?"

We reached the community center and walked inside. There were volunteers everywhere. Who knew this many people would willingly give up a Saturday to fix an old, falling-down building?

A man carrying a clipboard greeted us. "Names?"

"Jodi Marshall." He flipped through his list and checked off my name.

"Melodie Sinclair."

"I'm Mike, but you can call me Chief. Have either of you girls done any construction before?"

We shook our heads.

"No problem. Most of the volunteers we get don't have experience." He looked around. "I'll need one of you to help remove the rusty nails and the other to sweep up the sawdust."

"I'll sweep," Melodie said.

Mike, or Chief as he wanted to be called-although I doubted anyone really used his nickname, pointed to a broom in the corner. "Have at it." Melodie waved to me and went to work. "Okay, so hammers are over there on the table. You do know how to remove a nail, right?"                       
       
           



       

"I've done it a few times."

"Great. Have fun."

"Fun. Sure." I grabbed a hammer from the table and brought it to the first of many boards. It wasn't hard to pull the nails, and I got into a pretty good rhythm after a while.

"Look out!" someone yelled.

I'd heard that anytime someone yells at a construction site, you're supposed to drop what you're doing and cover your head. So, I dropped my hammer and threw my arms up, shielding my head.

I heard a sickening thud. Not at all the sound a hammer would make falling on wood. I uncovered my head and looked down. The hammer had fallen on a squirrel.

"Ooh," Mike said. "Well, this is why animals shouldn't be on jobsites." He put his hands on his hips and looked around. "Someone want to clean this mess up?"

I watched the blood pool on the floor. "I-I didn't mean to hurt it. I didn't even know it was there."

Mike waved it off. "Don't sweat it. Tommy over there should've yelled ‘squirrel' instead of ‘look out' when it ran out from behind those boxes. Not your fault at all. In fact, you did the right thing protecting your head. Smart girl."

Not my fault? I'd dropped a hammer on the poor thing. How many animals was I going to injure or kill this week?

Mike pointed to my hammer on the ground. "You better get that before the squirrel bleeds on it anymore. You can rinse it off in the portable sink we have in the next room. I'll get one of the guys to get rid of the squirrel for you."

I nodded and bent down to get the hammer. I didn't take my eyes off the squirrel. I felt terrible. Mom and I always fed the squirrels in our yard. We loved watching them with their bushy tails and tiny paws. I felt the coldness of the hammer and closed my fist around it, stabbing myself in the side of my pointer finger with the last nail I'd removed from a board. "Ow!" I yanked my hand back, dripping blood.

"You okay?" Mike asked, looking completely panicked. "I had you sign a release form, right?" He flipped through his clipboard. "Oh, good. It's here." He sighed. "Come on over to the medical kit. We've got antiseptic and some other stuff."

I followed him to a card table set up by the door. He opened a red medical kit and rummaged through it.

"Hey, Mike," another guy called. "Where's this squirrel you want me to take care of?"

Without looking, Mike pointed to the area where I'd been working. "Over there. Right by the hammer on the ground."

I applied some pressure to my finger, trying to stop the bleeding.

"There's nothing here but a hammer and some blood," the guy said.

"What?" Mike and I exchanged a glance and walked over to the guy. "Tommy, I don't have time for games. I've got to-" He stopped and stared at the ground. Tommy was holding the hammer, and the only thing on the floor was the pool of blood from the squirrel.

"Where did it go?" I asked.

Mike shrugged. "Guess someone else picked it up already." He turned back to me, dismissing the squirrel. "You should go get that finger checked out by a doctor. Rusty nails can mean tetanus."

"I'm pretty sure I got that shot in September, before school started, but I'll double-check after I finish here."

Mike considered it for a second and then handed me a Band-Aid. "All right. We've got a lot of work to do here, so I'll let you stay. But I need you to promise me that you'll go to the doctor as soon as you're done here."

"I promise."

"Oh, and I'll need to you to sign another form for me. An accident report, stating that you refused immediate medical attention."

Boy, this guy was afraid of lawsuits. "Sure. No problem." Of course, I wasn't sure how I was going to sign since the cut was on my right hand, my writing hand.

Someone screamed. We all turned to see what had happened. Melodie shrieked and pointed at a volunteer, a middle-aged guy who was swatting at his shoulder. He had a brownish lump on him. The lump moved, giving us a better view of its matted fur. The bloody squirrel was digging its claws into the guy's back. Foam sprayed from the squirrel's mouth as it sank its teeth into the guy's neck.





Chapter 8

I didn't know why, but I grabbed a coat off the table and threw it over the guy's head. Melodie and Mike were yelling at me, but I couldn't even process what they were saying. All I cared about was getting that squirrel off this guy's neck. He fell to the floor, gripping a lump under the coat. He had the squirrel. With a sickening ripping sound, which could only be the sound of his flesh tearing, he pried the squirrel off himself. He cried out, almost dropping the coat and squirrel. I reached for a toolbox on the floor and opened it wide.

"Here!" I yelled over his screams. "Put it in here."

He held the coat over the toolbox and dropped the squirrel inside. I snapped the box shut, locked it, and backed away like it was a bomb.

The squirrel chattered and must have been going crazy locked up in there, because he was actually moving the toolbox, even with the tools in it. I wasn't sure how the squirrel even fit in there with all the hammers, screwdrivers, and other things inside. If it didn't quit moving around, it might end stabbing itself to death.

"Jake, are you okay?" Mike asked.

Jake had his hands pressed to the back of his neck. Blood spilled out around them, soaking his beige Carhartt jacket. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, taking out a table on his way down.

"Someone call 911!" Mike yelled.

Melodie already had her phone out and was giving an address to the operator. "They're on their way."

Mike was practically cradling Jake in his lap. His jacket was off, and he was using it to soak up the blood. "Okay, everyone else clear out. We're done for today. Leave your tools where they are."

"What about the squirrel?" I pointed my foot at the toolbox.

A kid from school-Brian something or other-said, "My dad's a vet. I'll call him."

"Just kill the thing." Tommy grunted. "Look what it did to Jake."

"No," Melodie and I protested. Mike and Tommy looked at us like we were crazy.

I was still shaking, but I couldn't stand the thought of Tommy or Mike smashing the squirrel with a hammer. "You can't kill it. It's a squirrel. It got spooked or something."

"You call that getting spooked?" Tommy asked.

"It probably freaked out because it got in here and couldn't find a way out. Animals act really weird when they feel trapped," I insisted.

Brian flipped his phone shut. "My dad's just around the corner. He said he'd be here in a minute."

That made me feel a little better. At least if the vet decided to kill the squirrel, he'd do it in a humane way. One that didn't involve a hammer or a two-by-four.

Sirens blared in the background, and brakes squealed as the ambulance pulled up to the building. We stood around staring at each other as the paramedics took Jake out on a stretcher. They said he'd lost a lot of blood and would need a series of rabies shots, but he'd be okay. Mike's brow was sweating, probably because he was going to have to fill out another accident report. I swear I overheard him ask Tommy if he thought Jake would sue.                       
       
           



       

Brian's father got there right after the paramedics left with Jake.

"Luke Hemshaw, veterinarian." He reached out and shook Mike's trembling hand.

Mike pointed to the toolbox. "It's in there."

Dr. Hemshaw carefully opened the box. He gasped when he saw the squirrel and quickly slammed the toolbox shut again, which made the thing start chattering like crazy. He reached into his medical bag, muttering, "This is impossible. It can't be."