by Lee Beard
"A tiger!" Zach exclaimed, stunned. "I just killed a tiger. In Kentucky. In an antique store." He slid up the wall to his feet, reaching back to push himself off the wall. "Bull in a china shop, my a-" A sudden burning sensation in his left palm turned the last word into a hiss. He jerked his hand away from the wall, smearing blood on the wood paneling. There, embedded in his palm, was a fairly large shard of glass. "How’d that get there?" Zach shakily grasped the glass to pull it out.
"Stop!” Millie cried. “Don't take that out."
"What? Why not?” He suddenly winced as the pain deepened.
"If you do, it'll bleed a LOT more." Millie carefully took his wrist to examine the cut more closely. "You're going to need stitches."
"Let’s just duct tape it," he pointed to a roll sitting on the counter next to a rusted can of oil, shifting the glass in his palm. “Ouch. Or just dump some superglue on it and call it a day.”
"If it's as deep as it looks, superglue won't cut it." She hesitated. "I can suture it.”
Zach chuckled and shook his head. “No thanks, Doc. I don’t wanna play ‘wounded warrior’ right now.”
Millie’s eyes darkened. She pursed her lips, releasing his wrist. “I’m just going to fix your hand, not sleep with you.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Zach said, wide-eyed. “I wasn’t…that’s not at all where I meant that to go.”
“Good,” Millie said deliberately. “Because we really don’t know each other, and I’m not looking for anything except a traveling partner to get to Tennessee.”
Zach nodded slowly as his face reddened in embarrassment. “Same.”
“Ok, then,” Millie said, demeanor softening. “I just wanted to make sure that was clear.”
“It’s as clear as the glass in my hand,” Zach said with a grimace.
Millie looked at his hand again, mentally switching gears. “Right. Let’s find a first-aid kit before you bleed out on the floor.”
Zach swore and jumped in his chair as Millie dripped the diluted iodine into his palm. "Geez! What the hell?" He jerked his hand away and frowned at Millie. "What happened to 'on the count of three?'"
"If I would have waited until three, you would have tensed up and it would have hurt more," Millie replied, removing the thread and needle from the bowl of iodine and laying it on the paper towels to dry. "It's literally the oldest trick in the book for nervous patients." She patted the tiny table. "Hand, please."
Zach muttered an “I’m not nervous” under his breath as he laid his throbbing hand where she indicated.
After checking the antiques shop to make sure there weren’t any more animals lurking about, Millie found a first-aid kit in the back room kitchen. She set out the wind-up light, sanitized the tiny kitchen’s counter, and got to work.
“You’re lucky that the glass didn’t sever any muscles that lead to your fingers,” she’d told him after removing the glass, “I couldn’t do anything about it if you had.”
Millie dabbed away some of the pooling blood with the iodine-soaked tissues, eliciting another yelp from Zach. "Put pressure on this." She pressed a tissue into his palm. She turned to the topical painkiller and cotton swabs. "This won’t hurt a bit.”
“That’s what you said last time,” Zach leaned away as she turned back to him.
"It would be a lot worse if I had to stitch you up without anesthetic." She said, reaching for his hand. Zach raised an eyebrow and removed the tissue.
"So, Doogie," Zach tried to make conversation as Millie swabbed the cut. "What was it like, being the only twelve-year-old at med school?"
Millie stuck the swab deep inside the cut, causing Zach to grunt. "Funny."
"Well?" He looked at her expectantly.
"Well what?"
"How do you know so much about doctoring?"
"Well, my dad was an ER doc before becoming Dean of Medicine at the hospital.”
“That explains the house.”
“Dad brought me to work with him pretty much every day during the summer, so I spent most of my afternoons at the nurses' station or following interns around or in Dad's office reading medical books.” Millie dabbed blood away from the edge of the cut. “The staff became this weird extended family to me. Nobody really questioned it, and as long as I didn’t go into any patient rooms or the ER unaccompanied, it was fine. It's funny," she mused, removing the swab and dropping it into the trashcan beside the door. "I spent more time as a kid at the hospital than the park."
"Sounds like fun." Zach listened intently, his head tilted to one side. Millie had obviously told this story many times, but she didn’t seem to mind.
Millie turned to the sink, flipped the tap on, and washed her hands for the third time. "It was, actually."
“So you want to be a doctor?"
Millie elbowed the tap, turning it off. "I have for as long as I can remember. There's been at least one Dr. Macaraeg for the last five generations.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. I guess it's just in my genes." She smiled and looked at him. "Why all the questions?"
"Just curious." Zach shrugged. “We didn’t get much past the surface when we played Twenty Questions last time.”
"Hmm." Millie picked the needle and thread up. "Numb yet?"
"Yup. That stuff works fast."
Millie dabbed a bit of remaining blood from the gash before poising the needle on one side of it, nodding to the other side of Zach. "Hey, look over there and talk to me.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you passing out.”
"I won’t!" He scoffed. “I can handle it.”
"It doesn't matter how strong you might be, the sight of a needle going completely through your flesh is unsettling, period. And with as much blood as you've lost, I don't want you to pass out." Millie blinked. "Please?"
Zach rolled his eyes and turned his head to the corner with a sigh. "Fine."
"Thank you much.” Millie worked carefully, making sure the edges of the wound lined up. “So now that you know more of my life story, tell me yours."
"There’s not really much to tell. We lived in Erie until my dad died in a car wreck when I was three.”
“I’m so sorry…”
“It’s okay,” Zach shrugged. “I mean, sure it sucks, but it’s hard to miss what you can’t remember.”
“I understand that. My mom died when I was eight. Breast cancer.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Zach glanced at Millie out of the corner of his eye. “We should start a club for people with dead parents.”
“We’d have to include the entire remaining population of the world.”
“Look who’s making dark jokes, now!” His smirk disappeared and he inhaled sharply as the needle went through a spot that the numbing gel hadn’t reached.
“Sorry,” Millie grimaced. “You were saying?”
“A couple years later, my mom met a guy and followed him to Watertown where we lived for a while until they split. After that, we moved to a trailer park. Mom took on two jobs, so I pretty much hung out with Oleson all the time.”
“Oleson?”
“Yeah, he was this retired engineer that had an obsession with radios.” Zach chuckled. “I remember this one time, he met me at the gate when I got home from school and was just about to jump out of his shoes because he had just talked to the crew of the last space launch. Apparently, he’d fiddled with his radio so much that the signal was boosted into space. A few days later, he tried to teach me how to rewire a speaker. He was a good teacher, I was just too ADD to hang on to the information.” Zach’s grin fell slightly. “He was a hell of a guy.” The room fell silent a moment. “So yeah. It’s not exactly Forrest Gump, but there it is."
“Done,” Millie said, stepping back from the table, dropping the needle in the trashcan.
Zach looked back to his hand. Three stitches lay evenly spaced in a row where the glass shard used to be. “Three?”
“Three was all it took,” Millie replied, dumping the
iodine down the sink.
“I feel vaguely cheated of my bragging rights.” Millie gave a bemused smile and threw the bloodied tissues in the trash. Zach studied the stitches closely. “Ever considered taking up knitting?”
She gave him a sideways glance. “Knitting?”
“Or something like that. Somewhere a sewing circle is missing their prime stitcher.” Zach poked at the threads with his fingernail, strumming them like guitar strings.
“Nah-ah! Don’t do that.” Millie reached into the first-aid kit and pulled out a large bandage.
“Why not?”
“First of all,” she frowned, “It’s weird.” Zach smirked. “Second, you’ll pull it wrong and start the bleeding all over again.” She picked up the antibiotic cream and dabbed a copious amount on top of the closed wound. She unwrapped the bandage, stuck it over the stitched area, and turned to wash her hands again.
“Cool.” Zach stood, grabbing his bag off of the floor with his good hand. He awkwardly slipped it onto his shoulders. “Oh, and thanks, by the way.”
“Of course,” Millie nodded and elbowed the tap, shaking her hands dry toward the wall. She closed the first-aid kit up and shoved it into her backpack on the floor.
“Well, guess we’d better get a move on,” Zach picked the lamp up by its handle and stepped out into the hallway. He pulled the door leading to the front room open, and was greeted with a large expanse of blackness. “Er… maybe we should camp here tonight.”
Millie zipped her bag shut. “Why?”
“No reason. Just that the moon is gone.”
Millie peeked out of the room. “Oh.”
Suddenly, a shuffling noise echoed in the shop, followed by a throaty hiss. The pair exchanged a terrified look and slammed the door.
Chapter Seventeen
Winnfield, LA
Hank bit Gina’s hand.
“Ow!” She woke from a dead sleep and jerked away from the edge of the bed. “What a-?” Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
Smoke. She smelled smoke. She threw off the blanket and stumbled across the dark bedroom to the window, pulling back the curtain. To her horror, the trees just beyond the edge of the property glowed orange as a wall of fire steadily made its way toward the house. She jerked the door open and bolted down the hallway, turning on the lights as she ran.
“Wake up!” Gina pounded on Eric’s door as Hank barked wildly. “We have to get out of here!”
After a minute, Eric’s door opened and he appeared in a t-shirt and sleep shorts, a dazed look on his face. “What’s going o-”
“Fire,” Gina stated, shaking. “Outside, coming this way.”
“Oh, God.”
“We have to go,” Gina said, pulling the boy into the hallway toward the living room.
“Wait!” He broke free of her grip, turning back to hop back into his room.
“There’s no time!”
“I need my kit; wet some towels!”
Hank spun in circles and continued to bark, nudging Gina with his nose. “It’s okay, good boy,” Gina told the frantic dog as she ducked into the bathroom, yanking towels out of the cabinet under the sink. She threw them under the tap and flipped it on, spinning back around. She jumped back into the bedroom and dove for her boots, pulling them on with some difficulty.
Eric suddenly reappeared in the doorway, wearing jeans and carrying the towels from the bathroom. His prosthetic shoe was attached and a much bigger bag than before was slung across his chest; he tossed a towel to Gina. It hit her in the shoulder and stuck, the water seeping quickly through her baggy t-shirt.
“Put that over your face when we get outside,” he said, turning for the hall.
When they made it out the back door, Gina was horrified to find that the fire had almost surrounded the house. She stared wide-eyed at the flames, paralyzed. You can never get away…
“Gina!” Eric called from halfway to the go-cart, snapping her out of the trance. “We’re gonna barbecue if we don’t get out of here right now, come on!”
Gina took the passenger seat and threw on the seatbelt, clutching the wet towel to her face. Eric jumped behind the wheel and snapped his goggles on in one fluid motion. The bag swung around so that it nestled between him and Gina, and he tied the towel around his face so that it covered his nose and mouth. Hank barked at the cart, alternating between whimpering and whining.
“Hank, get in,” Gina told the dog. He spun in circles, backing away from the cart. “Hank!”
“We have to go,” Eric said, voice muffled. He cranked the engine and it sputtered.
“Not without my dog!”
“We have to go,” Eric said louder, looking Gina directly in the eye as he tried again to start the engine. “He’ll follow us.” The go-cart roared to life. Gina clutched the worn cloth strap hanging from the ceiling with one hand and held the towel to her face with the other. Eric floored it, and they were off.
“Come on, Hank!” Gina yelled over the sound of the engine as they rumbled down the driveway. The dog took off after them, barking and weaving to each side of the cart. The smoke seemed to seep in from everywhere, stinging Gina’s eyes and making her squint. It would’ve been near impossible to see were it not for the constant backlit glow of the trees.
Eric veered left onto the main road, heading toward town. As they rounded the first corner he threw on the brakes, stopping short of an ablaze fallen tree that blocked the road.
Gina dug her bitten nails into the ceiling strap as the boy skillfully threw the cart into reverse, spinning them the opposite direction with a jolt. He slammed the gas pedal down, and they shot down the road in the opposite direction. Gina squeezed her eyes tight, wanting desperately to wake up from this nightmare. Even through the towel, the smoke began to claw at her nose and throat. The heat from the surrounding flames dug into her like knives. You can never get away…
The cart zoomed around a curve in the road and Eric swerved to avoid a pothole, slinging Gina against her seatbelt. She looked back to make sure Hank was still following, but couldn’t see very far through the rapidly thickening smoke.
“Hank!” Gina called frantically, removing the towel from her face to better call the dog. “Hank!”
“He’ll be okay,” Eric yelled, swerving again, “Animals know their way out better than people!”
A cracking sound exploded in front of them, and a smoldering limb fell directly into their path. The cart jerked to the right and the front wheel went over the limb, sending a shower of sparks into the air and onto Eric. He cried out and slapped at his shoulder as the cart veered off into the ditch. Gina flung the end of her towel across him to where the embers latched on, extinguishing them.
“Thanks,” Eric choked out. Gina just nodded and coughed, pressing the towel back to her face. Eric threw the cart into reverse, but the wheels only spun. Eric swore and pulled himself up and out of the cart, stumbling slightly. “It’s stuck, help me push!” Gina leapt from the cart and got in front of it, shoving it with all of her might. It wouldn’t budge.
“It’s too steep!” Gina stepped back, coughing.
“We’ll have to go on foot,” Eric said, grabbing his bag and Gina’s towel out of the cart. He slung the bag’s strap across his body and tossed the towel to Gina. “There’s a river that way,” Eric pointed as they scrambled up the embankment, “If we can get to it we’ll be okay.” Gina scanned the road in vain as they ran down it, desperately hoping to see Hank appear through the haze. The smoke burned her eyes, forcing her to close them almost completely as they turned a corner. She pulled ahead of Eric on the suddenly straight stretch of road, pumping her legs as if her life depended on it. She stopped at a fork in the road to allow Eric to catch up, breathing heavily through the towel.
“Which way?” She removed the towel from her face so he could better hear her as he awkwardly jogged toward her.
“That w-” A loud cracking sound cut Eric off, and Gina looked up just in time for a smoldering br
anch to smash into her face. She screamed and staggered back, hands and towel flying to her right eye. The pain almost brought her to her knees as she coughed and sobbed. Eric was at her side in what felt like minutes.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Eric uttered over and over again, frozen.
“Which…way?” Gina sobbed, squinting at him with her remaining eye. The pain was excruciating, but they couldn’t stop moving.
Eric grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. “The river,” he said, “We have to get to the river.”
Gina fought to stay awake as he all but drug her down the road. Everything was so smoky, each breath felt like she was inhaling embers. She alternated between holding the towel to her burn and covering her nose and mouth with it, trying to keep both covered as they ran. The grass on either side of the narrow road was on fire, and they dodged many fell trees and branches as they ran. The trees were more burned out, here; fewer and fewer were still aflame the further they went. Eric suddenly veered to the left, jerking Gina down a dirt path.
“We made it,” he wheezed. Gina opened her eye wider to see another embankment, this one leading down into a small stream.
As they descended to the stream, Gina suddenly realized that Eric was shaking. Badly.
“Eric,” she began. Suddenly, his hand slipped from hers and he pitched face-first down the embankment. “Eric!” He rolled to the water, head stopping right before it went under. His body went limp, and Gina rushed down to him.
“What do I do?” Gina asked, dropping to her knees beside him. “Eric tell me what to do!”
“Mm…” Eric tried to say something, but couldn’t form the words.
Gina opened his bag and pulled out a juice box and an insulin pen. “Which one? Which one do you need?” She held them in front of Eric’s face, and he jerked his head toward the juice box. Gina stabbed the straw into the foil opening and put it in Eric’s mouth. Silence fell as his shakes became less and less. Gina’s head swam all of a sudden, and her chest constricted.