A sudden calm washed over her and her eyes rolled back in her head.
Then a split second later, the dog’s lifeless body crashed onto her chest, driving the butt of the pistol into her sternum. She gasped for air, felt warm blood spread across her belly.
One thought. Get the dog off. She released her grip on the gun, let it flatten on her stomach. Air, she needed air.
Gripping the dead dog by the neck, she tried to roll it to the side. He gave a short yelp and came alive. His legs scrabbled to gain traction. It snarled and lunged at her with jaws that snapped like a steel trap. She dug her fingers deep into its matted fur and pushed.
He inched his way closer, his teeth clacking, his hot breath smelling of carrion. Her arms trembled as she fought to hold him back. Closing her eyes, she lowered her chin to protect her throat and braced herself for the attack.
Over the years, she’d played out different scenarios of her demise. A crash in one of the puddle-jumpers she flew in, caught in the crossfire of mercenaries. She’d never envisioned herself reaching old age, but she never dreamed it would end like this either.
A gunshot rang out and warm blood rained on her face. The dog’s head slumped onto her shoulder, its lips quivering as blood oozed over its lolling tongue. Two more shots rang out.
She felt a blissful weightlessness like she was floating. Was she dying?
Pain at the base of her skull jangled all the way down her spine, so she wasn’t dead yet. She eased open her eyes. Rick was on his knees beside her, panting.
Ever so gently, he brushed a lock of hair off her face. “Sanchez?”
She made a slow assessment. Her neck turned without snapping, her fingers moved, her toes curled.
When she tried to sit up, Rick slipped a hand under her neck and helped her. The motion sent her equilibrium on a roller coaster ride.
She heard Rick’s voice echo from far away. “Maybe you should lie back down.”
Bile gushed up her throat. She rolled onto her elbows and retched. Concussion? Headache and nausea, certainly. But had she lost consciousness? She didn’t feel confused. She remembered the whole attack, from the time Rick yelled until the dog somehow got off her chest. Had Rick dragged it off?
She eased to sitting and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. No blurred vision. But what she saw was startling. Tears had pooled in Rick’s eyes. He quickly blinked them away.
“You scared the hell out of me, Doc.”
“Yeah.” Her voice came out breathless. She inhaled deeply to settle her stomach and calm her still-trembling hands. Blowing out a gust of air, she sighed. “What a way to start the morning.”
She glanced up at Rick, but he didn’t look too happy. His left hand supported his right elbow, and his right wrist was dripping blood onto the gun still in his fist.
“Oh, God!”
He gave her a weak smile. “The bastards tag-teamed me.”
In an instant, she was on her feet. She gripped his elbow and twisted it upward to get a better look at the bite. A dull pop shocked her.
Rick let out a scream that echoed in the tunnel. Then he gently rotated his shoulder. “Huh.” He shrugged a little. “Well that took care of the dislocation.”
Where was her professionalism? She needed to slow down. And get Rick into the van for a proper examination.
She studied the deep gashes on his wrist as she ran through a list of drugs she had brought from the hospital. Broad-spectrum antibiotics, anti-viral medications, heavy-duty pain relievers. She’d been so worried about her long trip to Arizona by herself that she’d even brought along Elavil and Valium. But it never occurred to her to bring rabies serum. She didn’t even recall seeing any vials in the cabinet at the Center.
Symptoms raced through her head, the throat spasms and paralysis, the convulsions and delirium as the rabies virus made its way to the brain, and finally death. Rick probably never thought his life would end this way either.
“Take it easy, Doc.” He pulled his arm free. “I didn’t think you people got sick at the sight of blood.”
She shook her head, unable to make eye contact. “I can’t do anything about it.”
“Come on. It’s not that bad.”
He didn’t get it. She made herself look into his eyes. “It’s not the blood. It’s the bite. If the dog had rabies—” She let the sentence hang.
It would be two weeks before they even knew if he had the virus. And then it could be weeks of progressively worse symptoms until he finally succumbed. She couldn’t even be sure if he would come to a swift ending with cardiac or respiratory arrest, or if he would merely slip into a coma.
Rick gave her this lewd grin and cocked an eyebrow. “Do you remember how I told you I’ve been planning this trip for a long time?”
He directed her to a cupboard where he kept his own first aid kit. She ripped it open and pawed through bandages and bottles. Her numb fingers plucked out the tiny vial. “You brought rabies serum?”
“Yeah, well, where I’m going, it seemed like a good idea.”
While she ripped open a pack of sterile cotton, she nodded at his cot. “Let’s get the wounds cleaned and see what kind of damage we’ve got. Take off your pants. I need to see every place you were bitten.”
He hesitated with his fingers clenched on his jeans. Typical male reaction. A woman doctor ordering him to strip down. She turned to give him some privacy and searched for antiseptic wash and clean gloves.
When she turned back, he was sitting on his cot. His pants were gone, but he had his tee shirt balled in his lap. Like she might sneak a peek? Puh-leeze.
A gash ran from his knee to his ankle in a dot/dash pattern of surface abrasions and deep lacerations.
“Did the dog do that?”
“No. That was a rusty bolt.”
“Swell,” she said. “When did you have your last tetanus shot?”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Okay.” She pursed her lips as she twisted the cap off the antiseptic. “Let’s get started.”
Just as she expected, he whined like a kid when she scrubbed the wounds. Men were such babies. She injected serum around the site at his wrist, then the rest into his hip. “You’ll need another shot in three days, another in seven, and the last in fourteen. I can show your friends how.”
She threaded a needle, but when she aimed for his leg, he growled. “Jesus, Doc. Aren’t you going to at least numb it first?”
Stifling a grin, she explained that the wash she used contained Zylocaine. She even jabbed the needle into his skin to show him. He snarled, his eyes squinted tight, so she backed off. She was having way too much fun torturing him.
While she stitched, she took a stab at a normal conversation. “So did you play basketball in high school?”
“No, I was a loser in high school. We moved around too much to be good at anything but getting high.”
“Was your father in the military?”
“No, he was a drunk.”
His surly attitude was getting old. “When I get done with your leg, I think I’ll slip a few stitches in that mouth of yours.”
“Mmm, Doc,” he crooned. “Getting feisty.”
“Is that what you’re into?” She asked. “Hard women who don’t take crap from anybody? Well, I’ve never mud-wrestled, or been in a beer-drinking contest.”
“And what are you into?”
She paused, like she was straining. “Let me see if there’s anything you can relate to. How about baseball? I used to keep up with the L.A. Dodgers.”
“You do know they were originally from New York,” he said.
“Really?” She gave him her best dizzy-blonde expression. “Is that why they were called the Brooklyn Dodgers?”
“Who played in the last World Series?”
She choked back a chuckle. “What? Are you testing me to see if I’m knowledgeable enough to have a conversation about baseball?”
He stammered and fidgeted.
Closing her eyes, Ta
eya shook her head. Didn’t women ever challenge this man?
“The last World Series went six games,” she said. “Philly beat Boston, four out of six.” She went back to stitching.
“Sorry,” Rick mumbled.
There was no point in rubbing the man’s nose in it. She was shocked he actually apologized.
“So, who was your team?” she asked.
Rick gave her an indignant look like there was no question. “The Yankees.”
“Of course. Team of the up and coming third-baseman Jake Peterson, whose home plate slide dislocated his knee.”
Rick’s jaw dropped open.
Throwing a hand in the air, she asked. “Who slides in spring training?”
As though some invisible barrier had been broken, they dropped their defenses. Rick harped on what he termed ridiculous mid-season trades, they agreed on the worthlessness of the all-star game, and gossiped about the pitcher for the White Sox who got a sixteen year-old girl pregnant. They even discussed the perfect ballpark frank. Taeya discovered they both ate them loaded, with extra onions.
By the time she finished, it had taken Taeya twenty-seven stitches to close Rick’s leg, and another ten for his wrist. He stared at her as she packed away her supplies.
She felt a surly annoyance rising to the surface. “What!?”
He winked an eye shut and gave her a smile that he probably practiced in his bathroom mirror. “You’re a really good shot. I checked out that dog. You got him square in the head. Two to the chest.”
“Wasn’t that the point?”
“Where did you learn to shoot? You and hubby belong to some exclusive gun club?”
She opened her medical bag again and pulled out her otoscope. “I need to check your ears. You don’t seem to hear very well.”
Rick’s face wrinkled in confusion.
“I’m not a Park Avenue doctor. I’ve never owned a car, or a house, or a pair of three-inch heels. I’ve lived in tents, huts, and hovels that would repulse even you.”
For emphasis, she tossed the otoscope back in the bag, then stood and stretched her back. “I need a walk.”
“Hang on now.” Rick sat up on his cot. “You’ve got doggy goo all over you.”
He circled a finger around his face and she crinkled her cheeks. The blood was beginning to dry and stiffen.
She pulled a big hunk of cotton from a roll. Reaching for a bottle of water, she soaked the cotton, and dabbed at her face. The water and blood ran down her neck and into her shirt.
“Wait a minute.” Rick took the bottle away. “You’re just smearing it around. That shit’s even in your hair.” He tucked two more bottles of water under his arms. “Come on.”
He slid open the door and took a good look around before easing out on his good leg. “You might as well get that shirt off. It’s toast.”
She hopped down, then hunched over and raked the shirt off from the back to keep from getting more blood on her face. When she straightened and shook her hair away from her face, she glanced down. Her camisole was soaked, too.
“Mmm. Lovely,” Rick muttered. Then his face flushed. “I mean the shirt.”
She wouldn’t have given his first remark another thought, until he threw that in about the shirt.
He covered nicely by carping at her. “Just bend over.” He twisted open a bottle of water and aimed it at her head. She leaned out, wrapping a fist around her hair.
He poured the water slowly and she rubbed with one hand.
“Give me that.” He gripped her ponytail while brushing her hand away. “Now scrub.”
As Taeya rubbed, he directed: up to the left, over by your ear, get the hairline. She eased her fingers over the tender lump swelling on the back of her head. There was no break in the skin.
He managed to rinse off the top of her head without getting her totally soaked. She used the back of her tee shirt to dry off.
“Okay, let’s have a look.” He let go of her hair and stepped back. “Holy shit.”
“Now what?”
“You’re hurt.”
Again with the fingers, making a very vague reference to her chest. Taeya craned her neck, chin to chest. Red claw marks ran from her shoulders to beneath the camisole. “Oh, great.”
“You better put something on those.” His face blazed redtalking.
“Would you stop ogling?” she snapped. “Geez, let me get a new shirt.”
She stomped for the van, then turned. “I think I liked you better as a jerk.”
CHAPTER TEN
Thank God they were finally on the road. Rick let Sanchez drive. She was just as anxious as he was to get away from there, because she took the first bend in the road on two wheels. Twisting her mouth, she gave him one of those “oops” grins. Then she eased back on the throttle.
That whole scene back at the tunnel was surreal. He’d heard Sanchez plug the first dog, and once his hand was free, he’d blasted that shepherd right between the eyes. He’d thought that was the end of it, but then he heard Sanchez fire again, saw her head slam onto the pavement. He was sure she was dead.
That would have really capped it: the Doc getting killed because he’d been so stubborn about the damn wheel cover. That sublime body of hers—those firm tits, the long legs, that fine ass—chewed up by friggin’ dogs.
Sanchez glanced over and caught him ogling again. He blinked back at her, like he was innocent.
“You know,” she said, “I’m not going to go any faster than this, so you might as well knock it off with the bug-eye.”
“Fifty’s fine.” Rick glanced out his window, pretending to enjoy the scenery. “So, Doc. You ever shoot anybody?”
“Not yet. But lately, I’ve been considering it.”
She got a big kick out of that little dig, squelching a smirk, staring him right in the eyes. But then she nestled her shoulders against the seat to get comfortable.
“Why don’t you tell me some more about your friends?” she said. “Do they have any children?”
“Funny you should ask that.” He perched both elbows on his armrest and went back to staring at Sanchez’ body. “Judith and Devin have been together for about nine years. But still no bambinos. I don’t know if it’s intentional or if there’s a biological problem. Could be they think the world’s too screwed up for kids.”
“Of course, they would be second amendment freaks like you.”
“Come on, Doc. Don’t bust my balls. Let’s pretend we’re on a nice afternoon drive and we actually like each other, okay?”
Without taking her eyes off the road, she said, “It’s a stretch, but I’ll try.”
It was like something Judith would say. Now, that woman never let him get away with anything. If he said something stupid, Judith called him on it. And if he shot off his mouth, she expected him to back up his claim with facts. She wasn’t some girly chick who agreed with him a hundred percent. But she wasn’t some moody bitch who pouted and whined either.
Rick flashed back to the day he told Devin and Judith he was leaving. They were shocked. And there was no way he could explain why he had to get away. He hardly understood himself. There was just something about watching those two that made his heart ache.
“You said something about a brother,” Rick said. “Is he a doctor, too?”
“Yes.” The Doc sounded a little leery.
“But not a member of the country club.”
She cracked an itty, bitty smile. “No. He had a practice in Los Angeles, but he also did a lot of mission work. You know, the doctors without borders. The last time we talked, he was going to Guatemala. But then all this hit. And of course, communication collapsed in poorer countries a lot sooner than it did here. So, I’m not sure where he is.”
“Bummer.”
The whole close-knit family business was a mystery to Rick. He and his sisters had spent their childhood watching their mother get slapped around by his alcoholic father, and trying to stay invisible to avoid the old man’s wrath themselves. One
time, when Rick was fourteen, he tried to defend his mother. His dad had come stumbling in, drunk on his ass, and thrown a full plate of food at his mother. Said it was cold. She managed to deflect the plate with her forearm, but the spaghetti got her right in the face. It was so humiliating. Rick mumbled something about the food being hot when she’d set it on the table an hour earlier. His dad grabbed him by the hair and bashed his face into the wall.
Later, when Rick was in the bathroom pulling dried toilet paper from his bloody nose, his mom came to the door. At first, he thought she was going to thank him for standing up for her. But all she told him was to mind his own business next time. When the pandemic hit, Rick took a distinct pleasure in imagining his father dying a slow, agonizing death.
At first, when Michelle found out she was pregnant, and they got married, he got a few tugs from the kind of family ties Sanchez talked about. Especially once Richie was born. Lying in bed on a day off with the baby nestled between him and Michelle. Parading around the dinky neighborhood with the baby in his buggy.
But the fussing, and dirty diapers, and spit-up on clean clothes got to Michelle. She really hated having to wake up in the middle of the night, too. She wasn’t working. Money was tight. Her frustration frayed those bonds. At the time, he was glad to have the driving job that took him away from her nagging.
There were no vacations, no weekend trips, no pictures of a day at the lake even.
But of course, Sanchez had this fantasy family that actually cared about each other. He bit his tongue to keep from saying something rude about her brother. After all, Rick was the one who insisted they play nice.
“Where are your folks?” he asked.
“I don’t know that either.” She must have conjured up some sort of fond memory, because she smiled. “I bought them a shortwave radio a few years ago, when I was abroad most of the time. But they couldn’t get the hang of it. My father thought he was supposed to say ‘breaker, breaker’ and ‘ten-four’.”
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