by Davida Lynn
She watched me. I was just staring at her, trying to comprehend and keep my mind off of Trask in the trailer with two strangers intent on harm.
“Sit down, dear. Trust in your man to do what he does best. If you are going to stay standing there like a loon, at least be kind enough to get me another cup of coffee.”
I had to laugh, though it sounded a bit forced. “Yes, ma’am.”
I walked to the kitchen counter and put the kettle on the stove burners. As soon as I turned the knob, the rings began to glow red. I scooped a spoonful of coffee crystals into Mrs. Halburn’s cup and waited there, trying to use anything to distract myself from the trailer out the window.
I stared off for a few minutes, brought back to reality by the whistling of the kettle. I turned the red rings off to silence it. Reaching for the kettle, I had calmed somewhat. I was content to have another cup of coffee with Mrs. Halburn.
As I was pouring the hot water into her mug, though, I heard the gunshot.
***
I spilled boiling hot water all over her counter, but managed to put the kettle down without burning myself. My pulse shot through the roof and I headed straight for the door.
“No! Hope, wait!” Mrs. Halburn was on her feet faster than I’d ever seen her before. “You can’t go out there. There’s three men. You have to stay here!”
Gunshots weren’t uncommon in the trailer park, but even still, I never expected Mrs. Halburn to be the voice of reason. I ran to the window and pulled the curtains aside. The man outside was still there.
I could hear the muffled sounds of fighting, reminding me of my childhood. This time it wasn’t my mother and my drunken father, but it was Trask and some hired goons looking for my brother.
I gasped when a window broke out. A man’s head had been pushed through it, but he disappeared inside the house again, pulled by an unseen hand. I was sweating and adrenaline was surging through my veins. I felt like I could have taken on all three of the men, but she was right.
I remembered the phone, pulling it out and staring at the number. Bear was the contact, and all I had to do was hit “Dial” to get a hold of him. I looked back up at the trailer out the window. The sun was starting to lower in the sky, and I was completely lost as to what I should do.
The door to the trailer flew open, and one of the men fell out the door backwards. He hit the railing on the small porch and flipped over it. Something flew through the air as he landed hard in the weeds just below. It looked like a gun, but it was hard to tell.
As he struggled to get up, the man waiting outside rushed over to him. The third man came running out of the door. He almost went over the railing, too. As he sped down the steps, Trask came out, his gun in hand.
He pointed the gun at the last man that had run from the trailer. The muzzle flashed and another shot rang out. The man’s body lurched forward, even as he ran away from Trask. One of his partners grabbed him by the arm, yanking him back to his feet. Trask was yelling, but it was muffled and too far away to hear.
I watched the three men run to the cars as Trask stood outside the door. He fired another shot into the air. I winced at the sound and the flash, but I didn’t turn away this time. The doors of the SUV flew open and all three men got into it, leaving the second vehicle behind. They were clearly scared and completely unprepared to deal with the likes of Trask.
The SUV peeled out, the back end whipping around as they floored it to get out of the cul-de-sac. I waited until the vehicle was completely out of the trailer park before I darted for the door.
Before I was there, I turned back to Mrs. Halburn. “Can you watch Casper?”
She nodded. “Of course. Go, dear.”
I thanked her as I ran out the door. I sprinted to the end of the dead end street. Trask was still standing in the doorway, the lights of the remaining car illuminating him. He smiled at me, but it was weak. As I got closer, he was leaning on the flimsy railing, and I saw his smile twitching.
He looked down to his shoulder, and that’s when I saw the hole in his Rising Sons cut. Trask had been shot in the left shoulder. The black leather had hidden the blood, but as I sprinted closer, I saw it more clearly. His grey t-shirt underneath was soaking, the wet red expanding downwards.
“Oh, Jesus, Trask!” I ran up the steps, immediately pulling the vest from his shoulders.
He pushed me back. “Hey, hey. There’s no fixing this here. It’s not so bad, but we gotta go.”
It’s not so bad, but we gotta go. I knew what that really meant. It was bad, and he didn’t want me to lose my head.
“Call Bear, you tell him we’re coming in with wounded.”
“I have to take you to the hospital, Trask!”
He shook his head. “Come on, you're smarter than that. GSW, Hope. GSW.”
I tore his shirt open at the entry wound, “Trask, the bullet is still in there. This is OR-level shit.”
His voice sounded menacing, but I knew it was the pain, and not anger at me. “Hope, call Bear, and let’s get to the goddamn Harley.”
My body took over. It knew that my mind wasn’t thinking clearly.
I pulled the phone out, but as soon as Trask took a step, he almost lost it down the stairs. He grabbed onto me, and my small frame was barely enough to hold him up.
“Fuck,” he said, grabbing onto the railing. He let out a groan that sounded like a wounded animal making a last stand. It tore at my heart to hear him make those sounds. Leaning down the stairs, drops of blood were raining down, painting the wooden steps.
“You can’t ride, Trask. We’re taking this.” I was already moving him toward the car left behind by the thugs. He groaned in protest, but I wasn’t having any of it. “The last thing we need is for you to pass out from blood loss while driving a motorcycle on the highway. Let me do my thing here. I’ve dealt with this before in the ER.” I prayed that he couldn’t tell I was lying.
I’d observed trauma in the ER, but nothing beyond observation. The next semester was going to start my intern work, but I was going to get a head start that night. I moved him closer to the passenger side of the sedan, but fate wasn’t on my side.
Trask’s words were beginning to slur. “We can’t take this thing. I’d be laughed out of the club, rolling up in something with four wheels.” I knew he was losing blood, and I knew it was fast, but it was impossible to tell how long he’d stay conscious.
I could feel Trask getting heavier hunched over my shoulders. “I don’t care if we drive up in a pink convertible. Fashion and style don’t outweigh being alive, Trask.”
He turned to me, and I was deathly afraid of the smile he gave me. The devil was in his eyes. “But we can’t take this car. It’s got a flat tire.”
Before I could say anything, he pulled his gun out of his waist and fired at the passenger side. I flinched as the gun went off. When I opened my eyes, the tire had sunk down, completely deflated with a large hole in the side.
That fucking alpha male, testosterone-laden asshole! I was stunned and pissed off. Trask had put his own life in jeopardy because of his pride. He always had to be a big man. I got the impression it wasn’t the first bullet he’d taken, but I was still furious with him.
“Jesus Christ, Trask!” I looked around, half expecting red and blue lights to be reflecting on the sides of the trailers, but there were none. No sirens, either.
He just smiled at me, his eyelids beginning to get heavy. “Guess we’re taking the bike.”
He laughed, beginning to pull me instead of the other way around. “You crazy son of a bitch!” I was so furious with him, but at the same time, I wanted to laugh out loud. He was such a macho dick he’d die before letting me drive somewhere.
“You know the number two thing the SEALs teach you?”
I rolled my eyes as he picked up the pace towards his Harley. “What, Trask?” I made sure he could hear my annoyance.
“Ignoring pain and staying awake. Let’s go.”
He moved with even more
speed as we passed Mrs. Halburn’s trailer. She stuck her head out of the door, Casper eying us between her legs.
She just nodded as Trask took his arm from around my shoulders and climbed onto his bike. I snatched up the helmet as he fired up the motorcycle. I tried one last time to get him to give up his pride.
“Trask, let me drive. You’re losing too much blood!” I hoped that he would let me, but I also hoped that he wouldn’t. I was terrified of the thing, except when he was driving. It felt like he could tame the beast, but I was so worried for him. That bullet was still in his shoulder. With every movement he made, the ragged metal tore into his flesh.
“No choice, here. Figured you’d have learned that by now. Make the call.”
I knew it was no use, so I got on behind him. Trask brought the Harley to life and didn’t waste any time.
He made a sharp U-turn and headed for the exit of the park. I struggled to hit send on my phone and get it beneath the helmet so I could hear it. I finally got it in place and heard it ringing. After the third, Bear picked up.
“Yeah?”
I’d heard enough of the calls from ambulances, so it was a quick explanation. “Trask has a gunshot wound in the left shoulder. We are twelve minutes out from Los Bandoleros. If you have a guy for stuff like this, get him. If not, I need tools, whatever kind you have. I want a clear and clean space for Trask when we arrive. Understood?”
“Understood. Twelve minutes.”
He hung up. There was something in his voice I hadn’t heard the night before: a hint of respect. I managed to get the phone back into my pocket as Trask drove. I was hyper-aware of his driving, and so far, he seemed to be hanging in here.
Once we got on the highway, I began to unbutton my blouse. The wind was yanking at my sleeves as I tried to hold on to Trask, leaving his left side alone. Once I pulled the shirt off, I held it in my teeth.
As we sped down the Golden State Highway, I reached forward and tore his t-shirt clear of his wound. I could feel the warmth of the blood as the wind pulled it back onto my skin. I grabbed the blouse from between my teeth and wrapped it around Trask’s shoulder with as much care as I could. I hoped the SEALs had taught him well about pain, because it wasn’t going to get any better. I pulled the shirt tight around him, then twisted the sleeves around back until it was as tight as I could do it while riding down a highway on a motorcycle.
Trask didn’t flinch or make any noises as I worked, and I hoped it would stay that way when we got back to the bar and I began to dig out the bullet.
***
By the time we hit Highway 5, I knew Trask was fading. He was far less steady, and the bike was beginning to weave back and forth in our narrow slot on the road. I started talking to him, trying to keep him engaged.
“I’m gonna fix you up , Trask. You're going to be good as new. I promise. I didn’t go to med school for nothing. I did it to dig bullets out of my big, strong biker.”
I thanked God when I saw the neon lights of Los Bandoleros appearing in the distance. Trask was grunting, willing himself to stay awake. I pressed my hand on the wound to give his body a surge of endorphins. He cried out like a wounded wolf and drove on.
We coasted the last quarter mile, and I was urging him on, closer and closer. There were several bikers outside the club waiting for us as we pulled up, and Trask used up the last of his strength. He parked the bike right in front of the entrance, and passed out. If it hadn't been for the Rising Sons that were waiting for us, the bike would have toppled over.
One of them grabbed the handlebars as two other Sons lifted Trask from the Harley.
“They’re here,” one of them shouted into the bar. I looked back at the parking lot, and beyond Layne’s borrowed Toyota, it was all bikes. It was a private party tonight.
Bear stepped out after the two men dragged Trask’s unconscious body inside. I looked down to see his hand extended. I looked back up at him in utter confusion. His hand waved around in the air. He was waiting for me to shake it.
I met his hand with some apprehension. “Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For what you did, and for what you’re about to do. That’s family in there. You understand that?” He was speaking low, leaning in so no one else could hear. “Family.”
He turned; I followed into the bar.
***
This time I didn’t even have to the count of ten to get in the right mindset. I had from the time I swung my leg over the Harley until I walked into the bar to get my game face on. That was all the time I had to get my head clear, to do what I was trained to do.
When I walked in, it was a completely different place. The tables and chairs had been pushed to one side of the bar. The band was gone, but the stage was still set up, and all the lights were fired up. They all pointed down onto the makeshift operating table. It was a four-by-eight sheet of plywood supported by two tables underneath.
Before I even made it up to the stage, I was barking orders. “Oh my God, turn some of those lights off, we’re not trying to broil him!”
A few of the bikers looked to Bear. They were not in the business of listening to anyone but their president, least of all a woman in her bra. He knew better, though.
“Hey, I’m not in charge; this one is. Do whatever she says.”
After getting his blessing, they immediately headed for the light board and shut down half of the bright and sizzling bulbs shining on Trask. I stepped up the stairs to the stage. On the other side of Trask was a smaller table with every tool they could find.
I looked at one of the Rising Sons. His cut labeled him as Vice President. “Have these been cleaned?” He nodded; not good enough. “Not with soap and water, but really cleaned?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Before he looked over the spread of tools, I saw his eyes dip down to my chest briefly. I almost laughed. There were wrenches and screwdrivers and a ton of other stuff I had no use for. There were only two or three I’d need.
“Someone bring me gloves and the highest proof alcohol you’ve got.” Another biker that had “Prospect” on his cut rushed off.
Looking down at Trask, I could see the sweat beading on his forehead. My blouse was soaked through with blood, and I knew I had to act fast, because there weren’t going to be any transfusions tonight.
The young biker came back and handed me a clear, round bottle without a label. His eyes were wide as he stood before me.
“And the gloves?”
He pulled some from his back pocket. They weren’t medical gloves by any stretch of the imagination. The food prep gloves were baggy and would probably tear in an instant, but they were better than nothing.
I took the bottle from him, “What is this?”
His voice shook like he was sitting on a washer with an uneven load. “Moonshine. One hundred and forty proof; same as rubbing alcohol.” He looked over at Trask.
It smelled like Frankenstein vodka. I took a tiny sip and regretted it instantly. No doubt that stuff could have powered a lawn mower. I managed to keep it down without gagging, but barely.
Grabbing the few tools I could use, I turned the bottle over onto one hand, then the other, and finally over the makeshift surgery kit. It evaporated within seconds as I rubbed my hands together. It would definitely kill anything on my hands, tongue, and down the back of my throat.
“Jesus, okay.” I tried to get my mind off the knockout taste and back onto Trask. “Strong stuff, okay.”
I heard a couple of bikers laughing behind me. The blood rushed to my cheeks, but I realized quick enough that they weren't laughing at me; it was more about the situation. I’ve heard my share of nervous laughter during rounds.