Deadline≫hemmings a.u

2.9

"Michael, stop futzing around and actually help me!" I said, my voice much higher with panic.

Approximately two minutes after Luke had been shot and claimed he was alright, he fainted, right in the middle of the sidewalk. And Michael was absolutely no help.

Since our run in with Michael and Luke's pursuers, Michael quickly went from blissfully unaware to an emotional wreck. It started out with him being upset because nobody would sing him songs about cats or rub his tummy. And now he's was full on crying over Luke. Which was somewhat reasonable, just terribly timed.

"He's been shot!" Michael bawled at the top of his lungs. "They shot him!"

"Michael, shut up!" I begged, nearly crumpling under Luke's weight as I tried to get him down the street to the hotel.

"He's been shot!" Michael wailed. "He's gonna die!"

"Michael." I snapped, my eyes going wide at his words. "Shut. Up."

It was only a shot to the shoulder, but I couldn't help but notice that Luke was far too pale for my liking, losing a lot of blood, and unconscious.

"Luke, wake up," I pleaded, tears welling up in my eyes at his blank face. "Please!"

"That's a lot of blood." With wide doe eyes, Michael made the obvious and unwelcome observation.

"You think I don't know that?" I whirled on Michael, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I struggled to stay calm amidst everything that was going on. I looked down at my T-shirt, which now sported stains of dark red that made it feel like the sidewalk was dipping out from beneath me.

"I don't know," Michael shrugged before going back to screaming bloody murder.

"Oh, fuck," I whispered, lowering Luke to the ground as my legs started to shake. I kneeled down next to Luke and gently lifted his upper body, my stomach swooping at the dark stickiness that stained his white shirt. "Michael, do you have a knife?"

"I'm not an arsen - " Michael frowned, fumbling over the words as he tried to figure it out. "Ar...sen...al. Arsenal."

"A simple no would have helped," I groaned, setting Luke back down as I started to search his pockets. In the left one, I found a Swiss Army knife and gratefully pulled it out.

"What are you doing?" Michael asked, still hiccuping from his little fit.

"I need to see how bad this is," I mumbled using one of the knives to cut Luke's sleeve, exposing the angry wound beneath.

"Holy fuck," Michael whispered from behind me. His blood looked black in the moonlight against his pale skin, only the sickening metallic smell giving it away.

"Oh God," I whispered at the same time before turning my head away and spitting to get the taste the scent Luke's blood brought. The wound was a dark angry red that was almost black in this light. Blood poured from his shoulder, far more than I would have imagined there being. I squeezed my eyes shut and stumbled back to my feet, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth to fight the wave of nausea that pummeled me like waves beating down on the shore. "I need to call an ambulance."

"Can't do that." Michael shook his head and put his hand over the pocket that had his phone. "Nope. Luke won't like that."

"Michael there's no other choice! I can't fix this, he'll bleed out!" I said desperately, pulling out my own phone. I knew that taking Luke to the hospital was one of the biggest mistakes I could make, given that I was supposedly dead and these boys were practically criminals nobody knew about - they were ghosts - but I had no other choice. "I'm not going to let him bleed out alone in the middle of the sidewalk to be picked up as another nameless victim that'll be cut up for some autopsy."