The Angel Track

Chapter Three - The Ambush

Chapter Three – The Ambush

   Ari kicked the shack’s door open with the back of her foot, whilst her breath constructed delicate, steamy clouds that moved like spirits dancing high up in to the air just before they dissipated. She and Sam placed Cale’s passed out body gently on the table,

   "Sam, give me the first aid kit now and for God’s sake close the door!" She said with urgent pressure as she moved Cale’s torn shirt aside to reveal the gaping bullet wound. Swallowing down a wave of nausea, shame filled her as she realised it was her own stupid fault, she should never have pulled that trigger, God why didn’t she ever think?

   "Hey Ari do you need my help? I can get some water or I could—" Sam was rambling as he buzzed around her like a panicked bee.

   "Just go! I can handle this!" Ari snapped. She couldn’t help it, there was only so much guilt and shame you could repress before it leaked into your sanity like cyanide.

   "But I don’t understand, where do you want me to--" he asked clearly confused.

   "I don’t know go hunting, make yourself useful for once." She interrupted, her words dripping with poison.

   Sam left, shutting the door behind him with a slam of finality. Good, Ari thought. She had to move quickly and she had already wasted enough time arguing. She pressed her ear to Cale’s chest checking his pulse, it had slowed right down. She then checked his airways and breathing, happy with the results, she focused on controlling the bleeding.

    She thought back to the time one of her cousins had been shot in the leg during a human raid. A group of vigilante humans had found a safe hideout for those of her kind and routinely raided it, in the process many were injured and killed. It was hard going through the foggy memories, trying to remember what her aunt had screamed at her to do while her uncle called for help.

    Direct pressure was best, she recalled, so she wadded up Cale’s discarded shirt and tied it around the wound tightly. She leaned over him, taking his pulse again but he jolted upwards, eyes wide open and confused while his hair stood up in silky disarray.

   "Where are we?" Cale questioned, taking in his surroundings.

   "I’m Ari and we’re in my shack. Don’t move too much, you know, your arm. I tried to do the best I could, do you want me to clean the wound. You wouldn’t want an infection well, then again who would?" The words tumbled from her mouth uncharacteristically.

    He just pushed her away and said sharply "No, I’m fine I don’t need your help."

   "Well, fine, ok." She said, stunned by his rudeness. She watched as he looked at his shoulder, grimaced and pulled the shirt/bandage off.

   "What on earth are you doing?" She asked shocked.

   He held up his wrist, the defensive markings glowed and he had a wicked gleam to his eyes. "Pass me some tweezers or a scalpel or something," he commanded.

   Ari went and found an old pair of tweezers in the kitchenette drawer and handed it to him. He took them in his calloused hands and made as if to dig them into his wound. Ari grabbed his wrist, halting him and looked questioningly into his eyes.

   "Oh just trust me would you? I know what I’m doing!" He snapped. Ari let go and the guilt she felt for shooting him stopped her from whipping out a nasty retort.

   He slid the tweezers into the wound and dug around as if looking for something. He looked awfully pale and his face was twisted with pain. Ari couldn’t help but watch with morbid curiosity as he pulled the bullet out and placed his hand on the wound. Sweat was coating his forehead with a waxy sheen and his expression was one of sheer concentration, as time ticked by he looked more wrung out by the second.