a loss

Adam and Skivvy walked down the dusty highway with their newfound companion, Nancy. She was about fifteen or so (Adam couldn’t resist a comment, which was met with a swift punch in the arm), and had lost her family. The guys were fully aware that she wouldn’t be able to stay with them, but had promised to take her to the next community they found.

Nancy walked with her hands jammed into her pockets, and was kicking a small stone as she went. Suddenly, angry high-pitched whining filled the air around them.

“Shit!” Skivvy spat as he ducked. He grabbed Nancy and threw both of them over the median. Adam dove over not far behind. Nancy covered her ears and curled on the ground, while the other two blindly returned fire.

“Where’s it coming from?” Adam shouted over the din.

Skivvy shrugged. “We’ll have to take a look!”

He poked his head up just enough to scan the horizon, and pulled it back down just before the concrete exploded, showering him in fine bits of concrete.

“There!” Skivvy gestured with his head. “Ten o’clock! I think it’s coming from the blue car!” Adam nodded, dropped his gear, and ran down along the median, keeping as low as he could. Skivvy slowly counted to ten, and then stuck his rifle over the median and began firing. When he heard return fire stop, he sat up and trained his rifle on the car, firing bursts whenever he saw movement through broken windows. He heard movement beside him as Nancy stood up, trying to get a clear view of the action.

“Stay--” He was cut off by the whizzing of a slug past his head. He fired back, and prayed that Adam was making his move.

---

The highwaymen were occupied with Skivvy. It was go time. Adam vaulted over the median and sprinted toward the car. There had been five of them, as near as he could tell, but Skivvy had brought down one. It would be tricky to get the remaining four, but he and Skiv had gotten through bigger shitstorms. He brought up his carbine and began firing, sending sparks off of the car. One of the shots connected though, dropping a kid in a blue shirt. He couldn’t have been more than Nancy’s age. He fired off the rest of the clip and dropped the carbine, simultaneously drawing his P99 and his combat knife.

The other gunmen had begun to turn when Adam reached them. He drove his knife into the closest man’s chest, a bear of about sixty, and threw his weight against him, pushing him into one of his friends, who was knocked into Skivvy’s line of fire. The last gunman, a skinny balding man, turned to flee. Adam pulled the knife from the fat one, who promptly fell back, and leveled his pistol at the survivor. He squeezed the trigger and the man stumbled once and fell.

He resheathed his knife and holstered his pistol, and turned to begin poking around for his carbine when he heard Skivvy’s voice on the wind.

“Get over here! HURRY!”

Adam promptly forgot about his carbine and broke into a full sprint towards Skivvy and . . .
He couldn’t see Nancy. He pushed himself harder and hurdled the median at stride. The toe of his boot caught and he hit the road face first, but he ignored the gash in his forehead as he looked on in horror at bloody Nancy in Skiv’s arms.

“She’s been shot. Stomach,” he said, not looking up at Adam. Nancy’s eyes were wide with fear, and she was whimpering. Adam nodded and grabbed his pack, pulling out a field surgeon’s kit.

“Get her shirt off,” he said to Skivvy. Under other circumstances, it would have been a joke. No one laughed now. Skivvy ripped her shirt open as Adam pulled out a syrette of morphine, pulled off the cap with his teeth and squeezed out about a third of it. He jabbed the needle into her thigh and emptied the morphine into her system, placing his other hand on her carotid artery. Her pulse rate slowed as her eyes drooped closed, but it didn’t stop, as Adam had feared. But it was weak.

“Was there an exit wound?” he asked Skivvy. Skivvy was laying her on her back.

“Yeah,” he said. “It tore right through her.”

“Shit,” Adam spat. He didn’t get a good look at the weapons the highwaymen were carrying, but he could imagine what her back looked like. He hoped her spine was intact.

“We have to disinfect it.” Adam pulled off his jacket and laid it down beside her. Then he took a bag of salt from his bag and tore it open, dumping part of the contents into the wound on her stomach.

“Help me roll her,” he said, and Skivvy obliged. They got her over and Adam felt his stomach turn. There was a hole the size of a baseball, oozing blood. There were bits of bone, too. He dumped the rest of the bag into the hole.

“I don’t know what to do,” Adam said, panic beginning to clutch the back of his throat. “I don’t know how to fix this.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“We need to stop the bleeding, for now,” he said calmly, opening his eyes again. “Fold me a thick pad.” Skiv did and Adam placed it over her back. He then took the arms of his jacket and pulled them up and around Nancy’s waist, tying them tightly.

“Roll her back.”

They did. Blood was beginning to seep through the back of Adam’s coat, which was over her stomach.

“We need another pad.”

“Adam,” Skivvy said softly.

“Not now, I need the pad.”

“Adam. She’s dead.”

Adam looked up at her pale face. Her mouth hung open slightly, and blood had begun to trickle from the corner. He checked her wrist. No pulse. Her throat. Nothing.

“Look, man . . .” But Adam had already turned away to find his weapon so they could move on, away from this empty stretch of road.