3:06 AM - The Lassie Files by Nick Pirog

Author:Nick Pirog [Pirog, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nick Pirog
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

…

Less than three minutes goes by when I hear the sound of something being dragged across the linoleum floor. I crawl to the edge of the cell and gaze through the bars.

Lassie is walking backwards, dragging a plastic bag across the floor.

Ten seconds later, he has pulled even with the cage.

I stick my arm through one of the openings between the bars, which is just wide enough to get half my forearm through, and rifle through the contents of the bag. Three small white towels, two rolls of gauze, a roll of tape, two packets of something called Celox, a syringe, a vial of lidocaine, and a couple dog treats.

“What, you learn all this watching Vet ER or something?”

Meow.

“Heat? What is that, a movie?”

Meow.

“Val Kilmer?”

Meow.

“Before he got fat?” I pause. “Nevermind, what do I do with all this stuff?”

Meow.

“Okay, I got it.”

Meow.

“Good idea. And try and find out what time it is too.”

Lassie disappears to go do some recon on where Snake Douche and White Coat are, and to see if he can find a way out.

I slink each of the items Lassie brought through the bars.

A few moments later and I have Candace’s shirt rolled up to her sternum. I wipe away as much blood as I can with two of the towels, then fill the syringe full with the lidocaine.

I’d had enough stitches to know the routine, and I said, “You’re gonna feel a little pinch.”

I inject the local anesthetic into three separate spots, then refill it and do it again.

“T-t-that feels g-g-g-good,” Candace mutters.

“Okay, well, this is still gonna hurt.”

I open one packet of Celox, which according to Lassie is filled with blood clotting granules, and pour it on the wound.

Candace lurches.

“Sorry.”

I press down with one of the towels for thirty seconds, then take a peek. The blood flow has slowed considerably. I do the same with the second packet.

I place a thick pad of gauze on top of the wound, ball up the towel, and tape everything down snugly. Then I wrap the tape completely around her waist, until I have maximized pressure on the wound.

Once done, I give myself a satisfied nod.

I turn to Murdock and say, “Not bad, huh?”

Murdock could care less. His face is green. Like he’s been rubbing his face in wet grass for the last hour. His eyes are glassed over and brimming with fluid.

He stands up.

“MURDOCK!”

His back arches.

“MURDOCK, NOT IN HERE!”

His head bobbles.

“OH, SHIT.”

I run to the back of the small cell and shield my eyes.

I hear the first barrage hit the ground with a loud splatter.

Blllaaahgghrrg.

The second.

Blllhhhrhrgggggarrrhggg.

The third.

Bbbbbbllllllllaaaaaaarrrrrggggggggg.

And then it’s over.

I pull my hands from my eyes.

Half the cell is covered in partially digested orange goop. Huge chunks of orange paper towel float among the pulp like half-submerged battleships.

On my fourteenth birthday, my dad said he had a special gift for me. We jumped in the car and drove to a large mall a short five miles from our house. I’d never been to a mall before. I wondered what my dad had in store.

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