Taking on the Dead by Annie Walls

Author:Annie Walls
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-09-18T23:00:00+00:00

***

“Was anyone else hurt or killed?” I need to know.

Rudy shakes his head, “I don’t think so.”

I let out a breath, relieved for the moment. I turn to Mac, “You idiot! You should have just ran!” I want to say something about that man, but I know it’s pointless. He did what he had to do.

“No way, I saw him…and nothing went through my mind, just action,” he grunts, bleeding on the seat looking rather Casper-like. Blood stains my jeans from his brief stint in my lap.

“Where were you hit?” I ask reluctantly. It looks like he could have been hit in a large artery with all that blood. Checking my palms over, they’re scratched, but nothing I will even call minor.

Rudy coughs back a laugh. He bites his lips together to keep from doing it.

“What the hell is so fucking funny, Rudy?” I demand as he glances at Mac. Nothing is funny about this situation. People died. Mac’s injured, and so many questions start popping into my head, I don’t know where to start. They both burst into laughter at the look on my face. Mac’s laugh is more of a wheeze, but he smiles at me.

His ocean blue eyes gleaming, “I was shot in the ass. Will you kiss it and make it better?” They both choke out more laughter. They think this is hilarious. I glare at them, trying to keep a straight face, hard to do with both of them laughing contagiously.

“If you don’t remember what happened to my wound, I’ll just tell you, infection doesn’t feel good.” I’m upset Mac is bleeding, but I won’t be able to keep from laughing if they keep making jokes.

“Sumthin’ jumped up and bit mae!” Mac jokes in a perfect imitation of Forrest Gump. Okay, so that’s funny. I couldn’t hold it any longer, I laugh with them and realize they might be laughing just to relieve the stress of our earlier predicament. It helps.

When we all calm down, Rudy shakes his head still grinning, “We’ll clean it. Help out the medic. If Kan helps, I can dig out the bullet for you,” he says in a more serious tone.

Mac’s head flops back on the seat, making his curls bounce. “Gee, thanks,” he mutters sarcastically, making me feel horrible. Another person trying to rescue me, when I usually deal with things on my own.

Curiosity burning, I ask, “Mac, was the guy that shot you wearing black?”

He stiffens. “I don’t think so, I’m pretty sure it was a brown shirt.” Mac looks like he’s getting ready to say something.

Rudy chimes in, “Black canvas?”

I think about it. “Could have been. The pants had lots of pockets.” Watching him, he stares at the road intently. “Have you seen him before?”

Rudy blinks, eyes never leaving the road. His grip on the wheel tightens, the tendons white. “The people that took over the Clarksville base wore black canvas. The same ones that killed living people who didn’t deserve it.” I remember the story he told me about the men who went in guns blazing, and how he had barely escaped the famished.

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