War Girls (The Juniper Wars Book 5) by Aaron Michael Ritchey

Author:Aaron Michael Ritchey [Ritchey, Aaron Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: coming of age religion religious spiritual, metaphysical visionary theology spiritual, lgbt survival stories Social & Family Issues, sister small town clones cyber punk genes, science fiction dystopian action adventure, Romantic Science & Technology
Publisher: Shadow Alley Press Inc
Published: 2021-02-02T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

MARLA: IT’S MY BLOOD, Bonney! It’s my blood!

BONNEY: Quit your whining. You got plenty left. Don’t think about your body, girl. It only makes it worse. We’re only just meat, but you can’t think about that.

—“Bullets and Butterflies.” Lonely Moon. Netflix. 7 April 2057. Television.

(i)

The Heartbreaker above us floated back up into the clouds, leaving us three alone in the cottonwoods east of Chatfield Reservoir, just a little southwest of the Platte River. So far, it seemed none of our enemies, not the U.S. nor the ARK, had seen us.

“Gotta get your pants off, Pilate.” I regretted my words immediately.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that.” Pilate gasped laughter. “I’m very popular with the ladies.”

“Daughter here.” I helped him get the pants off. “No jokes like that around me. It makes it even more awkward.”

Blood covered his right thigh. If a branch slashed through his femoral artery, we’d be done, but leave it to Pilate to go out joking about breaking his vow of celibacy.

The coppery stink of blood mingled with the cold snap of the dry grasses. Even the cottonwoods smelled like winter.

Baptista crept up from behind. She snapped a light-stick and we were given a neon green light to work by.

“Jesus,” she hissed behind me when we saw his leg.

The wound was an irregular line down the front of his right thigh, and when I pulled at the skin, I expected to see Pilate’s femur. I didn’t, so he hadn’t been cut to the bone, but he’d come close.

Baptista backed away to throw up in the grass. I heard the splatter of her vomit in the dirt followed by her gurgle and gasping.

“Put pressure on it, Pilate, while I get a thread and needle.”

But we’d also need glue. We’d have to pour glue down into the muscle and tissue and then I’d sew him closed.

“Can’t,” Pilate wheezed. “My left arm is all kinds of broken, and my right isn’t so hot either, though I don’t think it’s fractured. Lucky I’m so damn handsome.”

“Baptista,” I barked. “Get your ass over here.”

She came over, gray-faced, sick on her lips. In the light, Pilate’s wound steamed.

I felt the heat. “Well, at least my hands won’t get cold.”

Pilate laughed.

I laughed too ’cause of the adrenaline and horror of it all.

“Hold the skin closed and apply pressure, Baptista.”

She nodded and complied. In my pack, I found the med-kit. First thing, I slapped on a dose of EMAT tape across his neck, right over the jugular.

“Go easy on the drugs,” Pilate said. “I’ve been clean and sober three years. And this goddamn Juniper doesn’t have any working phones so I can’t call my sponsor.” He glanced up at Baptista. “Damn, broke my anonymity. You won’t tell anyone, will you, Jen?”

Another quick nod or whatever.

I tore open a pack of antibiotic solution and doused the wound. Pilate twisted against the pain.

Then the medical glue. It came in a squeeze tube. “Gotta open the wound now.” Baptista drew back the skin and I squeezed it in like grisly toothpaste.

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