The moon was sleeping, the night alone to spread its darkness over the landscape. Landscape was a sort of glorified term in this case, if I'm honest. At least it was dark. Helps to cover the ugly I suppose.
On one side of the road, there was a near never ending stream of pine trees, swaying slightly with the cold winter's wind. The other side was a mixture of cow paddocks interspersed with houses and windbreak tree lines. I was traveling down the winding, lineless back road on my usual way home from school. Football practice had run long, thus the sun had already gone down by the time I'd left the field. By the time I set off for home, darkness had taken over completely. My old S-10's surprisingly bright headlights lead the way as I shifted in my seat with the turns. Every bend in the road was one step closer to a nice hot shower, perhaps even a quick bit of 'alone time' before bed.
A stop sign marked where the road ran into the side of county road 734. From there it was only four more miles to my bed. Not to mention the shower. I had started to move my foot from the brake to the gas when I heard three sharp, quick pops. They sounded almost like short claps of thunder, but there was no rain to be had. I knew right away they were gunshots. Living in the country, it's not unusual to hear them. Sometimes, someone's been hunting. Other times, somebody may have just felt like shooting off a few rounds. I thought nothing of it.
I turned right onto the old road. Half a mile later, the road curved to the left. As I came out of the bend, I saw a sheriff's car parked alongside the road with its lights on. Slowing down, I made to go around it, rubbernecking as anyone would of course. Strangely, no car was parked in front of the deputy's. The door of the car was even with mine when I saw it, or rather him.
He was on the road from the waist up, in the ditch from the waist down. I immediately swerved and slammed on brakes, coming to a stop on the wrong side of the road, the front somewhat facing the opposite ditch. My heart pounded in my chest as I placed the shifter in park, undid my seatbelt, and scrambled out the truck. The echo of my hand hitting metal sounded briefly as I grabbed the end of the truck bed to launch around the corner faster.
I ran up to him. His face was pale. The wool on the collar of his coat had started to turn an alarming shade of pink. I could hear him mumbling something unintelligible into his mic as the blood poured out from three different holes which shouldn't have been there. The one on his leg wasn't bleeding as badly as the stomach or chest wound, though I couldn't see the chest wound for his hand. I took my belt off to tie it over the hole in his leg. Once finished with that, I pressed as hard as I could on the man's stomach wound. The blood felt warm and wet as it slid over my fingers, despite there being no gaps between them. I looked up to the man's face to ask him if help was coming. He only managed to nod yes.
As soon as I'd seen his face, I knew who he was, though it hadn't quite registered until then. Mr. Kirk had spoken at our school a number of times. His son was the class nerd, as well as being singled out as the school queen. Whether or not he was actually gay had never been established. Everyone just assumed, thus taking it as license to make Richey's life miserable. The weirdest thought went through my head in that moment. I couldn't help thinking of how different the two were. Mr. Kirk was fairly tall, though quite round in his old age with his gut sticking out. Richey was a toothpick. Mr. Kirk had brown hair while his son was blond like his mother. Again like his mother, Richey's face was narrow. The abject look of terror mixed with pain on the round face in front of me slowly started turning to one of resignation.
"Mr. Kirk, tell me what to do!" My hands shook the man slightly as I yelled.
"Pray..." He mumbled. Blood seeped out from between his lips.
"No,no,no,no,no..." I could feel myself panicking.
The only noise around us was the puttering of my exhaust and the occasional dog or owl. I tried to remember what I'd been taught one time in a health class. No one ever pays attention in health class. I tossed my brain upside down like I was looking for my phone in my room. Nothing.
"Come on Mr. Kirk, talk to me, about anything, it doesn't matter."
A small grin appeared on his face. "You may be right about that..." His eyes closed.
"NO! Stay awake Mr. Kirk! Now isn't the time for a nap!" One hand left the grip I had on the stomach wound to grab the side of his face and direct his eyes at mine. They opened slowly, appearing glassy like someone drunk almost.
The hand that was on his chest wound rested on mine on his stomach. Sirens had begun to wail in the distance. His mouth opened slightly, some blood immediately spilling out again. He closed, swallowed, and tried again.
"Tell Donna... Tell Donna-" He started to cough a bit. "Tell her and Richey I love them please... Peter too..." Peter was Richey's younger brother. Mr. Kirk's eyelids closed, fluttering as they did so.
"Oh shit..." I mumbled.
I sat stunned for a moment. Suddenly, urgency came over me. CPR training had never crossed my mind before. I made my best attempt at copying what I'd seen on TV. The first pump, I heard some loud cracks, which an EMT later told me were his ribs breaking. I kept this up until a black pickup with a red light flashing on the dashboard pulled up. An average sized man in jeans jumped out, running over to us. I recognized him as Mr. Guthrie. My mother went to church with him. He'd been on the volunteer fire department for as long as I'd been alive.
"I got it kid." His voice was low, yet firm as he gently pushed me out of the way to take my place. His compressions were firmer and more consistent than mine. Blood seeped out both the small little holes I could see with each down and up movement. Sirens were coming closer all the while. A bloody handprint stood out on Mr. Kirk's face where I'd held him.
An ambulance came screeching around the curve as more flashing lights illuminated the sky. The shrillness of the siren hurt my ears. Air whooshed out as the brakes came on. The noise abruptly stopped, though the lights stayed on. Two men in plain clothes hopped out of the front. One carried a box, sort of like a small briefcase.
The box had two paddle things inside. I'd seen them on TV before in hospital shows like everyone else, but never in person, much less in use. One man placed the sticky pads on as Mr. Guthrie moved out of the way. The man with the paddles stated, "Everyone Clear. Clear," before sticking the paddles to the pads. Mr. Kirk's body spasmed as electricity shot through his body. They repeated this ten times before the man with the paddles began to shake his head when the others looked up at him. Mr. Guthrie hung his head, a large sigh escaping him. This entire time, I had sat, mutely watching. Maybe this is what shock feels like.
A few more sheriffs' cars pulled up. The first man to get out of his ran over, his feet bringing him to a sudden stop when he saw the EMT packing up his paddles. Mr. Guthrie shook his head as he walked past the man, going back toward his truck. The deputy's mouth hanged opened as he stared down at Mr. Kirk.
"Come on kid, let's get you somewhere else." Said the man who had placed the stickers on Mr. Kirk. I looked down at Mr. Kirk's bare chest. In all the confusion, I never noticed someone cut his shirt open. It was covered one minute and bare the next.
"But Mr. Kirk-"
"I don't think he'll mind. Come on."
He led me to the back of the ambulance, where he had me sit down on the edge after he opened the doors. He got me to take a few breaths of oxygen to calm me down. Time seemed to pass in a fog like way, coming and going without really noticing. At some point, he cleaned the blood off my hands. I sat quietly as he checked me over.
