George Wier - The Last Call

I guess the door and frame covering most of Hank weighed about a good seventy pounds, but somehow it felt about as heavy as a good sack of bread as I shoved it to the side, sending it further down the hill.

I reached for Hank.

In the flicker of flame from the house I could see that his eyes were open and moving around in confusion.

I ran my hands over his body, beginning with his legs.

He made funny gurgling sounds. Trying to form words. The sounds were muffled, though, as my ears were still all cotton candy.

His legs felt good and solid. I pressed lightly against his hips. No give. I didn’t see any blood, no protruding bones. There were a few buttons missing from his shirt. The arms seemed okay. He still had his gun in his right hand. I took it from him and laid it in the grass. The fingers of his left hand seemed a little odd. One of Julie’s keys from her key ring was imbedded in his palm. I turned his hand over and felt the indentation from the key poking up against the inside of his skin on the top of his hand.

No screams from the driveway. Yet.

Unless Hank was bad off either on the underside of his body or internally, he wasn’t going to die in the next few seconds. I hoped.

Dock, I thought.

The last time I’d seen him he wasn’t far from the house. I looked up. No Dock.

Julie was inside the Suburban. The dome light was on and she was holding Keesha. Dingo was barking. Within seconds the dog was over beside us, licking Hank’s face.

Over in the Suburban I could see Keesha’s face, looking out at me above Julie’s shoulder. She was obviously okay, probably stunned though. The hood and top of Dock’s land barge was littered with large splinters of wood, stone masonry, terra cotta, a telephone handset, a table leg; other things unrecognized and unrecognizable in the near dark. There were several huge dents in it.

Between where Hank lay and the car there were a number of naked timbers.

I could only think of one thing. We had to find Dock and get the hell out of there.

“Stay here, Hank.” It was a stupid thing to say. Where was he going to go?

I moved across the wreckage, noting a stitch in my side. What could have happened to it? I ignored it.

There was no evidence of Dock amid the wreckage. I looked through the cracked windshield of the car. Keesha was still looking at me, Julie still holding her tight.

From where I stood I couldn’t tell, but I’d say she was probably crying.

Keesha pointed with her free hand back towards the road behind them.

I nodded.

I moved across the roadway. I could see Dock. He was in the neighbor’s yard a full sixty feet from where he’d last been. As I got to him I noticed that his right arm was gone just below the elbow. I looked around but couldn’t see it anywhere. Blood spurted spasmodically from the stump.

He was still alive! I reached over him, clenched my fingers around the stump just above his elbow and squeezed hard where I thought the biggest artery might be. I never had any formal medical training, but some things you just do.

I heard sounds. A voice. Maybe my hearing was improving.

I looked at his face.

I became aware that there were people coming out of the neighboring homes, moving slow, stunned. I just looked at Dock’s face, tried to see his lips move. A street lamp behind and above me was on full bright and Dock’s features were tinged with blue in the pale light. He was covered with splinters and gouge marks the entire length of his body. His neck seemed to be not right.

“Whoa there,” a voice said. It was Dock.

His eyes focused on me for a moment. There was sort of a quizzical look on his face.

“I… uh…” he said.

“Take it easy, Dock. Go slow. Anything you want to say, now might be the time.”

“It’s all… right. You… don’ need… ta worreee… about me.Uh. Kid… okaaay?”

“Yes, Dock. She’s fine. Hank too.”

“Gooooood.” He whispered something, but I didn’t quite catch it.

“What was that, Dock?”

He appeared to marshal himself for the effort to communicate it, whatever it was.

“Uh…Just- God… damned real estate agent,” Dock said, and died.

His eyes stared, but the power behind them was gone. The pungent odor of human waste wafted through the air.

“God bless you, Dock,” I said. “Goodbye.” What else was there to say?

I reached into his shirt pocket and took out the business card that I’d given him back at Hill’s Cafe.

The stunned people moved slowly across the street, coming on like zombies from some Grade B horror flick. I picked out bits and pieces from their abbreviated conversations with each other:

“What do you think happened?”

“I dunno. Sure was loud.”

“Gotta have been the gas jets. My cousin once-”

“Has somebody called the fire department?”

“I think that man’s dead.”

I ignored all of it, including the occasional attempt to hail me: “Hey, Mister.”

After disentangling Julie from the girl, the two of us went and got Hank slowly up to first his knees, then his feet. His eyes cast about. I could understand it, completely. If it had been me under that door, my luck being what it had proven out to be thus far, I would have been knocking on St. Peter’s Gate. But I guess that’s just my Southern Baptist side talking.

Between the two of us, each supporting him with a shoulder under an armpit, we moved across the wreckage to the Suburban. Dingo moved in front. She barked at the neighbors as they came into the edge of the yard.

About halfway to the driveway I stumbled a little over a piece of iron pipe that had once been part of a workout bike or something, and I almost brought both Hank and Julie down on top of me. I kept my footing and resolved to be more careful. I looked at Hank’s face and was relieved to see that he was coming around. His eyebrows were knitted into a disapproving frown.

“Sorry, Hank” I said.

Julie leaned her side of him up against the side of the Suburban and got the rear door open. I noticed it was Keesha that pulled up the lock-stem. God Bless her.

Suddenly there was a skinny fellow wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt and Bermuda shorts, talking up a storm.

“I think Jerry is calling the Fire Department on his cell phone. Hey, hold on, folks.”

Julie and I ignored him and got Hank into the back seat where he sprawled out across the long seat.

Julie snapped her head up at the fellow. “Look,” she yelled. “He’s got fractures and contusions. Possibly internal bleeding. We’re taking him to the hospital or he’ll die if we wait.”

At that, as if cued to do so, Hank let out a loud groan.

“See,” I said, showing exasperation.

“Oh. You guys better hurry. I’ll get Jerry to call the Hospital and tell the E.R. you’re on the way.”

Who the hell is Jerry? I thought. “Good. Thanks, neighbor. You’re in charge. Keep everything under control until the Fire Department gets here.” It was all I could think of to say.

I climbed into the driver’s seat. Dock had left the keys in the ignition.

“Thanks, Dock,” I said.

Julie got in and Keesha climbed over the seat between us and into the back. I looked back and saw her lift Hank’s head up and dip her hips in underneath him to support his head on her lap.

Julie and I closed our doors and the dome light faded to black.

I hit the door lock button.

There was a knock at my window. An old woman, kind of goggle-eyed. She reminded me of Gladys Kravitz on the old Bewitched serials.

I smiled at her, nodding. Maybe she wasn’t able to see my face in the night.

She cupped her hands to the glass and attempted to peer inside.