John Avery - Three Days To Die

"No… maybe you, I guess," Beeks said.

"Well, you do."

"Fuck you."

– Needles unwrapped the blood-soaked bandages, unzipped Aaron's jumpsuit, and tore open his sweatshirt and shirt. It was an upper-chest wound, the bullet having passed through Aaron's body just under his left collar bone. Fresh blood pooled on the wooden tabletop and dripped onto the white porcelain floor tiles.

Needles carefully rolled Aaron up onto his side then grabbed some clean paper towels and applied pressure to the wounds.

He saw Beeks's stomach lurch. "What's the matter, Beeks?" he goaded. "You've seen blood before."

"I seen plenty of blood," Beeks said. "More than you, I'll wager." He paused. "Well… maybe not more than you… but I seen a lot."

"So, what's your problem?"

"What's your problem?"

"I'm not the one with the problem."

"Fuck you."

– Needles got Aaron's bleeding under control and was encouraged to see that the bullet had entered and exited his body relatively cleanly, with little apparent damage to the underlying tissue. He splashed antibiotic solution over the wounds and covered them with sterile gauze.

He checked his watch. 11:30 a.m. Then he looked at Beeks impatiently. "Well?"

Beeks looked back at him… puzzled.

"My water…?"

"Oh…" Beeks said. He checked the pot. There were small bubbles forming in the bottom. "It's comin'."

"Well, hurry it up."

"How the fuck do you hurry water?"

"How should I know," Needles said. "Figure it out." He scrubbed up in the sink. "Wash up. I'm gonna need your help."

"No way, bro," Beeks said, raising his big hands in the air in protest. "You know I don't know nothin' about no medical shit."

"Do you see anyone else in this room that hasn't been shot?"

"Kiss my ass."

– Beeks washed up, then checked his pot of boiling water. "I think we're good here," he said, and Needles came over and plunged his tools into the bubbling liquid.

He spread some clean towels out on the table next to Aaron then selected two surgical masks from the shoebox pile.

"Put this on," he said, handing one to Beeks, "and if Aaron wakes up… hold him. You got that? You hold him good!"

Beeks pulled on his mask and adjusted the undersized nose piece. It made him sound like he had a cold. "If he does wake up I hope he don't see you first."

"And why is that?"

"'Cause you're so damn ugly… you'd probably scare the poor son-of-a-bitch to death."

Needles had to laugh. "Good one, friend," he said.

He found some surgical gloves in a Ziploc bag and looked doubtfully at his assistant's enormous hands; still Beeks somehow managed to pull on a pair without ripping them to pieces.

The big black man walked over and stood next to the mutilated boy; the kid seemed so small lying there on that big table. "I gotta bad feelin', bro," he said.

"Let's just get on with it," Needles said. He prepared a shot of morphine and set it aside.

"You got morphine? Shit, man… boot him up!"

"Thanks for the expert advice," Needles said, "but I want him to be as awake as possible — too much morphine at this stage could kill him." He reached for a pair of forceps. "Now, shut your yap and give me a sponge."

He infiltrated the area with an anesthetic solution, then clamped the sponge into the forceps and began to clean the wounds.

Aaron was beginning to regain consciousness and he jerked violently after a particularly deep probe.

"Hold him…" Needles said.

Beeks leaned in and put his weight into it. "Bang the son-of-a-bitch, man…"

"Not yet," Needles said, redoubling his efforts. "Just another minute…"

Another deep probe and Aaron screamed. Beeks looked at Needles like he was some sort of sadistic Nazi.

"I know, okay?" Needles said, reaching for the prepared syringe. He injected the morphine directly into a vein on the inside of Aaron's arm and monitored the boy's pulse as he drifted back into semi-consciousness.

– Needles finished with antibiotic ointment and clean, dry-gauze bandages. Then he stepped back and pulled off his gloves, exhausted by the effort.

"Is he gonna live?" Beeks asked doubtfully.

"It's hard to say," Needles replied. "The bullet passed through cleanly and missed his lung — and no bones or large vessels were hit… but he lost a lot of blood. We'll have to see."

Beeks gathered Aaron up in his arms and carried him to the sofa and laid him down. Needles wiped down the operating table with soapy rags and dropped them into a trash bag along with the blood soaked towels. He walked over to where Beeks was sitting on the sofa with the boy. Beeks had covered Aaron with a blanket. Needles tucked it up under the boy's chin.

"Why do you care so much 'bout this boy, anyways?" Beeks asked, genuinely curious.

Needless looked at Beeks, then at Aaron, and thought for a moment. "I'm not quite sure…"

"I knows the feelin'," Beeks said.

"Maybe it's because that's what doctors do," Needles said. "Or maybe it's because in today's world, good people are in short supply."

He checked his watch. 1 p.m. Then he laid his hand on Aaron's head and said, "Sleep well my young friend."

The sun was slowly melting in the west, and the huge steel-sided cannery glowed, as if it had been heated to a high temperature. Willy rode up and skidded to a stop out front. He peeked in through the secret entrance and listened for a moment… then ducked inside, pulling his bike in after him.

As he had hoped, his sweatshirt still lay over Aaron's bike seat where he left it. He grabbed it, and as he turned to leave he heard a faint moaning sound that sent a chill through him. He stopped and listened… but as quickly as it had come, it was gone. His best guess was that the sound had come from the break room, so he stepped quietly over to investigate.

He peered into the room, straining to see in the limited light. It appeared to be vacant. But as he turned to go he saw something that made the hair on his arms stand on end. Shoved up against one wall was the familiar old maroon-velvet sofa, but lying prone along its length he saw a shadowy figure. Panic leaped in him, accelerating his heartbeat, and he breathed in deeply, fighting off a strong urge to turn and run.

He took a step closer to the mysterious form and refocused his eyes. To his astonishment he saw that the ominous death figure on the couch was none other than his best friend, Aaron Quinn.

– Willy lit a lantern and set it on the table. Aaron appeared to be asleep, and, in the lamplight, looked even more frightening than he had in the dark. Willy knelt at his side and spoke to him in a low, cautious voice.

"Aaron?" he said. "Aaron, it's me… it's Willy. Are you okay?"

Aaron didn't budge. Willy put his ear to Aaron's lips and detected a wisp of breath. He gently stirred him with his finger. Aaron slowly opened his eyes, and at that moment there was no one on earth he would have rather seen. He reached out his hand to his friend and spoke just above a whisper.

"Willy…"

Willy squeezed Aaron's hand and said, "You're one butt-ugly bugger, you know."

Aaron wanted to laugh, but only smiled. He was in agony. "It hurts bad, Willy."

Willy noticed Aaron's bandaged shoulder peeking out from under the blanket. He eased the blanket down a few inches and the extent of the damage came into view.

"What in bleeding hell happened to you?" he asked.

Embarrassed, Aaron hesitated then replied bluntly, "I got shot."

Willy hesitated. " Shot…?" he cried. "Damn it, Aaron… I saw you escape from that guy. What happened? Did he come after you?"

Aaron paused, his head throbbing. It was difficult for him to recall the correct sequence of events.