David Morrell - Creepers

Working to steady his hand, he probed the pliers into the gash, heard the professor moan, and tugged out the splinter.

He stared into the wound, searching for other debris, then picked up his open knife and cleaned it with an alcohol wipe. He inserted the tip and moved it back and forth over the raw flesh, feeling for any resistance, anything hard within the flesh. He exhaled, then set down the pliers and the knife.

"That wound needs stitches," Cora said. "A lot of them."

"We'll have to make do with what we've got. Rinse it again," Balenger told Rick. He ripped open four packs of triple antibiotic ointment and squeezed their contents into the wound. "Doing okay, Professor?"

"Feel sick."

"I don't doubt it. You're on the verge of shock. Vinnie, get over here and kneel beside me. Good. Now take off your work gloves and put on gloves from the first-aid kit. Excellent. Now squeeze the wound together."

"What?"

"Squeeze the wound together."

"Are you crazy?"

"It's the only way to do this. You need to hold it together while I seal it."

"For God's sake, seal it with what?"

"The duct tape."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Never mind. If you can't do it…" Balenger turned. "Rick, get over here, put on latex gloves, and hold the wound together."

"All right, all right, all right," Vinnie said. He squeezed the edges of the wound together.

As ointment and watery blood oozed out, the professor screamed.

"I know this is tough," Balenger told Conklin. "I promise it's almost over. But first, I need to ask you to do something really hard."

"What?"

"Keep your knee straight while Rick lifts your lower leg."

"Yes," Conklin said, "that's going to be hard." He closed his eyes and fought the pain.

"Ready?"

The professor nodded.

"Rick," Balenger said. As Rick lifted Conklin's leg and Vinnie held the wound together, Balenger peeled duct tape from its roll, the silvery strip reflecting the lights. He pressed it over the bottom of the wound and began wrapping it around the professor's thigh. As more of the wound was covered, Vinnie shifted his hands up, still squeezing the edges together. The professor sounded as if he was about to weep from the pain.

Balenger kept winding the tape around the wound. He put on a second layer, then a third, a fourth. "Okay, Rick, you can lower the leg."

The professor shuddered.

"Now let's find out if anything leaks. Cora, untwist the rope."

The group tensed as Cora removed the hammer's handle from the rope, creating slack. Balenger aimed his flashlight at the duct tape. They stared.

"Pins and needles," the professor said.

"That means the circulation's returning."

"Throbs. Hurts. God."

Balenger kept staring at the duct tape and silently prayed. He watched for blood to leak from the edges and the seams. "Looking okay." The tape remained silvery.

He grabbed the professor's wrist and again checked his pulse. One hundred and twenty. Lower than it was. Not good but not terrible, given what the professor had been through. Still no blood seeped past the duct tape. "Yeah, looking okay."

He pulled his cell phone from his jacket.

"What are you doing?" Conklin asked. "Calling 911."

"No." The professor found the strength to raise his voice. "Don't."

"No choice," Balenger said. "You need an ambulance, Bob. A hospital. Stitches, antibiotics, treatment for shock. Maybe an EKG. If that duct tape stays on too long, you'll get gangrene."

"You mustn't call 911."

"But we can't screw around with this. Just because I patched you up doesn't mean you're out of danger."

"No," Conklin said. "Put down the phone."

"But he's right, Professor," Cora said. "We need to get you to a hospital as soon as possible."

"Outside."

"What?"

"Take me outside. Then call 911. If ambulance attendants find you in here, they'll alert the police. You'll all be arrested."

"Who the hell cares about being arrested?" Vinnie said.

"Listen to me." Conklin drew a breath. "You'll spend months in jail. The legal bills. The fines. What happened to me is exactly why the police don't want us doing this. They'll make an example of you." He shivered. "Vinnie, you'll lose your teaching job. Rick and Cora, no university will hire you. If Frank makes that call, your lives will be ruined."

"He said 'Bob.' " Rick frowned. "What's going on?"

"I don't understand," the professor said.

"A minute ago, Balenger called you 'Bob.' Not 'Professor,' not even 'Robert.' 'Bob.' I'd never dream of calling you that. At the motel, he introduced himself, but after three hours, for the life of me I couldn't remember his first name. Not you, though, Professor. Just now you called him 'Frank.' My God, the two of you have met before. You know each other."

"You're imagining things," Balenger told him.

"Like hell. You came in here as an observer, and all of a sudden, you're running the show. You saved two of us from getting killed and acted like it was business as usual. Clint Eastwood crossed with Dr. Kildare. Who the hell are you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Balenger said, his stomach churning. "There isn't time for this. We need to get the professor to a hospital."

"Get me outside," Conklin said. "Then phone 911."

"It took us two and a half hours to go this far."

"Because we dawdled. If you hurry, you can get me outside in a half hour."

"Quicker, if we use the crowbar to pry the front door open," Vinnie said.

"No! You can't leave a sign that you were in here. If the police look around and find a broken door…" The professor trembled. "I'll never forgive myself if I ruin your lives. You need to take me back the way we came in-through the tunnel."

"But what about your life?" Balenger demanded. "What if you hemorrhage while we're trying to get you out of here?"

"I'll take that risk."

"This is crazy."

"In your experience, does duct tape seal a wound for an acceptable length of time?" Conklin asked.

Balenger didn't answer.

"Who the hell are you?" Rick repeated.

"The duct tape," the professor said. "How long?"

"If it's removed within a couple of hours…"

"Help me up," Conklin said.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Get me up. Rick and Vinnie can support me. I can hobble on my good leg."

"But-"

Conklin winced. "I weigh two hundred and ten pounds! It'll take forever if you try to carry me!"

"Calm down," Balenger said. "You don't want to have a heart attack on top of everything else."

"Why is he trembling?" Cora asked.

"Shock."

"We could have been on our way by now," Conklin said. "We're wasting time."

Balenger studied him. "Bob, is this really what you want?"

"'Bob,' " Rick said again.

"I've lost my professorship."

"Lost your…?" Vinnie looked stunned. "What are you talking about?"

"I've been ordered to leave the university by the end of the term."

"What in God's name happened?"

"The dean found out what I was doing. He's been looking for ways to cut costs, especially tenured positions. He had the faculty senate terminate me for breaking the law and endangering students."

"No," Rick said.

"I'm an old man. I don't have much to lose, but you three are just starting. I'll never forgive myself if I ruin your future. Help me up! Get me out of here!"

"How?" Balenger asked. "The staircase collapsed. What are we supposed to do? Lower you by rope from balcony to balcony?"

"There'll be emergency stairs."

They scanned their lights around.

"Over there. A corridor," Rick said.

"Keep us together. Rick. Vinnie. Help me up."