Peter Grist - Flashback

Buster kept going, his goal was Sheriff Rosen, and he could just see him through the trees, but he was feeling weak, he started to slow. Adrenaline pushed him forward but his legs started to feel like jelly, his eyes were losing focus but he couldn’t understand why. When the mayor had fired he had felt a couple of stings, like a bee, but now his strength was sapping. There, not fifty yards ahead, Rosen was looking back at him then running on. Buster stumbled and went down on one knee. He looked down at his stomach; his shirt was covered in liquid. He touched it and felt the thick stickiness of it. In the darkness of the forest, it looked shiny black. Another dark patch was leaking from a hole through his cargo pants in his thigh. George arrived at his side, panting. “Buster, you okay man?”

“George, I don’t feel real good, I think I bin shot.”

His friend knelt down beside him. “Argh craps Buster, what you gone and done. Sit down against this tree, let me take a look at ya.” With an effort he helped his friend over to the base of a large pine and let him slide down until Buster’s legs were stretched out in front of him. “What bout Rosen, he getting’ away. He killed my little princess!”

Don’t you worry none about him, he’ll get his due soon enough, right now I need to take a look under your shirt.” George managed to untuck Buster’s shirt and pull it up enough to see the wound. It was the size of a nickel, just to the right of centre but it was bleeding heavily. George got a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over the whole. “You push down on that hard while I take a look at your leg.” He got a multi-tool from a pouch on his belt and unfolded the knife. With the greatest of care, he cut into the fabric of Buster’s pants. Another nickel-sized hole cut into the dark flesh and muscle. That too oozed blood but not as quickly as the stomach wound. George looked down at his own body, looking for something he could use as a tourniquet. Nothing seemed obvious. “What in hell am I gonna do?” he asked himself.

“If you’s thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ to strap ma leg wid, you could do worse than your belt there.”

George looked down at his waist.

“Less you afraid O losin’ your pants!” Buster added with a faint smile on his lips.

“Of course!” he exclaimed.

He un-cinched the buckle and slid the brown leather belt through the loops of his old army fatigues, popping the tool pouch into his pocket. As he gently slipped the belt under the huge thigh of his friend he tried to keep Buster distracted. “Well I guess with all the beers I been drinking lately I don’t think I really need the belt anyway my pants are getting so tight.” The humour wasn’t lost on Buster with George being as thin as he is, but he still winced as George moved the belt around Buster’s leg. He worried that the belt wouldn’t be long enough but it came round and he hitched it tight just above the wound with a couple of notches to go. The blood still oozed slowly. “I think you need to pull tighter.” said Buster.

“Well okay, but hold on, this is gonna hurt some.” George tugged hard on the belt and took it to the last notch, the blood stopped flowing almost straight away. Buster didn’t flinch when it was done but George could see the pain etched on his friend’s face.

“That’s all I can do for you right now old buddy. I need to get you some help.”

I ain’t worried ‘bout me, I want to get Rosen and get back to my Gracie.”

He started to struggle to his feet causing a fresh pouring of blood from the stomach wound. George gently pushed Buster back down. “You just sit there and do as your told, I’m gonna head back to the clearing and get some help. I doubt Rosen will come back this way but,” He walked swiftly back to where Willets lay heaped at the bottom of another large tree and pulled the revolver from the dead man’s hand, barely looking at the glazed stare coming from the corpse. He went back and knelt beside his friend. “Take this, just in case but don’t go to sleep okay?”

“Okay George” he slurred back in reply, “but I do feel awful weary.”

“No, you mustn’t go to sleep Buster; I’m counting on you to watch my back now ya hear?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Well, that’s all I can ask for.” And with that, George stood and ran back the way the two friends had come, back towards the clearing. Buster sat with his legs outstretched and his hands on his lap, holding the revolver. His head turned left to right slowly, watching the path that Rosen had taken and the surrounding trees and vegetation.

Ed Saunders heard someone coming straight towards him, making no effort to conceal their movement and they seemed to be moving fast. He stopped and knelt down behind a tree, his browning pointing towards the noise as he peeked into the darkness to try and see who it was. Within seconds he saw George barrelling towards him, his shotgun held across his chest at the ready. Ed didn’t want to get shot by mistake so he shouted before he stepped out. “George! It’s Ed Saunders.”

George stopped immediately and started pointing the two vicious looking barrels of his weapon toward where he heard the voice in the dark.

“George, it’s me, Ed, Ed Saunders.” He repeated. Ed stepped out very slowly from behind the tree as George peered forward in the gloom to see better. Recognition came across George’s face as he saw Ed’s torso tentatively appear. The barrels of the shotgun came down immediately, much to Ed’s relief.

“Ed, Buster’s been shot; it’s pretty bad I think. We need to get him to a hospital fast!”

“The State Police are on their way, they’ll have a medic and some first aid kits with them.”

“I don’t think he’s got that long, I stopped the leg wound but he’s got a hole in his gut too!”

“Shoot! That sounds bad, okay I’ll go and see if I can help Buster, you go back to the clearing and get John and someone else. Between the four of us, we should be able to carry him to John’s pick-up and get him down the hill. Get Linda to call 911 and have an ambulance meet us at the bottom.”

An engine started somewhere in the distance and roared loudly as it headed away from them.

“Rosen and Willets!” exclaimed Ed.

“No, just Rosen, Willets is dead. Buster ran him over, literally.”

“Oh, okay well that’s one less arsehole in the world I guess. Right get going George.”

“Follow this track straight back about half a mile, you’ll find Buster, but be careful, he’s got Willets gun.” With no other words, they turned and went in opposite directions as fast as their legs would carry them.

The Sheriff saw Willets shoot the dumb nigger and get tossed out the way like he was made of tumbleweed or something, but that was fine by him, the old coot was slowing him down anyway. Jeeze, he was as slow as molasses in January and speed was going to be important now. He still didn’t understand how that dumb-assed salesman had found out about the black girl or where she was buried for that matter, but it was too late now, he had to get back to his place, pack and git the hell out of this one whore town. He was still ahead of the game though. He had a secret stash of money, a gun and some clothes in the barn just in case something like this ever happened and if time allows, he knew where Willets’ safe was and the combination to get into the thing. Now that old coot was loaded, but not as half as smart as he thought he was. Just a damn shame he never got to take that librarian bitch up the ass before wringing her scrawny neck, but you never know how things will turn out, he might still get a chance yet. Just gotta get off this damn hill.

By this point, Rosen had reached his Ford Crown Vic. His keys were still in the ignition, he turned the engine on, bashed Willet’s Caddy out of the way as he backed up then spun his car around and rammed his foot down on the gas pedal. The engine protested until he finally grabbed the gear shifter and rammed it into second then third. He wasn’t worried about ruts or potholes now. He banged his head several times as the car bounced out of a dip but he never released the gas pedal until he came close to the end of the first track and he barely slowed for that either. Now on the paved road, he went faster still, looking as far ahead as the headlamps allowed. He was coming out of the hills and onto one of the main county roads. His frequent looks in the rear-view mirror told him that he wasn’t being followed, yet, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He was coming up to the left turn to take him towards the rail crossing. The car fish-tailed as he took it at speed, jerking the wheel around viciously but he kept the pedal to the metal throughout. Now it was just a straight run back through town to his place.