"You're not helping!"
"Because I'm trying to keep this damn car moving!"
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
"The bleeding won't stop. We have to–"
"Are they still behind us?"
As I open my eyes, everyone in the car is losing their minds, which is kind of reassuring since it means I'm still alive. At least for now.
Looking like he's aged ten years in the past few minutes, Dad is practically in my lap, pressing his hands against my shoulder and muttering something about staying with him, while Ellen rummages through a bag, throwing things she's finding unusable out, one-by one. Up front, Jed is whipping the steering wheel left and right as he drives through the night like a madman as Nelly looks at a large paper map that covers most of the windshield, yelling a mix of locations and directions at her boyfriend.
"That sign said Wickham Road, right? There should be a hospital at the next exit—"
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
"We can't get off course, Nel," Jed interrupts her. "I don't know if we're being followed, but it's likely those goons have friends just waiting for us to stop. And believe me, they won't let us leave so easily next time."
She throws the map down and punches him in the shoulder. "Will's hurt and he's going to bleed out if we don't get him bandaged up. We need to stop somewhere for supplies, dammit."
Aww, she cares.
"I . . . appreciate that," I croak through ragged breaths, but speaking uses more muscles than I had expected and the exertion brings a sharp pain to my shoulder. "Oww."
"Try not to talk," Dad says, lifting his palm and peeking under before I feel the flow of a warm liquid drenching the spot.
Blood. My blood. I've been shot and now I'm bleeding. The pointed recollection makes me light headed and my eyelids flutter.
"Oh, shit," Dad mutters and he presses down harder.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
From behind him, Ellen clutches a single glove and forces a weak smile. "You'll be fine," she whispers to me before turning around. "DRIVE FASTER!" she yells at Jed, and I now I'm pretty sure that I won't be fine.
"I WOULD IF WE DIDN'T HAVE A FLAT—"
"Calm down, kids!" yells Dad and I almost laugh.
I haven't heard him so exasperated in a while, and it reminds me of when Ellen and I were little. We were such brats sometimes, and Dad's familiar choice of words now just seems so hilarious to me for some reason, until I put two and two together. That thunking sound I keep hearing must be the damaged tire and it's likely the reason we're moving so slow in spite of the urgency. That thunking sound is the reason everyone is stressed out. That thunking sound is why I'm going to die.
Man, I'm really late on the uptake today. I guess that's what getting shot gets you. Who knew?
"He's losing consciousness!" Ellen screams before my face is drenched with cold water.
"Aargh." I draw in a sharp breath as I come to, instinctively trying to sit up so I don't get splashed again. But Dad pushes me down.
"Hold up, buddy," he says with a lot more levity, obviously pleased that I'm not dead yet.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
"I'm bleeding," I mumble, trying to touch my wound with my free hand.
Switching places with Dad, Ellen stops me. "Yes, you are. And we're trying to fix that. Now if you'll just relax for one freaking minute, maybe we can figure out how to get you help without all of us getting shot, too," she says, giving me a sip of water from the nearly empty bottle in her hand.
YOU ARE READING
Vanguard | Post-Apocalyptic YA
Science FictionMost days, life 1,500 ft below the sea is peaceful or even predictable. But this isn't one of those days. * * * Will Scott has never seen daylight. He was born eighteen years ago aboard Vanguard, an undersea base where the remaining members of huma...
