Atlas Reloaded - Book Five of the Damned of the 2/19th

Bloody Work

"You're really pale, Franky," she said. I coughed, nodded, and swallowed the mouthful of blood.

She wasn't lying about her boobs. Big DD's, with round soft brown areola and soft gumdrop sized nipples. They sagged a bit, but the big ones always do, so that made it all right.

"All right, I've got my bra off," She said.

I smiled at her, holding back a cough.

"Make you feel better to look at them?" She asked me softly, reaching out and putting her hand on my cheek. I nodded slowly, just staring at them, letting myself float on a cushion of pain and combat chemicals.

I could see the network of bluish veins around the areola, forming a circle that fed the delicate tissue of her areola and nipple. I could see the old stretch marks from her body had grown into womanhood and age had tugged her breasts gently downward.

I coughed, a little one, flooding my mouth with the taste of old pennies.

They would be warm and soft to the touch, just the right firmness, and my fingertips would make gently soft divots when I lifted them slightly to take the weight off her shoulders and back and ease the strain on the ligament. Her nipples would harden when I brushed my thumbs across them, holding them up, supporting them, making them feel weightless to her, and I'd watch the areolas crinkle up and her nipples hard. She gave soft gasp, her toes clenching in the grass as we stood together in the warm summer field, stripping each other naked and...

"Franky," she said, snapping her fingers. "Franky, you're drifting."

I blinked, and the field vanished.

"Franky," She snapped.

"I'm," I licked my dry lips. "I'm here."

"OK, now what that my cans are out?" She asked me.

"On my right hip is a knife. Be careful drawing it, it's sharp as fuck," I told her. "There's also a Leatherman, get them both."

"All right," she said softly. She got the multitool out first, then drew my Gerber Mark II Fighting Knife from the sheathe with a liquid whisper of steel on oiled leather. "Christ, Franky. OK, what now?"

"Use the Leatherman to unscrew the fork side to side control," I told her. I coughed and this time I felt the blood spill from the corner of my mouth, running down my cheek. The pressure inside my chest increased.

"All right."

I watched as she unscrewed the safety knob then clamped down on the metal stick and started twisting it. It took a couple of minutes, but she managed to get it loose. When she looked at me her eyes opened wide.

They were blue.

"Christ, Franky," She started.

I swallowed and shook my head. "Leg first, Carol. I'm bleeding out."

She nodded. "OK," she said. "What now."

"OK, use my knife to cut everything away from the elastic underband of your bra," I sighed. "OK, if I pass out, this is what you need to do is this: Cut one of the sleeves off your t-shirt, wrap your brown t-shirt about two inches above the plexiglass. Then wrap your bra-band at least twice around my leg, then use the ends to make a tourniquet. Cut the sleeve open, wrap it around my leg, use it to stabilize the tourniquet crank. Every twenty minutes or so, release it for the count of five, then tighten it again."

"Fuck, Franky," She said, licking her lips.

"I'm gonna sit up. You're gonna have to do it fast. I'll try not to pass out," I told her. I looked at her and licked my lips, tasting blood. "Go when you're ready."