This is from Derrick's Perspective
I watched as Maria's oldest cycled through a whirlwind of emotions. Her face was like a damn kaleidoscope, shifting from horror to fury, then dipping into sadness before bouncing back to horror. Then came the pain, the regret, and back to horror and sadness again. It was like watching a tennis match, her emotions volleying back and forth.
Her mom and aunt didn't say a word, and I didn't have any additional comments. I just hope this didn't mess her up as much as I did.
She was just a kid, really. Sure, she was older than I was when life decided to take a dump on me, but she was still too young. Too young to have the harsh realities of life smack her across the face with a bag of wet crap.
The past few days had been a whirlwind of activity mind-melting boredom. A chaotic blend of rush and wait. It was a rhythm I was familiar with from my time in the Marines. Hurry up and wait, they used to say. I hated it then, and I hated it now. But life doesn't care much for what I hate.
Today was no exception. The day was heavily skewed towards the 'wait' side of things, with long stretches of nothing after the morning commission. It was the kind of day that made me feel like a coiled spring, getting tensioned more and more, always on edge, always waiting for something to happen.
And something did happen, eventually. But not until the evening, when the sun was already sinking low in the sky. There was a knock on the door, a sharp, urgent sound that instantly put me on high alert.
I swung the door open, ready for action. What I found was Gator standing there with a grin on his face that was equal parts pain and amusement. "What do you want, racist raccoon?" I asked, my tone had equal parts annoyed and amused.
It was then that I noticed the blood. It was soaking through a rag he had pressed against his arm, dripping onto the ground in a slow rhythm.
Gator's grin widened, even as he winced from the pain. "Not much, you overgrown Mardi Gras float," he shot back, his voice strained. "Just need some medical attention. I'll bring payment later."
I turned back into the house, raising my voice to carry through the rooms. "Rosalina, we've got a stray in need of patching up. And bring something to catch the blood."
Rosalina appeared in no time, her face a mask of concern. "What happened?" she asked, her gaze darting around. But as soon as she saw Gator's face, her expression shifted. She calmly walked. "I'll get a tray," she said, already turning towards the kitchen.
She returned with a baking sheet, holding it under Gator's arm to catch the blood as she led him to the kitchen table. As she unwrapped the rag from his arm, she asked, "So what happened?" I leaned over them to get a better look. The rag removal revealed a gash running from his wrist to his elbow on the back of his arm.
Gator shrugged, wincing as Rosalina prodded at the wound. "I was doing stuff in the truck and fell off," he said, his voice strained.
Rosalina shot me a look. "Derrick, you're going to help me hold the edges and clean this," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Gator let out a laugh, the sound more of a pained grunt. "Nurse Bennett, you better polish your bedside manner!" he joked.
I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. "Were you drunk or high this time?" I asked, my tone dry.
Gator shrugged again, a smirk playing on his lips. "Probably both," he admitted.
Rosalina grabbed some supplies from her bag, "Good thing Derrick managed to get those medical supplies," she called over her shoulder, "or you'd be out of luck."
Gator turned his gaze to me, a wide grin on his face. "Well, ain't I lucky to have Nurse Derrick on my side?" he quipped, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
As Rosalina and I worked on patching up Gator, he began to ramble on about his plans. Apparently, he was done preparing for his get-out-of-dodge plan. He was planning on leaving the city the next day, eager to escape the chaos that had taken over. "Can't wait to get out of this godforsaken place," he said, his voice filled with a strange mix of excitement and relief. "All these animals killing each other... it's not for me."
I smacked him lightly on the forehead for that, earning a chuckle from him. "Watch your mouth, raccoon," I warned my tone half-light.
Rosalina finished applying the meat glue to Gator's wound, her movements precise and efficient. She reminded me of Doc patching me up more than once. She slathered on some antibiotic cream before covering the wound with a bandage. "There," she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "All done. Now get out of here. I need to clean your blood from Maria's kitchen."
Gator pushed himself up with one arm from the table, grunting in pain as he did so. He shot us a grateful look and said he'd bring some food as payment before leaving tomorrow. And limped out of the apartment, leaving us in a state of waiting once again. The rest of the day passed in a blur, the hours ticking by with agonizing slowness till bedtime.
As darkness began to creep in, I decided it was time to call it a night. I trudged over to my air mattress, looking forward to rest, only to lie on a deflated and uninviting bed. With a sigh, I got up on my knees and started blowing it up.
Finally, with the mattress inflated to a minimally acceptable level, I laid down, my body sinking into the soft plastic surface. I closed my eyes, letting my thoughts drift as I settled into a state of "meh" sleep.
The night was punctuated by the distant sound of gunshots. Each time I heard a shot, my eyes would snap open, my body tensing, ready to spring into action. But each time, the sound would fade, and I'd force myself to relax, to settle back down into my uneasy slumber.
That was until the unmistakable crack of a .357 special rang out, followed by a blood-curdling scream. My heart pounded in my chest, and I was on my feet in an instant, gun in hand. This was close. Too close. A second shot, more screaming. My instincts kicked in, propelling me towards the front door. I could feel the excitement and adrenaline pumping through my veins, sharpening my senses and focusing my mind.
Rosalina appeared out of nowhere, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. She scrambled past me, heading for the door, but I caught her arm, pulling her back.
"You can't do much there. This is my job, not yours," I said, my voice steady, my grip firm. I forced myself not to smile, knowing that it would only unsettle her further. People always seemed to be weirded out when I smiled in the face of danger.
"But we have to help!" she protested, her voice rising in panic. "Someone's hurt. We can't just stand here and do nothing."
"Wait till you can help, but stay safe till then. Got it?" I said sternly.
The sound of two more gunshots made Rosalina shudder, punctuating my message. She finally nodded in understanding. Time to go to work.
I opened the door and sprinted out into the darkness, my heart pounding in my chest, adrenaline flowing jet fuel through my veins. At the corner, I stopped and surveyed the scene, trying to make sense of the shadows and silhouettes moving around. It was hard to tell who was who, and I didn't want to shoot the wrong person.
Good thing I had chosen to wear dark clothing. It allowed me to move stealthily from cover to cover, getting closer to the shouting and fighting figures. As I got closer, I began to recognize some of the faces, and I knew who I needed to help.
From close range, I took aim and fired, dropping the attacker before moving on. The Tome look-alikes screamed and backed away from me, their faces filled with terror. I didn't have time to reassure them; I had to keep moving each time.
I continued to advance, my gun at the ready, my senses on high alert. I was counting my shots and unhappily realized I was down to half the magazine. That's when I saw Tome go down, a guy looming over him with a baseball bat in one hand and a gas lantern in the other.
I was about 45 feet away, outside of the effective target range.
I aimed as best I could, using the lantern as a target, moving sights slightly to center mass, and squeezed the trigger. The shot missed, and I sprinted forward. As I got closer, I aimed and fired again, not slowing down, my focus narrowing to the guy threatening Tome. At least he was no longer focusing on him.
I was about three strides away when something caught my eye. I skidded to a stop and turned my head just in time to see a guy swinging wide with something glinting in his hand. I moved just in time to keep my body out of the way, but a searing pain slashed my forearm, making me drop my gun.
I roared in pain and rage, grabbing the knife that had hooked into my arm. I could feel it digging into my flesh, and I wrenched it out of the hand that was holding it. Hot blood spurted out of my arm, drenching me, and then I heard a bone-cracking sound and a shooting pain radiated throughout my body. It caught my breath in my lungs, making me double over for a second.
But I didn't have time to stop. Anger, fueled by adrenaline, made me roar in pain as I flipped the knife into a reverse grip. I swung hard and buried the knife in the guy's face, yanked it out, turned, and plunged the borrowed blade into the chest of the guy who had slashed me.
The first guy's lantern fell, his body slumping backward dead, illuminating my gun. I picked it up, holding my right arm to my probably broken ribs and aiming with my left as the remaining thugs ran away. I didn't bother shooting at them; the crisis was ending.
I stood there for a moment, my chest heaving, my body starting to tremble, and the taste of blood in my mouth from me biting my lip in pain. The night was suddenly quiet again; the only sound was my ragged breathing and the distant cries of the wounded.
I heard Tome's voice from the ground, weak but grateful. "Thank you."
I looked down, but I couldn't see him beyond a silhouette in the dim light. My body was starting to protest, the adrenaline wearing off, leaving me with the sharp pain in my ribs and arm. I was fairly sure the apartment was safe now.
Carefully, I put my gun back in its holster with my left hand, wincing as a shooting pain lanced through my ribs. I grabbed the gas lantern and stood it up; the flickering light brightened, casting eerie shadows on the ground. Extending a hand to Tome's shadow, I felt him grip it with a grunt, and I pulled him to his feet, my own grunt of pain escaping as I did so.
Bending over and lifting the lantern, I finally got a good look at Tome's face. It was bloodied, bruised, and cut. "Shit, man, you look as bad as I feel," I joked, chuckling and wheezing, trying to lighten the mood.
He gave a weak smile, his eyes filled with pain and exhaustion. "I could say the same about you."
We shuffled from downed person to downed person, helping them up and guiding them back towards Maria's house. As we made our way back, I could feel my body dumping the last bits of adrenaline, the pain in my ribs and arm becoming more insistent. I knew that Rosalina would be there to patch us up. She had her work cut out for her tonight.
Rosalina was standing at the door, her medical supplies laid out on the table, ready to go, as we shuffled in. Her eyes widened at the sight of us, bloodied, bruised, and broken. That didn't stop her from running triage with the help of the lantern I brought in. and she started patching us up in order of threat.
Maria, on the other hand, was standing in the hallway, blocking it. She was pale, her eyes ablaze with a fire I hadn't seen before. Her hands were crossed across her chest, her shoulders squared, and even though I stood two heads taller than her, she was the one who looked intimidating at that moment.