Cyrus made it sound as if that was our best chance of survival, and through all of this, and right now, he was the only person I trusted.
I peeked back at the man in question and found him pale as he leaned a little to his left with his eyes half closed, giving him the appearance he was ready to pass out.
My nerves picked up again with another stomach roll. I unhooked my seatbelt and leaned back into the other portion of the cab, where he had a neatly made bed as if the trucker had woken up that morning and tidied up. It was a stark contrast to Baby.
Cyrus smiled at me and tried to move to his side, but he only lifted the top portion of his body, too weak to move the rest. I’d given him my towel from my shower, which he wrapped around his arm, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but the red color seeping through would draw attention.
I pushed back the fabric to look at his arm and pulled air through my teeth. The knife had gone deep and left a large gash in his arm. He needed stitches and quickly. Blood trickled from the wound again and I pressed the towel against the skin, drawing a groan from Cyrus.
He didn’t look good. I needed to get Cyrus help as quickly as possible, but I didn’t know who to trust. My entire world had been thrown upside down on the last day. Were hospitals safe? How wide was Bernard’s reach?
I laid my hand on Cyrus’s leg and squeezed it gently. “It’s going to be okay,” I whispered.
The truck swerved, and I caught Dennis’s eyes in his review mirror as he watched me use the edge of the towel to wipe up the blood trickle from Cyrus’s arm. “Are you two in trouble?”
“No,” I said with as much conviction as possible, even though neither of us believed it.
Cyrus lulled his head to the side as he leaned up against me for support. He definitely wasn’t portraying everything is fine vibes.
“Listen, I’m not an unfeeling asshole, but I can’t have him dying in my truck. I’d lose my job.”
My eyes widened, and for a moment, I considered hitting the driver. I wanted to just reach out and deck him in the arm. I’d never had the urge to cause violence to anyone in my life, but did he really consider Cyrus bleeding in the back of his truck less important than him losing his job? Did he just suggest Cyrus would die?
I took a deep breath and counted to ten so I wouldn’t scream. “He’s not going to die,” I said, louder and more forcefully than I meant.
But it was the truth. I would not let Cyrus die on my watch. He kept me alive the entire time. He saved me on multiple occasions. Without him, I’d still be on a boat somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. Or worse, swimming with the fishes. It was now my turn to save him.
The cut on his arm wouldn’t kill him right away, but there was always a chance he’d go into shock or the wound might get infected. Eventually, he’d run out of blood. We needed to get help.
Quickly.
The truck slowed and Dennis twisted the wheel to the right, headed for an exit ramp.
“What are you doing?” He couldn’t be ready to stop so soon. We were on the road for less than two hours since leaving the truck stop in Georgia. We weren’t even out of the state yet.
He couldn’t stop now. I’d only been in charge a few minutes and already I was failing.
“I’m dropping you off,” he said at the end of the offramp before making a right.
“You can’t leave us, please.” What did I do in Georgia with no money, no help, no shoes, and a bleeding Cyrus?
Dennis pointed out the window of his truck at a blue sign with a big H on it. “I’m not the devil. I’ll get you to an ER and then you are on your own. And I would much appreciate if you leave my name out of it.”
“Of course,” I said, doing my best to move Cyrus without causing him pain. There was no point in arguing. The truck came to a slow stop, the wheels and brakes halting in front of a tall brick hospital in the middle of what looked to be a busy town, but I never caught a sign with the name.
Cyrus leaned against me, and I used one hand to help him out of the truck. I stepped out before him and then he practically fell into my arms as he moved out from the tall seat. Sweat beaded down his forehead even though we hadn’t been out in the street for more than a second. He had to have a fever. Cyrus nodded once at the trucker and I slammed the door, flipping him the bird quietly behind my back as he drove out of sight and left us behind.
“He’s not getting a big check,” Cyrus said in a hoarse whisper.
“No, he is not.”
I had no idea where we were or who to trust. We had no way to get ahold of Cyrus’s brother or the man, Ridge, who was supposed to help us. Cyrus and I were on our own and I had to save the day this time. The summer sun beat down on both of us and Cyrus shook. So far, I wasn’t doing great.
Cars stopped in front of the emergency room entrance and people unloaded themselves from the vehicles. We sat on a small bench by the door together as I figured out what to do, thankful no one ran at us asking why I was holding a bleeding man. Six days earlier I would’ve walked him into the ER and taken solace in knowing nurses were there to keep him safe.
That’s what nurses did.
Now I worried about the safety of the building. What if they put his name and information in the computer system and then the people who were after us tracked us right to our location? Plus, it wasn’t like I had a good reason for Cyrus to have a knife wound in his arm. The hospital would definitely report an injury like his to the local police.
