“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I said, “help’s coming.” I reached out and touched the side of his face.
His skin was clammy and cold. His eyes were terrified, desperate, pleading. His mouth opened, but no noise came out.
I gathered the end of my dress, bunched it as best I could, and rammed it against the waves of blood pumping from his neck, pushing as hard as I dared, trying to halt the flow.
The young man stood a few feet away, hovering above. His face was the color of the moon, his mouth a cave, like he was waiting for bats to fly out.
“Help,” I said, glancing up. He didn’t budge, his chest flared in and out, I don’t think he even registered what I said, so I shouted, “Fucking move.”
He jerked into action and bent down on the opposite side. I looked down, and almost wished I hadn’t. His injuries were ghastly. One of the tear marks on his stomach was so deep, a stream of what looked like giant blood worms could be seen. In the background the girl was shaking violently and trying to speak to an administrator at the hospital, having to repeat herself over and over so she could be understood beneath a flurry of tears.
“Take your jacket off and push your hands over that and press,” I said, my voice high with panic. The smell of blood, a metallic scent, crawled up my nose until I could taste it.
He looked reluctant, horrified, but he did as I asked. It didn’t take long for the blood to seep through the jacket onto his handand the boy’s hands blended with the rest of Jefferson’s torso. The hand I’d rammed against his neck was warm and wet.
I glanced up. The girl was off the phone, it hung limply in her loose hands, her body swayed dangerously from side to side.
Jefferson made a gurgle sound. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to speak or whether the pressure caused pain.
“Shh, it’s going to be okay,” I whispered, “don’t try and talk, we have help coming.”
His breathing was fast and shallow. Every time he drew the air in it wheezed in his throat and when he breathed out, it gurgled, like a drain. He made an ‘ugh’ sound and coughed weakly, blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth and spilled down his chin.
“You’re going to be alright,” I lied. He was as good as dead. It wouldn’t matter if the best doctor in the world was here, even if a team of them arrived, there was no way to stop that amount of bleeding.
He closed his eyes for a long moment.
“Did you see anything?” I asked the boy.
“Uh, uh, no, we found him like this,” he stammered.
Jefferson’s eyes sprung open, “Uhh,” he slurred, and more blood slithered like a demonic snake from his mouth.
Ignoring the natural instinct to recoil, I moved my face closer to his so I could hear him. I stroked the side of his head with my free hand. His breath was mingled with whiskey and the rusty, sickening smell of blood.
“Un,” he said, as he tried to lift his head.
To see him trying so hard to speak and being unable to understand him clenched my heart.
“It’s okay, Brian, you’re going to be okay.”
His eyes were wide, frantic, he took a wheezing breath and said, “Run.”
Not quite clear, but clear enough I finally understood. Cold found a home in my skull and travelled over my entire body. I had to restrain myself from searching the tree line for whatever threat lay out there that he wanted us to run from.
“You’re safe now,” I said, choking back the lump in my throat. “Help’s coming.”
Where the fuck were the vampires? They should be here by now. They must be caught up with humans, unable to use their speed until they were out of sight.
“Chris… tell him…love,” his voice was a weak croak.
“That’s his son,” the boy said.
My heart broke.
“You can tell him later, okay,” I breathed, trying not to cry, and failing. “You can tell him later, how much you love him.”
The blood rolling from the sides of his mouth was awful. Jesus, where was everyone, what was taking so long?
