Yeah. That was a realistic fantasy. Not.
He spent the next two hours fretting back and forth over whether he would or wouldn't do what he knew he should do versus what he shouldn’t.
But who the fuck was he kidding? He was invested, whether he thought it was a good idea or not. He knew for a fact he would be all up in her business, probably to the point where she’d wish she’d never even thought of his name, let alone called him, and he’d be right back where he started.
When they stopped briefly to check on her, he watched Demon’s face. The man was stone-cold, but Triumph didn’t have to be a medic to know the man was concerned. The cooler air in the mountains helped some, but the warmer air at ground level was a haven for bacteria. A wound that wouldn’t seal was begging to become infected.
“Steel, we need to stop for a while,” the medic advised. “We’ve got to get this wound to close properly. She keeps popping stitches from all the bouncing around. At this rate, it’s a toss-up whether infection or blood loss will be the end of her.”
“I need a better vantage point. Give me ten.”
If Triumph hadn’t been watching Steel, he would have sworn he had powers of invisibility. One second, he was there. The next, he was gone. All he’d really done was confirm the direction he was facing, then strode into the trees as if he were walking down a sidewalk, and then he was no more. That’s how thick the vegetation was.
Demon hopped out of the truck bed, went to the passenger side, and came back with his backpack. After rustling around in it, he brought out a thin towel, a lighter, several airplane bottles of whiskey, a needle, and some silk thread. He looked up at Triumph. “You still have that gun?”
“Yes.”
“I need to repair some of these stitches. Keep an eye out. More importantly, listen carefully. If all natural noises stop, something bad’s about to happen.”
“Got it.”
Warring with himself, he wanted to keep his eyes on what the medic was doing to Glennon, but he also knew the importance of keeping his eyes and ears open. If they were caught by surprise, supervising Demon’s handiwork wouldn’t mean jack shit.
Taking a calming breath in and a slow breath out, he centered himself. Watching the trees, he worked to dispassionately focus on what he could hear. The breaking of the seal on the whiskey bottles. The sound of the liquid glugging out as Demon rinsed his hands with one, then poured the second on her wound. The sound of a lighter being flicked as he sterilized the needle. The soft words in Irish—an apology, perhaps, to Glennon for the pain he was about to inflict with the stitching. Her whimper each time the needle pierced her skin, even in her unconscious state.
When the man finished, he broke open another of the small bottles and poured it over the wound. Quietly, he said, “I need togive her an injection of antibiotics. I don’t suppose you know if she’s allergic to anything?”
“I don’t remember anything in her legend about medicine issues.”
“Well, I guess we’re going to find out.”
He pulled a medical bottle and a syringe kit out of his bag. “I need you to sterilize a spot on her upper arm. There should be another whiskey bottle in there.”
Triumph dug in the bag. The man was a veritable pharmacy. Bottles of unmarked pills. Needles in sterilized pouches. Liquid medicines. Bandages of all kinds. Gloves. Cannulas. Instruments like scalpels and forceps.
And then there was the shit that didn’t seem to be medical, but somehow, he knew they were. Ballpoint pens. Heavy-duty markers. Clothespins. Twine. Rubber tubing. Water bottles. Airplane alcohol bottles. Plastic freezer bags. Tampons. Condoms. A couple of adult diapers. A dental mirror. Several playing cards. Not the whole deck, just about a half dozen.
The man even had a collapsible funnel, for fuck’s sake. Triumph did not want to know what that was for.
And that didn’t even compare to the several large, wicked-looking knives the man had in various pockets.
What he didn’t see were any personal items. Extra clothing? Toiletries? Even Triumph had packed extra underwear, socks, another T-shirt, deodorant, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. He wasn’t a complete savage.
Of course, when he did that, no one expected they’d be driving cross-continent. It was planned to be an in-and-out, single-day trip. Maybe their stuff had been on the aircraft that blew up?
And he definitely didn’t want to think about what Steel’s backpack had in it. Probably a machete, one of each kind ofhandgun known to man, his own knife collection, and a grenade launcher.
It was too much. He shoved it all down—pack, pack, pack—and decided to try for ordinary. “You carry all this other shit, and you don’t carry alcohol wipes?”
“Oh, I do.” Demon expelled the air bubbles from the syringe and waited as Triumph prepared the injection site. “Makes the pack lighter, although not by much, as I get rid of them. However, drinking alcohol serves more purposes.”
“Like when you gave her tequila before you stitched her up. Right. Didn’t think of that.”
Sterilization complete, Demon inserted the needle, depressed the plunger, and then removed it. “I gave her a small dose right now. If she tolerates it, I can give her another in a couple of hours.”
“And if she doesn’t tolerate it?”
“I’ve got some antihistamines. Worse comes to worst, I have epinephrine. After that point, we’d have to find a doctor of some sort. Or a veterinarian.”
