Page 1 of Snow Blind

Chapter 1-Accident

This was a test. Ithad to be a test. There was no way on God's pretty planet that the last six days of her life weren't some form of an endurance or mental capability test to not fall off the sanity wagon. She had driven the three hours and forty-six minutes from Plainfield, Indiana to Antioch, Illinois to begin her training with Passion Fruit, the Accidents Specialist. A weekend off to spend with her main squeeze, The Mustang, was just what she needed to clear her mind in preparation to learn how to stage accidents cleverly. Helen McDaniel, codename The Cranberry, was on the third leg of a hairy dog training regime to become a Technician. As an on-boarding member of the Great Lakes Crew of Forbidden Fruits, her training thus far was composed of spending three months with each member of the crew.

In August, she spent ten really weird days with The Bad Apple to assess her strengths and weaknesses. He cut the training time short after she shut down three warehouses of weirdness with kids taken off the streets of Milwaukee. What she saw in those buildings were the things that created lifelong nightmares. However, she endured. As a reward, The Cranberry earned a two-week break, which she spent in Oregon with her man before heading to Ohio to spend three months with Lemon to learn chemistry. In her opinion, the Bad Apple and Lemon needed to trade handles because that woman would test the patience of Job. They departed company as colleagues in early-November, and The Cranberry knew entirely too much about plants, toxins, and quick ways to stop a heart from beating. Today, on the evening of Veteran's Day, she arrived in Illinois to a really strange text message.

"This is a test. It has to be some form of a test," Helen said aloud as she arrived at the home of Passion Fruit. "What is that funky-ass smell?"

The instructions she'd received via text were very specific. There was a code for the gate.

ALL OF THESE STEPSshe followed, arriving at the rear of the home to spot a sight she wasn't prepared to see.

"This is a test," she said aloud, exiting the vehicle with her purse dangling from her wrist. Helen dropped the key inside her purse and walked up to where Passion Fruit stood over a body that was immobile, lying on an old Army green woolen blanket. "This is a test."

"Stop standing there gawking and get over here and help me," Passion Fruit commanded.

Helen didn't ask questions. She dropped the handbag in a pile of dirt and ran over. She was told to grab the feet and on the count of three, they lifted a very heavy man onto a gurney. It had to be a test. Why would she arrive at someone's home to help them move a body?An alive body? Or was it no longer alive?

They hoisted the body onto the gurney, and with one lift of her foot, the transport table rose. Passion Fruit yelled at Helen, "Push!"

Helen obeyed, pushing the man on the hospital table into the home. A loud moan eked from his lips, leaving Helen to sigh in relief at the answer to her question about the man lying supine on the moveable bed.

"Okay, he's alive," Helen said.

"Not for long if we don't get a move on," Passion Fruit told her. "Remove the boots and start cutting off the pants. There's a bullet in him, we need to find it, plug the hole, then cauterize the wound."

Helen reached into her pocket and pulled out her favorite knife. She unlaced the boots and pulled them off his feet, noticing the immediate ballooning inside the socks. Her blade sliced through the fabric of the khakis, and she spotted the compound leg fracture.

"Compound fracture, right fibula," she noted, cutting away the fabric. She moved up the man’s legs and continued cutting away the material. "Dislocated knee, contusions on the right quad, left quad, broken skin on left thigh."

Helen undid the belt. Gently, she pulled it open, cutting the fabric to expose boxer briefs, black, and damp. There was no blood on the legs except for the wounds. She continued up the torso while Passion Fruit started a fire in the large fireplace. The shirt came off, and a dark wound jumped out at Helen from his belly.

"There are internal injuries," she called back, cutting away the shirt. She located the hole in his left shoulder. "Bullet wound, upper left shoulder."

Blood pumped out slowly. She feared his heart rate was slowing down or either his body was running out of red juice, and the man would be dehydrated, dead from lack of blood. Her hand slid under his back, feeling.

Helen called out, "It is not a through and through; the bullet is still inside of him!"

It was then she made it to his face. She screamed in horror at what she saw. "Dear God, where is his face?"

A flap of what used to be the man's face hung to the side like chicken skin removed from a thigh before baking. Helen tried not to gag. "This is a stupid test. I think I quit."

"You can't quit," Passion Fruit said, coming up beside her and passing her a pair of nitrile gloves. "If we quit, he dies."

"Is this one of your accidents gone wrong?"

"My accidents don't go wrong," Passion Fruit said. "We need to get the bullet out and run a line of at least two pints of O-neg, which is in that small fridge in the mudroom. Grab those please."

Helen didn't question, but mumbled under her breath, "Of course she has a mini blood blank, the bitch has a gurney! I am failing this test. I am so failing this test."

"Stop talking to yourself and bring me the blood," she said.

Helen returned with the two packs of life juice, passing them to Passion Fruit, who shook her head no. Passion Fruit explained what she was doing to locate the bullet as she used a slotted cannula to poke around in the hole in the man's left shoulder, digging around to locate the source of the blood loss.

"Can't you like use a magnet or something to attract it instead of digging in the man like that?"

"Bullets aren't ferromagnetic and are lead covered in copper," Passion Fruit spoke softly, locating the bullet. She pulled it out and laid it on his stomach. "Grab me that poker in the fireplace."

Helen did as she asked, bringing back the poker, thinking she wasn't going to stick that hot metal into that... Helen cried out, "Son of a bitch! I'm going to pass out! Jesus, hold my hand!"

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