Page 44 of A Wrench in the Plan
I followed it until the end, only to realize that it was tucked behind a metal frame.
I wasn’t giving up. Dragging my fingers along the wood, I prayed I wouldn’t get a splinter as I followed it to the other end. This time I was in luck, feeling the end of the plank. However, it was screwed in tight and there was no way I was getting the plastic between it and the metal it was screwed into. I continued to feel around, squatting down so I could find the one below. There was a small gap there. It was going to be awkward, but I had to try.
“Talk to me,” I urged Chry as I worked.
He let out a dry laugh, causing me to pause. There wasn’t a single thing about what was going on that I saw funny.
“Fucker is a shit shot,” he said, coughing. “Only hit me once.”
One shot was better than six or however many had been fired, but it was still one shot too many. I was also worried about all the other damage they had done to him.
Slipping the corner of the wood between my wrists, I pulled. And pulled. And pulled, this time with a tiny grunt. The only thing I was doing was successfully cutting my skin.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Getting free,” I huffed out, straining to pull again. “Ow.”
I knew it was a stupid move, but I planted my feet against the side wall and pushed out. Of course that was the move that did it, the plastic snapping, leaving me to fall flat on my face, effectively causing the cuts to start leaking blood again.
“Fuck, Cat!” Chry called as he tried to get to me. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I grumbled. Half of me was completely embarrassed and the other half was feeling the pain of the fall.
I had my hands free but didn’t know what to do next. Getting Chry free was the logical step, but I couldn’t exactly drag him over to the plank and do the same thing.
“Let me check you out,” I said, gently feeling around his side until my fingers grazed over tacky blood and then a hole in his shirt. Fresh blood pooled around my hand as I felt the wound. This wasn’t good. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been shot and lost half of my blood.”
“Dizzy?”
“Little bit.”
“Nauseous?”
“Not until you said that.” He tried to laugh, but it sounded dry and forced.
“Can you breathe okay?” I shot back, ignoring his attempt at easing the situation.
“Yeah,” he said.
Removing my cardigan, I tried not to think of how filthy the thing was now. I had to stop the bleeding first, then worry about what I might have infected him with later.
I got to work, balling the main part up and pressing it against the wound. As I held it, I felt around his back, but didn’t find an exit wound. The bullet was still in his body, and I’d watched enough medical documentaries to know that could potentially cause further harm.
“Son of a fuck!” Chry roared as I applied more pressure. “You trying to kill me?!”
I let out a half laugh at his over-dramatic fussing.
“You’re free?” he asked as if he suddenly just realized I was using my hands.
“Yes. I broke them on the wood.” My wrists were still burning and I was pretty sure I’d cut the skin doing it, but I was free.
“Can you get me out?”
“How?” I asked, already moving around him to fiddle with the ones around his wrist. There had to be a way. I just couldn’t think right now.
“Grab the ones that you broke.” I wordlessly rushed back to the corner, feeling around until I had the plastic in my hand.
