Page 38 of Doc
“Right here.”Doc’s voice came from behind a pillar to Wallace’s left.The deputy chief swung toward it, but too late.Doc had already launched himself at a stack of feed barrels, sending them crashing toward Wallace.The officer jumped back, his shot going wild as the barrels rolled across the floor.
The report of the gun was deafening in the enclosed space.I dropped instinctively, hands covering my head as splinters of wood rained down from where the bullet had struck a beam above me.
“Nova, go!”Doc shouted, already running toward me as Wallace recovered his balance.
I scrambled toward the back wall, ignoring the screaming pain in my ankle.Behind me, I heard another shot, followed by Doc’s sharp intake of breath.I turned in time to see him stumble, his hand going to his upper arm where dark liquid was already spreading across his sleeve.
“Doc!”I cried out, starting back toward him.
“Keep going!”He reached me in three long strides, half-lifting me as we ran for the gap in the boards.“He clipped me.It’s nothing.”
Wallace was shouting behind us, his footsteps heavy as he gave chase.Doc shoved me through the opening in the wall, then squeezed through after me, grimacing as the rough boards scraped his injured arm.The cold pre-dawn air hit my face as we emerged into the open, the eastern sky just beginning to lighten.
“The bike,” Doc panted, pulling me toward where his Harley waited, next to the barn.Blood soaked his sleeve, black in the dim light, but his grip remained strong as he helped me onto the motorcycle.
Behind us, Wallace burst through the barn door, gun raised.“Stop or I’ll shoot!”
Doc swung onto the bike in front of me, kick-starting the engine with a roar that seemed to shake the very ground.I wrapped my arms around his waist, feeling the warm wetness of blood beneath my fingers as I clung to him.
“Hold tight.”He gunned the engine as Wallace’s next shot whistled past our heads.
We shot forward, the motorcycle’s wheels spraying dirt and gravel as Doc guided us onto the rutted farm track.I pressed my face against his back, feeling his muscles tense beneath me as he navigated the rough terrain.
Wallace’s shouts faded behind us, replaced by the thundering of the engine and the rush of cold air against my skin.My ankle throbbed in time with my racing heart, but I hardly noticed the pain.All I could think about was Wallace’s statement: System protects its own.
And now, that system was hunting us both.
* * *
The wind tore at my clothes as we sped down back roads, Doc hunched forward over the handlebars, his injured arm held tight against his body.Blood seeped through his sleeve, dark against the fabric, but he never slowed, never wavered.My arms wrapped around his waist, I could feel the tension in his muscles, the occasional tremor that betrayed the pain he refused to acknowledge.We were alone now -- truly, completely alone.The club couldn’t help us.The police wanted us dead.We had only each other and a duffel bag of evidence that people had already killed for.
After twenty minutes of riding, Doc slowed the bike, pulling off onto a dirt track nearly hidden by overgrown weeds.My ankle throbbed mercilessly, every vibration of the motorcycle sending fresh waves of pain up my leg.I bit my lip to keep from making any sound, knowing Doc had his own pain to manage.
“There.”He nodded toward a dark shape ahead.An old, boarded-up gas station.He guided the bike behind the building, out of sight from the main road, and cut the engine.
The sudden silence was deafening.I could hear Doc’s ragged breathing, feel the slight tremors running through his body as he sat still for the first time since the barn.
“We can’t go back to the clubhouse.”His voice was tight with pain and something else -- resignation, maybe.“They’ll be watching it.”
I nodded against his back, catching the words he didn’t speak.We had no contact.The club -- the only safety net we had -- lay beyond reach.
“Your arm.”I slid off the bike carefully, testing my injured ankle.It held, but barely.
Doc dismounted slower than usual, his movements stripped of their normal fluid grace.Blood soaked the sleeve of his jacket, glistening in the pale dawn light.
“Inside.”He nodded toward a door at the back of the station.“Need to check it first.”
I watched as he tried the door, finding it locked, then pulled a set of picks from his pocket -- the same ones he’d used at the county clerk’s office.His hands were steady despite everything, and the lock gave way within seconds.Some things, once learned, became second nature.For Doc, it was saving lives and breaking into places he wasn’t supposed to be.
The interior was empty except for dust and forgotten debris, illuminated by thin strips of light filtering through cracks in the boarded windows.Doc guided me to a counter that had once displayed snacks and cigarettes, helping me sit on its edge.
“Let me see your arm.”I reached for his sleeve.
He didn’t argue, just shrugged out of his jacket with a barely suppressed wince.The tear in his shirt revealed an angry groove across his upper arm, still seeping blood.
“Grazing wound.No major vessels hit.”He sounded almost detached, as if he were discussing someone else’s wound.
He reached for his medical bag with his good arm, pulling out supplies with practiced efficiency.I took the antiseptic wipes from him before he could open them.
