bleeding.”
“Yes . . .” she brushed her tears away, bit down on her lip. “I’ll stop it, darling. It’s—it’s just . . . Oh, my dear, I feel so helpless. . . .”
She ran back to the car for the makeshift bandages, returned and undid his shirt. The caked blood and the feel of the soaked material sickened her, but her fear that he might die stiffened her nerve, but when she opened his shirt and looked at the two small black holes oozing blood in the centre of his chest, darkness came down on her and she sat hunched up, her head in her hands, shivering.
“Don’t let it scare you,” Steve said, raised his head with difficulty and looked at the wounds. His mouth tightened—it was worse than he thought. There was a cold feeling creeping up his legs, and pain, like white-hot wires, stabbed his chest. “Carol! Come on, sweet. Stop this bleeding.”
“I can’t do it!” she cried. “I’ve got to get help. Where can I go, Steve? Where can I take you?”
Steve lay still, tried to think. He felt the whole of his chest had been laid open and that a salt wind was blowing down on the exposed nerves and flesh.
“Doc Fleming,” he managed to say. Carol could scarcely hear his murmur. “Straight down the road through Point Breese, the second turning on the left. A small house off the road, stands by itself.” He struggled against the faintness, forced it away, went on: “It’s a good twenty miles. There’s no one else.”
“But twenty miles . . .” Carol beat her clenched fists together. “It’ll take too long. . . .”
“There’s no one else,” Steve said, and his mind swam away in a liquid pool of pain.
“I’ll go,” she said, “but first I’ll do what I can.” Then she thought, “I must take him with me. Of course; I can’t leave him here. I should never have got him from the car.” She bent over him. “We’ll go together, darling,” she said. “If you can help yourself just a little. I’ll get you into the car.”
“Better not,” Steve said. He felt blood in his mouth. “I’m bleeding a bit inside. Better not move me now.” And blood ran down his chin, although he tried to turn away, not wanting to frighten her.
Carol caught her breath in a sob.
“All right, my dear,” she said. “I’ll be quick.” She began to make pads with the handkerchiefs. “And, Steve, if anything . . . I mean . . . oh, darling, I love you so. I want you to know. There’s no one but you, and I’m so frightened and lonely . . . Do try . . . don’t leave me . . .”
He made an effort, smiled, patted her hand.
“I won’t. . . that’s a promise . . . only be quick . . . .”
But when she lifted him to take off his coat, his face suddenly turned yellow and he cried out, his fingers gripping her arm, then he slumped back into unconsciousness.
She worked feverishly, strapping the pads tightly against the wounds. Then she ran to the car, found a rug, rolled shirts and pyjamas into a pillow and made him as comfortable as she could.
She hated leaving him, but there was nothing else to do. She bent over him, touched his lips with hers, then with one last look back she climbed into the car.
She never remembered much of the drive to Point Breese. She drove the car recklessly, her one thought was to get Doc Fleming back to Steve. The road was broad and good, and she was only conscious of the noise of the wind as the car flew along. At that hour in the morning—it was a little after two o’clock— the road was deserted and her speed seldom dropped below eighty. Once rounding a bend she narrowly missed another car (it was Magarth coming up to Larson’s place), but it all happened so quickly that she was only half aware that another car had passed her. She arrived at Point Breese as an outside clock chimed the half hour past two. The journey had taken her just under the half-hour.
She found Doc Fleming’s house easily enough, and brought the Packard to a stop outside. She ran up the garden
“Yes . . .” she brushed her tears away, bit down on her lip. “I’ll stop it, darling. It’s—it’s just . . . Oh, my dear, I feel so helpless. . . .”
She ran back to the car for the makeshift bandages, returned and undid his shirt. The caked blood and the feel of the soaked material sickened her, but her fear that he might die stiffened her nerve, but when she opened his shirt and looked at the two small black holes oozing blood in the centre of his chest, darkness came down on her and she sat hunched up, her head in her hands, shivering.
“Don’t let it scare you,” Steve said, raised his head with difficulty and looked at the wounds. His mouth tightened—it was worse than he thought. There was a cold feeling creeping up his legs, and pain, like white-hot wires, stabbed his chest. “Carol! Come on, sweet. Stop this bleeding.”
“I can’t do it!” she cried. “I’ve got to get help. Where can I go, Steve? Where can I take you?”
Steve lay still, tried to think. He felt the whole of his chest had been laid open and that a salt wind was blowing down on the exposed nerves and flesh.
“Doc Fleming,” he managed to say. Carol could scarcely hear his murmur. “Straight down the road through Point Breese, the second turning on the left. A small house off the road, stands by itself.” He struggled against the faintness, forced it away, went on: “It’s a good twenty miles. There’s no one else.”
“But twenty miles . . .” Carol beat her clenched fists together. “It’ll take too long. . . .”
“There’s no one else,” Steve said, and his mind swam away in a liquid pool of pain.
“I’ll go,” she said, “but first I’ll do what I can.” Then she thought, “I must take him with me. Of course; I can’t leave him here. I should never have got him from the car.” She bent over him. “We’ll go together, darling,” she said. “If you can help yourself just a little. I’ll get you into the car.”
“Better not,” Steve said. He felt blood in his mouth. “I’m bleeding a bit inside. Better not move me now.” And blood ran down his chin, although he tried to turn away, not wanting to frighten her.
Carol caught her breath in a sob.
“All right, my dear,” she said. “I’ll be quick.” She began to make pads with the handkerchiefs. “And, Steve, if anything . . . I mean . . . oh, darling, I love you so. I want you to know. There’s no one but you, and I’m so frightened and lonely . . . Do try . . . don’t leave me . . .”
He made an effort, smiled, patted her hand.
“I won’t. . . that’s a promise . . . only be quick . . . .”
But when she lifted him to take off his coat, his face suddenly turned yellow and he cried out, his fingers gripping her arm, then he slumped back into unconsciousness.
She worked feverishly, strapping the pads tightly against the wounds. Then she ran to the car, found a rug, rolled shirts and pyjamas into a pillow and made him as comfortable as she could.
She hated leaving him, but there was nothing else to do. She bent over him, touched his lips with hers, then with one last look back she climbed into the car.
She never remembered much of the drive to Point Breese. She drove the car recklessly, her one thought was to get Doc Fleming back to Steve. The road was broad and good, and she was only conscious of the noise of the wind as the car flew along. At that hour in the morning—it was a little after two o’clock— the road was deserted and her speed seldom dropped below eighty. Once rounding a bend she narrowly missed another car (it was Magarth coming up to Larson’s place), but it all happened so quickly that she was only half aware that another car had passed her. She arrived at Point Breese as an outside clock chimed the half hour past two. The journey had taken her just under the half-hour.
She found Doc Fleming’s house easily enough, and brought the Packard to a stop outside. She ran up the garden
Similar Books
