Rise and Walk (10 page)

Veronica soon found the source of the sound. What she witnessed spurred her into action. She saw a man lying on the dirt in a pool of drying blood. As she rushed to the man she visually assessed the amount of blood he might have lost. The pool was small but there were drops leading to it.
He must have been attempting to get to someone for help
. She knew that she needed to stabilize the man before she could seek assistance. Veronica also had the presence of mind to wonder if she were in any danger. Always ready to aid someone, she threw her own safety aside.

“I’m here to help you,” she said firmly, “I have to turn you over to have a look.”

With gentle care she rolled the man towards her, cradling his head. She wasn’t shocked by what she saw. She had seen worse in her time. The man’s neck was indeed very serious yet she was relieved that the major blood vessels were still intact. She removed her shirt, leaving only her sports bra without a thought to modesty and placed her hand on the man’s carotid artery. Veronica felt a weak pulse.

“You’re hurt bad; keep this on your neck.” She placed her shirt on the wound stopping his breathing for a moment. The man choked and a small amount of dark sputum blew onto the white shirt. She realized that his trachea was compromised and felt tremendous guilt. Understanding the nature of the wound, she rolled the man back over to his stomach.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

She placed her shirt under the man’s forehead to cushion him from the earth. Veronica could barely hold her emotions in check. She almost killed the man by not noticing the severity of the neck trauma. She was so worried about checking his blood loss that she forgot the order of first aid.
Airway, breathing, and then circulation
, she thought. His breath sounds were what drew her to find the man, yet she forgot to check just where he was breathing from. He didn’t have much time however she couldn’t possibly drag him to the office. Care must be brought out here.

“I have to get someone to help. I’ll be right back, just concentrate on your breathing, slow and steady,” she said feeling like an idiot. She rose to her feet and began running towards the nearest camp.

The whistling inhale and gurgling exhale of Clay Morris’s struggle to hold onto life withered with each effort. His brain had already been starved of oxygen for far too long. His body stubbornly persisted to provide for his survival. Overcome by trauma, lack of respiration and infection, he perished without even knowing that Veronica had attended him.

SEVENTEEN

Jack stood near his Kawasaki dirt bike in the camp. He examined his motorcycle helmet very carefully, looking inside for small stowaways. Jack gave the helmet a couple of hard raps with the palm of his hand and peered inside once more. He glared inside wary of any movement. There was little in the world that frightened Jack Mason, but small insects, especially spiders, were the exception. He never could trust a creature who wore its skeleton on the outside. Jack was disgusted by any multi-armed beast that sucked blood from its prey. It had been some time since he last rode and he worried about insects turning his gear into a summer home. When he was a kid, his father told him a story about a man who left his boots outside while camping. A scorpion, attracted by the convenient shelter took up residence in the man’s foot wear. When the man put his boots on the next morning, he was stung by the creature. The story frightened the hell out of Jack. Since then he would always examine his equipment while camping. He had already checked his and Tony’s boots, vests, gloves and now finished with the helmets.

Tony sat at the picnic table brushing his teeth. He spat out a long arc of toothpaste into the fire pit and took a gulp of water from a bottle.

“Didn’t you brush your teeth earlier?” Jack asked.

“I was thinking about going down and saying hi to that chick.”

“The twelve year old?” Jack asked putting the helmet down.

“At least twenty,” Tony countered.

“Don’t bother, here she comes,” Jack said nodding his head up towards the path. Tony stood and looked. He could see the short blondee approach with hesitation. Tony quickly gathered up the Ninja book, the text on explosives and his cigarettes and threw them over his shoulder into the bed of the truck. He opened the door to the cab and looked at himself in the mirror.
Not bad
, he thought, as if his closely cropped hair could get messy. He turned on the ignition and cranked up the stereo.

“Be careful, we’ve been using the battery all weekend,” Jack cautioned. Tony blew off the warning and sat down trying to look casual.

Nikki saw the two men as she came down the path. There stood a long pier at the end of the campground with no water under it. The recent three year drought caused this part of the Sierra Valley reservoir to recede. There was plenty of water at the dam that supplied most of the area’s power, she had read that in the papers, but this campground was experiencing a drop off in water levels. Nikki reminded herself that she could mention the drought if she wanted to impress the men with her knowledge. As she approached closer to the camp she saw the larger of the two sitting at the table reading a newspaper. The one that was in better shape fiddled with a green motorcycle.
They look safe enough
, she thought.

“Hi, I have your prize checks and these,” Nikki said to get the men’s attention.

Tony stood and smiled, he took the checks and knives. Jack continued checking his fuel line without a greeting.

“Oh thanks, that was nice of you,” Tony said smiling.

“Yeah, I’m supposed to tell you that Andy, my boss, he said that he knows something was up and that he would investigate,” she said seeming to be relieved that she remembered it all.

Jack stopped his tune up. Both men looked at her with a touch of skepticism. Tony broke the silence.

“We think the refs had something to do with it. We’ve seen stuff like this before,” he said sitting back down.

Nikki took a step forward.

“Andy didn’t have anything to do with it; he’s good people,” she protested softly.

A disbelieving sound came from Jack as he returned to his work.

“Have a seat. I want to ask you a question,” Tony said. She brushed off the bench with her hand, fearing that her clothes might get dirty and then sat down across the table from him.

“I was wondering, if you don’t mind that is, how old you are?” he asked with as much casual charm that he could manage.

“Twenty-one,” she replied.

“Twenty-one,” he said aloud as to be sure that Jack heard.

“Twelve,” Jack called out, surprising Nikki.

“What?” she asked in response to Jack’s enigmatic statement.

“Twelve Pack, she’s twenty-one, offer her a beer,” Jack said cryptically to Tony. Tony smirked at the inside joke and played the interaction off. He stood and retrieved two beers from the ice chest in the bed of the truck. He offered one to the sweet faced girl with the green eyes.

“You’re twenty-one so you get a free beer. That is if you’d like one,” Tony said holding out the can. She thought for a moment,
how old is this guy
? He looked twenty-five maybe twenty-seven;
why not
?

“Sure,” she said. Tony opened the beer and handed it to her.

“I’m Tony, that’s Jack.”

“Call me Mason,” said the disembodied voice. Jack stood up from his work revealing only his head and nodded a neutral acknowledgement.

“His last name, it’s a football thing,” Tony explained shrugging.

“Nikki Howe, Nice to meet ya,” she said and took a small drink.

Okay
, Tony thought,
how do I look casual yet interesting
? He picked up his paint gun, checked the safety and proceeded to undo the foil tape around the barrel.
Not the coolest of activities
, he thought,
but it might do. I can’t look too interested
.

“What happened on the field anyway?” she inquired while looking at Tony.

“We think the refs were helping out the other side,” he said thoughtfully as he set his gun down on the table. “Plus someone out there was shooting at full power.”

“Full power?” she repeated. Tony took a drink hoping that he looked cool.

“Yeah, this foil tape is to make sure that your gun is set at a certain pressure, these things can really hurt someone at full strength.”

Nikki considered this for a moment. Growing up in a town of seven thousand people one got to know most everyone. Three or four of the referees that Andy had hired worked for Richardson Ammunition. Lance was a spoiled little brat; he certainly could have set this up without Andy knowing about it.

“I don’t know much about those guns, but I can tell you that some of the referees work at the plant in town,” she offered.

“What plant?” Tony asked confused. Jack walked over to the picnic bench carrying a pair of heavy motorcycle boots. He sat down while hiding his interest.

“The Richardson Ammunition Company. We call it the plant. After the Gold Rush, it’s the only reason there’s a town here.”

“Okay, what does that have to do with anything?” Tony prodded trying to get a clear picture of where she was heading with her story.

“Lance Richardson is the guy who won the match, Well Lance and his team,” revealed Nikki with a smile.

“He owns the plant?” asked Mason with a sinister air as he pulled on his left boot.

“No, his daddy does. His grandfather built the plant here in the forties supplying bullets for the war. He helped build the dam and set up the power station. He got people to live up here by offering free electricity and low cost housing,” said Nikki, feeling proud of her recall of local history.

“I could see Lance talking some of the referees into helping him out,” she said to Tony, “A lot of the town works for his dad.” Nikki made an expression of sympathy that Tony found very dear.

“Spoiled little rich kid,” Mason said to himself as he finished putting on his boots. He stood and walked to the back of his truck, contemplating. She continued.

“Lance likes to push people around. Threaten their jobs; kind of an asshole,” she flushed.

“A bully,” Mason said to himself. He looked down into the bed of the truck at his Katana; a large Samurai sword that Jack treasured. He had bought it after his first win at a Kendo tournament when he was fourteen. The sword symbolized honor to Mason. The blade was fashioned from tempered steel giving it great strength and a fine edge. Hearing the tale of treachery was upsetting to Jack. He always played fair and held distaste for bullies. When he was twenty two he caught a man beating up a woman outside of a bar. He put the man in the hospital without a second thought. During the altercation he didn’t even grow angry, he just couldn’t allow that sort of behavior. The police were not too happy with his actions but they did understand. He was released while the other man was charged with assault. Sometimes you had to take matters into your own hands. He was serious about his chivalry. As he looked at his sword, Jack thought about personal honor. His opponent on the field had no honor, and he was a bully. A combination that Mason held in contempt.

“I heard the guy from the magazine say that you cut a player’s throat with a magic marker,” Nikki said directing her voice towards Jack. She found his quiet demeanor interesting and thought that she would try to engage him in more conversation.

“No one’s ever done that before,” she smiled.

He raised the sword out of the truck and into her view without an answer. He turned his back to sharpen his weapon on the tailgate. His intention wasn’t to be rude; rather, his mind was elsewhere. Her smile faded.

Okay, maybe I should leave that one alone
, she thought. Jack was attractive but the other man was approachable and she found herself more interested in talking to Tony. Remembering that the men were from out of town and would be leaving soon she wondered why she cared.

Mason was the first to hear the rumble of a vehicle approaching. He lifted his head and focused his sharp eyes on the road. Tony heard it moments later and turned to see a Dodge four wheel drive speed into their camp. The truck roared in and skidded to a halt throwing a cloud of dirt into the air.

Lance jumped out first with his companions following from their side of the truck. Lance was grinning with a self satisfied array of pearly whites. Mason lifted the sword up and left the scabbard in the bed of his truck. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to actually use it. Mason was practiced enough to defend himself without having to cut someone but accidents could happen. He held the sword to his side so that the men could see it as a deterrent.

“Whatcha doing with that sword, you fuckin’ ticket?” Lance asked with a laugh. His cronies joined in. In Lance’s town, whenever he got caught doing something questionable, the police just gave him a citation. He got away with a lot and his friends knew it.

“You never know when you might have to cut a punk,” Mason half threatened. He narrowed his gaze to Zeke and the line drawn across the man’s neck. “He knows what I’m talking about.”

Lance reached inside the cab of his truck and produced a Remington 870 shotgun. Mason recognized the weapon immediately.
A classic
, he thought. He bet that Lance was bluffing even though he noticed that the safety was off.

“I hear that Hoss, that’s why I carry this,” Lance displayed the gun proudly. Tony stood and dropped his hand to his paint gun flicking off the safety surreptitiously. Nikki saw Tony’s actions and decided that she should try to intervene.

“Why don’t you boys keep weapons out of this?” she pleaded springing to her feet. Lance seemed to consider for a moment.

“Why not?” Lance said as he threw his rifle on the front seat of his truck. Mason made a mental note of the man’s carelessness with a weapon. Tony lifted his other leg over the bench and gave himself some fighting room. Mason saw the two other men with Lance begin to make fists in preparation.

“Three against two,” Mason accused as he walked with a relaxed stride, leaving his sword on the tailgate, “that’s not very fair.”