by Adam Drake
The doctor motioned for some orderlies to bring over a rolling bed. Gently, they eased Ethan onto it. Ethan was completely limp. Wyatt couldn't tell if he was breathing anymore.
The doctor used a stethoscope on Ethan's chest. Then he quickly barked an order at a nurse and she placed a hand pump rebreather over Ethan's mouth and started squeezing. The doctor stood over Ethan and placed his hands over the middle of his chest and pushed down, hard. CPR.
Oh, God! Wyatt thought staring at what was happening in total disbelief. He can't die! Not now! Not after I brought him all this way!
The doctor pressed down over and over on Ethan's chest so hard that Wyatt feared he'd break some ribs.
The surrounding people went quiet, watching.
A movement tore Wyatt's eyes away from his dying friend. Casket and Scarface were pointing at Ethan and pantomiming laughter, enjoying the scene.
Wyatt stood frozen. He looked to Ethan's face, covered by the rebreather. The doctor worked frantically.
He didn't know how long it was, but after a while Wyatt realized the doctor had stopped. The doctor shook his head, reached to Ethan's face at his vacant open eyes and gently closed them.
No, no, no, this can't be happening, Wyatt thought. A rush of emotion surged through his body. This can't be happening! He got him here to the clinic! He can't die now!
The doctor turned to Wyatt with a somber expression. Over his shoulder Casket and Scarface were guffawing silently, slapping each other on the back.
“I'm sorry,” the doctor said. “Your friend has passed away. If he'd had gotten here sooner, or if we had electricity we might have-,” but the doctor didn't get to finish before Wyatt suddenly lunged forward.
Wyatt knocked the doctor aside as he charged at Casket.
Casket, expecting some sort of reaction, suddenly whipped out his large knife.
People screamed.
In an instant, Wyatt crossed the distance between them and collided with Casket. Casket tried to stab at Wyatt, but the old hobo caught his arm with a vice-like grip.
Wyatt's momentum pushed them back against a wall where people leapt out of the way. As they hit the wall Casket head-butted Wyatt in the cheek causing him to see stars, but the hobo kept on fighting. He smashed the Feral Kid in the face with the knuckles.
Casket suddenly collapsed to his knees, the knife wielding hand going limp.
Scarface punched at Wyatt's back like it was a punching bag. Wyatt grunted with each hit. Calmly, he reached down and took the knife from Casket's hand. Then he slashed backward with it and a red line appeared across Scarface's throat.
Wide-eyed, Scarface stumbled back, clutching at his neck where blood geysered from the wound. With shock he locked eyes with Wyatt, who watched him coolly, and tumbled to the ground, gasping.
Wyatt spun around to face Casket. “This is for Ethan, you shit.” He jabbed the large knife straight into Casket's face right to the hilt.
Casket fell to the ground, dead.
Wyatt stood, gasping, a strange calm washing over him.
The massive guard ran in from outside and took in the scene. Quickly, he unholstered his pistol and pointed it at Wyatt with both hands. “Drop the knife!”
Wyatt looked about in a daze. Casket dead at his feet with the knife sticking out of his head. Scarface convulsing on the ground in a widening pool of blood.
“Drop the knife, now!”
“You better do as he says,” Wyatt heard someone say. He looked over at Ethan on the roll-away bed.
Ethan was looking at him, alive as ever.
“Ethan?” Wyatt said in confusion. “But you're dead! I saw you die!”
Ethan shrugged. “Yeah, well shit happens. Least I died wearing nice shoes. Better than most can say.” No one seemed to notice that he was speaking, all eyes on Wyatt. “But what good would all of this have been for if you joined me now?”
Wyatt blinked in confusion, then looked at the pistol pointed at him. He willed it to shoot.
“Don't do that,” admonished Ethan's corpse. “Your time isn't now. You know that. There is still work to do.”
Wyatt's mind reeled. This was all too familiar, but he couldn't remember where, or from when.
“Drop the knife! I won't say it again!” yelled the guard, a look of pleading was in his eyes. He didn't want to do it, but he would if that's what Wyatt wanted.
Is that what I want? He thought to himself. He looked to Ethan, again, for guidance.
Ethan's body lay still on the bed, eyes closed.
There is still work to do.
Wyatt dropped the knife, and it clattered to the floor. He placed his hands behind his head.
He had the sense he was being handcuffed, but it didn't fully register. Instead, he gazed at the bloody carnage at his feet. A realization dawning on him.
Oh, no, he thought. I've done it again.
END OF BOOK ONE.
Book Two is Forthcoming
