Starvation Mountain

by Robert Gilberg

  The shotgun, falling and pointed at Jim’s leg and the Harley’s engine, fired from the impact with the windowsill. It hit both. The shot pattern sent most of the pellets into the V-Twin’s rear cylinder, but the outer fringe of the pattern tore into Jim’s knee. Most of the buckshot load hit the top of the engine cylinder in the valve train area, causing the engine to freeze and sending the bike into a severe skid that threw Jim over the handlebars and into the ditch alongside the road. The Harley cartwheeled down the road another fifty feet before landing on its side, badly bent and smoking. Penny, watching over her shoulder, had seen this happening as she started her U-turn and quickly completed a full three-sixty, heading for Jim, lying motionless in the ditch near a small rock pile.

  Jim was conscious when Penny arrived, but dizzy and unaware of the situation.

  “Jim, are you all right? Jesus, look at the blood. You’re bleeding from the back of your knee, honey. The shot must have hit you there.”

  Pulling away the tattered fragments of his jeans, she looked at Jim’s knee, “Oh my God, it must have hit the artery in the back of your knee; it’s pulsing blood.”

  Jim, now more awake and frightened by the sound of fear in Penny’s voice, leaned over to look for himself. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad. I’ll pull my belt off to use as a tourniquet. Help me with it.”

  They ripped the belt out of the belt loops and wound it around Jim’s thigh, slightly above his knee. First Penny, and then Jim, twisted and tightened it with all their strength so the blood pulsing slowed, but did not completely stop.

  “This isn’t good enough, Jim. We need a real tourniquet and someone stronger than me to tighten it.”

  “It’ll have to do for now. What is that car doing? Have they gone on, or are they coming back?”

  Penny crouched up just enough so she could see over the rock pile. “The car is sitting there, off to the side of the road. It looks like the driver is leaning over to the passenger side, checking on him. Did you hit him when you shot?”

  “Oh yes. Right in the forehead. He’s probably trying to see if he’s dead. Look, he’ll be coming back for us in a rage, we’ve got to protect ourselves. Do you see my gun?”

  Penny scanned around the immediate area in a three-sixty circle, “No, I don’t see it. The shotgun is laying out by the road though. Should I get it?”

  “Yes, go get it before the driver comes back this way. We’ll need it.”

  Penny crawled out to the edge of the road, grabbed the gun and brought it back to the rock pile.

  “Look to see if there are more shells in the magazine. You know how to do that with a pump-gun?”

  “Hell, yes. My dad taught me all about shooting these things when I was in high school.” She unscrewed the end stop, looked into the magazine and found it was full, except for the one shot that had been fired.

  “Penny, I’m getting faint. You’re going to . . . to have to . . . to handle things. Can you shoot it if you need to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you shoot a man—if you need to?”

  “If it comes down to him or us, I can shoot him.”

  “Okay, pump a new shell into the chamber and hide behind these rocks and watch what he does. I’ll use my cell phone to call 911.”

  Shivering from nervousness, she said, “Okay, honey. Oh God, Jim, please get someone here fast!”

  As Jim called for emergency assistance and waited to speak to someone, he noted the roadside sign giving the ten-mile distance to Shiprock. It seemed like a long way with blood pumping out of his knee at an alarming rate. But at least he could direct the emergency team to their position.

  “He’s coming!” Penny yelled.

  The Navigator had turned around and was now creeping back toward them, using the smoking motorcycle lying by the road as its target. It stopped by the Harley, fifty feet up the road from their hiding place. But it wasn’t a hiding place; the rock pile would give Jim and Penny only a scant amount of protection.

  The driver remained in the Navigator, thinking he’d try to sweet-talk her. “Show yourselves. I don’t want to hurt you, I just want to ask for some information.”

  Fat chance! “Then why the hell was your guy pointing that shotgun at us?” Penny yelled back.

  “Just getting your attention. But we weren’t going to shoot anyone.”

  “Sounds like bullshit.” She yelled back. “Just leave us alone so we can get medical help as fast as possible. We don’t have anything for you. Who are you anyway? And why would you think we have something you want?”

  “Mack told us you would.”

  “Oh, fuck Mack! What did he tell you I have?”

  “A notebook. A notebook of maps and codes.”

  “Well, if I had it I sure as hell wouldn’t have it out here. I’m on vacation, for God’s sake!”

  “We have the notebook now. I want to know if you told anyone about it, or made copies and gave them to anyone.”

  “We have it? Who is ‘we?’”

  “Don’t worry about that. Tell me what you did with the book when you had it.”

  “Nothing. I don’t even know what it is. It didn’t concern me, so I put it away.”

  “How do I know that you’re not lying?”

  “Why would I lie? I don’t care about something I don’t know anything about.”

  “Look, I’ll give you a good deal. Get your friend in my car and I’ll take you to get medical help.”

  It was an obvious trap. Penny knew he didn’t care about Jim, it was only a way to get her in the car. Then what?

  “I’ve just told you everything. You’ve got it now, so leave us alone.”

  “I’m coming to you. I’ll leave my gun here and we can just talk this over.”

  “Don’t! Don’t get out of your car.”

  “Listen, little honey, I’ve dealt with a lot of bad characters in my time and you’re not intimidating me. We can settle this peacefully.”

  “Don’t get out of your car.”

  “Are you threatening me? You don’t know who you’re messing with.” He opened the door.

  Penny hadn’t been showing the shotgun. Now she raised it from beside her leg and slid it to the top of the rock pile.

  “Please, just stay in your car.”

  Tommy did a SWAT-cop maneuver and rolled out of the car, coming up on one knee, leveling his handgun at Penny, saying, “I’m not interested in killing you, but if I have to shoot you, I will. You killed my partner and I’m losing patience with this.”

  Penny wasn’t about to lose any more time getting help for Jim. “This shotgun is unlocked and has a full magazine. Don’t make me pull the trigger. I have a wounded friend and I’m not going to fuck around with you.”

  “I don’t think you’ll do it.”

  Penny fired a shot at the open car door that blew an eight-inch hole in the sheet metal and pasted the door back against the doorframe. “I think I would.”

  Startled, Tommy decided he’d better end things as soon as possible. No chick could stare down a bull rush, so he charged at Penny using the combat technique of zig-zagging back and forth, avoiding the open ground in front of the rock pile. It could have been a suicidal move, but one he thought would intimidate her and affect her aim—or even that she’d panic, bail out, and duck behind the rockpile. In his experience, women usually chickened out in similar situations.

  “You must be crazy,” Penny yelled as she tracked him with the gun barrel. As he crossed in front of the Navigator, she fired but the shot passed behind Tommy, blowing the entire windshield into the back seat in tiny fragments. Startled by the sound of a full twelve gauge shot load hissing and screaming only inches past his ear, Tommy stumbled and ducked to the ground in a defensive posture, lying on his side, trying to steady his handgun in a firing position. Penny stayed with him, maintaining her aim as he tried to rise to a shooting stance. She flicked the reload pump, charging the firing chamber with a new round, and in nearly the same motion, pulled the trigger.
The twelve-gauge’s full shot pattern hit Tommy in his lower abdominal area and doubled him over, felling him face down in the dirt and gravel. A huge puddle of blood quickly formed under his body. He bled out in a matter of minutes, or even seconds.

  “Penny, what’s happening? Are you okay?” Jim said with a weak voice.

  “I shot him and I think he’s dead, or dying fast. How are you doing with an emergency crew?”

  “They’re on their way, but they wanted to know if there’s an active shooter situation going on. I told them there was, and they’d need a police escort.”

  “Call them back and tell them it’s over and they won’t have to worry about that. Tell them we need them to concentrate on getting you to a hospital.”

  “I will, but I’m sure they’re going to be cautious and not let the paramedics come to me until they’ve checked it out for themselves,” Jim said in a dry, ragged, weak voice.

  “Jesus, they could spend hours doing that. Tell them the assailants are dead and they need to get you help fast!”

  She crawled over to where Jim was lying in his own puddle of blood, hanging onto his cell phone.

  “I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” She kneeled to hold his head in her lap, repeatedly kissing his forehead.

  “Tighten up that tourniquet as much as you can. I need every drop we can save. It’s a long way to Shiprock,” Jim said as he faded.

  Penny lost it as she sat with Jim’s head in her lap, crying and praying to hear the wail of sirens in the distance. Where the hell are they?

  Jim slipped his hand over hers to let her know he was still there, hanging on, “I love you, Penny Lane,” he whispered.

  “Oh Jesus, Jim, please stay with me. Please.”

  After what seemed to be hours, but was only a few minutes, sirens sounded in the distance. Please, please, please hurry. He doesn’t seem to be breathing . . . .

  Damn, they’re stopping way back there by the Navigator. “Over here! We’re over here!” she shouted.

  They’re looking at the dead bodies and scouting around like they think there are more people with guns. We told them that’s all over. Fuck!

  “There aren’t any more of them, it’s safe,” Penny screamed, “You’ve got to get my friend to a hospital!”

  “Who are you, lady?” a deputy asked.

  “I’m with the person who called you. He’s my fiancé. He’s bleeding badly and is going to die if you don’t get him to a hospital. They shot him.”

  “What happened here? Who shot these people?”

  “I can tell you all about that later. Can’t we just load him in the ambulance and go?”

  “Get the ambulance up here and have them check the guy out,” the deputy said to his partner.

  “Okay.” He spoke something into his shoulder radio and waved at the ambulance.

  “This guy has lost a lot of blood, there’s almost no pulse,” the EMT said to his driver.

  “Let’s get him loaded and on an IV.”

  They strapped Jim onto a gurney and pushed it into the wagon. Penny followed and insisted on riding in the back.

  “Sit over there, ‘mam, try to keep him awake,” the EMT said as he applied and tightened a real tourniquet.

  Awake? His eyes are closed, he’s hardly breathing, and he’s turning grey-white. “Where is the nearest hospital? Can they give him blood?” Penny asked the technician.

  “It’s in Shiprock. It’s a small hospital, but they have an ER and Urgent Care.”

  “I don’t think Urgent Care is going to cut it,” Penny said.

  “No kidding!”

  “Please, stop,” Penny said with irritation.

  “Sorry, ‘mam. Just trying to make sure you understand what kind of shape he’s in.”

  “My name is Penny.”

  Penny rubbed Jim’s hands and said meaningless, hopeful things as the technician inserted the IV and started a bag of saline. The driver advised them to fasten their seatbelts since it was going to be a fast, rough ride. One patrol car led, sirens blasting, warning the non-existent traffic. The second patrol car stayed behind, the deputies documenting the crime scene.

  The driver called Shiprock to advise the ER of their situation. “We’re bringing in a patient who needs blood yesterday. We don’t know what blood type because he’s not carrying an ID with medical information.”

  A voice on the radio came back, saying, “We’re out of O-neg right now. We’ve been trying to get it out here, but don’t have an answer on when, yet. We’ll have to blood type him.”

  “I don’t think he’ll make it if we have to wait thirty minutes to do that.”

  Penny, who’d been listening to the radio conversation, yelled to the driver, “I’m O negative. Can’t we use my blood?”

  “Are you sure? How do you know?”

  “I had a bad motorcycle accident a few years ago and had to have blood. You don’t forget your blood type after something like that. But I even have a medical slip in my wallet saying O-neg.”

  “Companion says she’s O-neg and wants to use her blood. Says she’s carrying a medical card that states her blood type. What do you think?” the driver asked the hospital. “Can we do a side by side, indirect transfusion?”

  “Maybe, but we need to get her history. How far out are you?” The hospital answered.

  “Five minutes.”

  “Okay, we’ll have a team meet you at the door.”

  “Lady—” the technician started to say.

  “My name is Penny. I’ve got clean blood; I’ve never used drugs other than a joint now and then, I don’t have hepatitis, and I don’t have any STDs. They can call my clinic in San Diego to get my records; I had my annual blood tests six months ago,” Penny said.

  “Sounds good. That’s what I was going to ask you. They’ll do tests anyway to double check types and look for antibodies and other things. But they’ll probably decide to get the transfusion started first and then they can test for those issues while we’re transfusing. They can deal with any complications later. But we’ve got to get him there alive, first.”

  Twenty-Three - Shiprock

  April 25th 2013

  “Jim, can you hear me? Are you awake? Please say something if you can,” Penny pleaded to the still figure in the adjacent bed.

  He’d been in a coma-like silence with only occasional spasms or nearly inaudible coughing sounds while the transfusion was in process. His heart rate and blood pressure had been below danger levels, but some color had returned to his death-grey face in the past few minutes. The last coughing spell had seemed a little stronger and his chest had heaved a little harder. Were these the good signs of a recovering patient, or insignificant distinctions without a difference—or worse?

  “Jim, honey, can you hear me?” Penny’s voice trembled with fear and sobs she tried to hold back, but couldn’t.

  Jim’s little emergency room: two beds and two chairs, a wall of equipment surrounded on three sides by privacy curtains drawn out on ceiling-mounted tracks, provided a minimum of seclusion. The outer room was midnight silent except for the sounds of staff scurrying by outside the small gathering of Jim, Penny, the ER doctor, and nurse.

  Faintly, a hoarse sound came from Jim’s unmoving mouth, “I’m coming, Penny. I’m coming back. He . . . he told me to go back. Where are you?”

  Lying in the hospital bed parallel to Jim’s and afraid to believe her ears, Penny replied, “I’m here, Jim. I’m right beside you. Honey, are you all right? I’m sorry, that was dumb, I just want to know—”

  “If I’m alive? I think so . . . .” Jim’s whispery voice trailed away.

  The ER doctor, quietly listening and watching, looked at Penny and said, “That was great. His vitals are coming back around, and his color is getting better. I think we’re turning the corner. He’ll go in and out like that for a while, but I think he’ll make it, now.”

  “Oh God, doctor, I hope so. What next?”

  “We didn’t use much
blood bringing him around to this point and I want to keep the transfusion going. And I want to have more blood ready if we need it, so I want to have you stay as you are. After we stop the transfusion, I’ll get another unit of blood from you to keep in reserve. It should take less than an hour, if it’s okay with you.”

  Tears in her eyes, Penny answered, “Yes, yes, yes . . . yes, it’s okay with me. An hour, a day, whatever you need.”

  “Okay, just rest. The nurse will bring you something to help you handle your blood loss. I have to go out to talk to the sheriff’s deputies waiting in the lobby.”

  Penny closed her eyes and sobbed uncontrollably, her upper body heaving and tears streaming down her face; her mind alternating between the terror of needing to shoot and kill a man, and happiness over Jim surviving his close brush with death.

  “Who is that crying? Is that you crying, Penny?”

  Penny choked back her sobs, squeezed the tears from her eyes as she rolled over on one side to get a full-length view of Jim in the adjacent bed, only a few feet away.

  “It is me, Jim. I thought I was going to lose you. My God, I’m happy to hear your voice.”

  “What happened? I only . . . I remember that car coming up fast from behind and one of them . . . pointing a gun at me,” Jim said in a halting, scratchy voice.

  “You shot each other. I think you hit him first and then his gun fired and hit you and your motorcycle. The shot hit you in the leg and punctured the artery behind your knee. You nearly bled to death.”

  “I . . . I sort of remember two guns going off, but after that everything went blank.”

  “The gunshot damaged the top part of your engine and it froze. Your bike went into a skid and off the road, throwing you over the high side and into the ditch.”

  “What happened to the guys who were after us?”

  “They’re both dead, but we can talk about that later. We’re going to have to go over it with the sheriff’s men when the doctor okays it.”

  “I won’t remember half of what you would tell me now, anyway. But I need to go over it before we talk to them. What are we both doing, side by side in hospital beds?”