Week #2 - October 28, 2005
A woman and her dog are crossing the street, when a black car comes racing around the corner, nearly crashing right into them. As they dive out of the way, several passers-by see the near-accident and run to see if the woman is okay. Her dog is already bounding around her as she rolls into a sitting position and onto the curb.
"Are you okay?" a tall, lanky man calls, running over. His friend, also tall and thin, runs past them towards the car, which has crashed just a block down the street....
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"Are you okay?" a tall, lanky man calls, running over. His friend, also tall and thin, runs past them towards the car, which has crashed just a block down the street....
Click here to read this week's entries.
posted by Paul Keetch at
12:01 AM
1 Comments:
"Keep going! You need to help your friend," the woman gasps, leaning on her dog for support. She can hardly believe what she just saw. "The man in the car needs help!" Panting, the man stops in front of her, not heeding her instructions. "Go!" she yells at him, standing up and pushing him up the street. "You need to go help him right now!"
He stays there, resisting for a moment longer, unable to comprehend why this woman, who was very nearly run down only a minute earlier, would care so much about her almost hit-and-run driver. 'Shock,' he thinks to himself. 'She must be in shock after such a close call.' But something about the way she looks at him makes him turn around and run after Charlie, his friend, who, he can see, is just arriving at the black car.
As Charlie looks into the car, the driver, who is lying slumped in his seat, suddenly jerks awake, coming fully to his senses and causing Charlie to jerk back involuntarily. Catching himself, he reaches for the door and yanks it open.
“Don’t touch me!” the driver yells.
“I’m here to help,” Charlie says, his hands outstretched and his voice soft and, he hopes, reassuring. He can hear Simon’s feet slapping against the pavement. He is close.
“You don’t understand – you cannot touch me. I am infected.”
“Infected?” Charlie asked, stepping back involuntarily, “Infected with what?”
“I don’t know. But you must get me to the hospital. Or better yet, bring the hospital to me.”
Simon arrives, chest heaving massively from the exertion of running. ‘Gotta ... quit ... smoking ...’ he thinks, putting his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. A siren begins to wail – someone has called 911.
“Please, let me help you.” It is Charlie, talking to the man in the car who, Simon realises for the first time, is in a whole heap of trouble.
“You mustn’t touch me,” repeats the driver.
“Why not?” Simon asks, meaning the question as much for Charlie as the driver.
“I’m/He’s infected,” they say in unison.
“Infected? Infected how? By what?” The ambulance is closer now.
“I don’t know, exactly,” replies the driver. “But I’m sure you don’t want it. Just don’t touch me. It’s better this way.”
“But, you’re leg....” Charlie is pointing into the vehicle. “You’re bleeding heavily. If we don’t do something about it quickly, you could use your leg. You might not walk again if you don’t let us help you.”
“I’m not going to walk again, leg or no leg. They’ve been able to confirm that much, at least. I expect to die sometime tonight.”
The ambulance roars up and screeches to a halt beside them. The paramedics jump out, pulling gear with them as they come, pushing Charlie and Simon out of the way as they rush towards the injured driver.
"Don't touch me!"
/pk
By
Paul Keetch, at 9:58 PM
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