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“Hammond, you’re hurt!”
“What about you?” He took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Alex. She was sitting on her knees in the passenger seat, reaching across the console to examine his arm.
“I’m okay. But you’re not.”
What was left of his right sleeve was soaked with blood. It dripped from his hand, making the steering wheel almost too slippery to hold on to, and forcing him to drive left-handed. But that didn’t slow him down. He ran a red light. “He’s probably got friends. They’ll rob us and then steal the car. I’ve got to get us out of this neighborhood.”
“He wasn’t trying to steal anything,” she said with remarkable composure. “He was after me. He called me by name.”
Hammond gaped at her; the car veered off the road, nearly striking a telephone pole.
“Hammond!” she shouted. Once he had regained control of the car, she said, “Head for the emergency room. You’re going to need stitches.”
He released the steering wheel long enough to drag his left sleeve across his forehead. He was sweating profusely. He could feel it on his face, in his hair, trickling down his ribs, gathering in his groin. Now that the adrenaline surge was over, he was feeling the impact of what had happened, and what might have happened. He and Alex were lucky still to be alive. Jesus, she could have been killed. The thought of how close she had come to dying made him very weak and shaky.
At the first major intersection they came to, he was forced to stop for a traffic light. He took deep breaths in an effort to clear his head of a buzzing noise that sounded like a thousand swarming bees.
“Your leg is bleeding, too, but it’s your arm that concerns me,” Alex said. “Do you think he cut into the muscle?”
Green light. Hammond pressed the accelerator hard and the car bucked forward like a bronco charging out of the chute. Within seconds it was exceeding the posted speed limit. He could see the hospital complex a few blocks ahead.
“Hammond, are you okay?”
Alex’s voice seemed to drift toward him from far away. “I’m fine.”
“Can you drive the rest of the way?”
“Hmm.”
“I don’t think so. Stop here. Let me drive.”
He tried to tell her that he was all right, but he couldn’t separate his words, so they came out garbled and unintelligible.
“Hammond? Hammond? You need to turn here. The emergency room—”
“No.”
“You’re losing a lot of blood.”
“You’re a doctor.” God, his tongue had grown thick.
“Not the kind you need,” she exclaimed. “You need a hospital. A tetanus shot. Maybe even blood.”
Shaking his head, he mumbled, “My place.”
“Please be reasonable.”
“Two ’f us…” He looked across at her and shook his head. “We’ b’screwed.”
She grappled with indecision for several seconds, but apparently came to the same conclusion. Reaching across the console, she took control of the steering wheel, which was slick with his blood.
“All right, but I’m driving.”
* * *
She managed to steer the car to the curb and put it in park. It took some effort, and some gentle but forceful urging, to get Hammond to switch places with her. She got out and went around, opened his door, and assisted him out. He was wobbly on his feet. She tucked him into the passenger seat and secured the seat belt. As soon as he was settled, he laid his head back and closed his eyes.
She couldn’t have him pass out on her. “Hammond, what’s your address?” She reached for his cell phone and began to dial. “Hammond!”
