Games of State - Tom Clancy [141]
"I can't," she repeated.
Herbert moved the collar of her blouse aside and gently dabbed at the blood on her wound. The hole wasn't large. He wouldn't be surprised if the bullet was a.22 fired from some homemade piece of crap by one of the kids in the crowd.
Stupid punks, he thought. They'd puke at the sight of their own damn blood.
"I'm afraid," Jody said suddenly. She started to whimper. "I was wrong. I'm still afraid!"
"It's okay," Herbert said. "You're asking too much of yourself."
Herbert felt bad for the kid, but he couldn't afford to lose her. Not now. He didn't doubt for a moment that Karin would be coming after him, alone or in force. The caduceus of Nazism had to be coated with the blood of the conquered to serve as an emblem of power.
"Listen, Jody," Herbert said. "We're close to where we started, about a mile from the main road. If we can get there we'll be okay."
Herbert turned to the glove compartment and opened it. He found a bottle of acetaminophen inside and gave two to Jody. Then he reached into the backseat, retrieved one of the water bottles, and gave her a drink. When she was finished, he let his hands drop behind the seat. He was feeling for something.
"Jody," he said, "we need to get out of here."
He found what he was looking for. "Sweetie," he said, "I've got to fix the wound."
She opened her eyes. "How?" she asked, wincing as she shifted her shoulder.
"I've got to take the bullet out. But there's no tape for a bandage or thread for a suture. When I'm done I'm going to have to cauterize it."
She was suddenly more alert. "You're going to burn me?"
"I've done it before," Herbert said. "We have to get out of here and I haven't got the horsepower to do that." He said, "What I'm going to do will hurt, but you're hurting now. We've got to fix that."
She lay her head back.
"Hon? We don't have time to waste."
"All right," she rasped. "Do it."
Holding his hands low where she couldn't see, he lit a match and held it to the tip of his Urban Skinner to sterilize it. After a few seconds he blew out the flame and used his fingers to gently open the wound. The back of the shell glinted in the yellow light of the car. Taking a deep breath, Herbert placed his left hand over her mouth. "Bite me if you have to," he said as he raised the knife.
Jody groaned.
The trick to treating a bullet wound was not to cause more damage removing the shell than it caused going in. But it had to be removed lest it work its way around the tissue, ripping it or even fragmenting itself as they fled.
Ideally, the surgeon would have forceps or tweezers to remove the shell. Herbert had only the knife. That meant he had to get under the bullet and pop it out fast, lest her writhing drive the blade this way and that.
He studied the wound for a moment, then put the tip to the opening. The bullet had entered at a slight left-to-right angle. He would have to go in the same way. He held his breath, steadied the knife, then pushed it in slowly.
Jody screamed into his hand. She struggled hard against Herbert, but he pinned her with his left forearm. There was nothing like pushing around a wheelchair to build the upper body.
Herbert pushed the blade along the bullet. He felt its end, angled the tip of the knife beneath it, and used the Skinner like a lever to ease the shell out. It emerged slowly, then tumbled down her body.
Herbert tucked the knife into his belt and released her. He grabbed the matches.
"I need four or five seconds to seal the wound," he said. "Will you give me that?"
Her lips and eyes pressed shut, she nodded briskly.
Herbert struck a match and used it to set the rest of the matchbook on fire. The matches would be hotter and faster than if he heated the knife and used it to close the wound. And seconds mattered now.
Once again pressing his hand to her mouth, Herbert pressed the heads of the matches to the bloody wound.
Jody tensed and bit his hand. He knew this pain and knew it would grow worse as the moisture in her skin