Bloodstream

‘Oh God,’ said Rachel, cupping her hand over her nose. ‘Don’t you ever change your socks, Elwyn?’

The bullet had passed through the fleshy web between the first and second toe. Claire found the exit wound underneath the foot. There was only a little blood oozing out now. Trying not to gag on the smell, she tested movement of all the toes, and determined that no nerves had been damaged.

‘You’ll have to clean it and change the bandages every day,’ she said. ‘And you need a tetanus shot, Elwyn.’

‘Oh, I got one of them already.’

‘When?’

‘Last year, from ol’ Doc Pomeroy. After I shot myself.’

‘Is this an annual event?’

‘That one went through my other foot. ‘Tweren’t a big deal.’

Dr Pomeroy had died back in January, and Claire had acquired all his old medical records when she’d bought the practice from his estate eight months ago. She could check Elwyn’s file and confirm the date of his last tetanus shot.

‘I guess it’s up to me to clean that foot,’ said Rachel.

Claire took out a small bottle of Betadine from her medical bag and handed it to her. ‘Add that to a warm bucket of water. Let him soak in it for a while.’

‘Oh, I can do that myself,’ said Elwyn, and got up.

‘Then we might as well just amputate right now!’ snapped Rachel. ‘Sit down, Elwyn.’

‘Gee,’ he said, and sat down.

Claire left a few packets of bandages and gauze wrappings on the table. ‘Elwyn, you come into my office next week, so I can check the wound.’

‘But I got too much to do –’

‘If you don’t come in, I’ll have to hunt you down like a dog.’

He blinked at her in surprise. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said meekly.

Suppressing a smile, Claire picked up her medical bag and walked out of the house.

The two dogs were in the front yard again, fighting over a filthy bone. As Claire came down the steps, they both spun around to stare at her.

The black one trotted forward and growled.

‘Shoo,’ Claire said, but the dog refused to back down. It took another few steps forward, teeth bared.

The tan dog, spotting opportunity, snatched the bone in its teeth and began dragging away the prize. It got halfway across the yard before the black dog suddenly noticed the thief and streaked back into the fight. Yelping and growling, they thrashed around the yard in a tangle of black and tan. The bone lay, forgotten, beside Claire’s pickup truck.

She opened the door and was just sliding in behind the steering wheel when the image registered in her brain. She looked down at the ground, at the bone.

It was less than a foot long, and stained a rusty brown with dirt. One end had broken off, leaving jagged splinters. The other end was intact, the bony landmarks recognizable.

It was a femur. And it was human.

Ten miles out of town, Tranquility Police Chief Lincoln Kelly finally caught up with his wife.

She was doing about fifty in a stolen Chevy, weaving left and right, the loose tailpipe kicking up sparks every time she hit a dip in the road.

‘Man oh man,’ said Floyd Spear, sitting beside Lincoln in the cruiser. ‘Doreen got her snookerful today.’

‘I’ve been on the road all morning,’ said Lincoln. ‘Didn’t get a chance to check up on her.’ He turned on the siren, hoping that would induce Doreen to slow down. She sped up.

‘Now what?’ asked Floyd. ‘Want me to call for backup?’

Backup meant Hank Dorr, the only other officer on patrol duty that morning.

‘No,’ said Lincoln. ‘Let’s see if we can’t talk her into pulling over.’

‘At sixty miles an hour?’

‘Get on the bullhorn.’

Floyd picked up the mike and his voice boomed out over the speaker: ‘Hey, Doreen, pull over! C’mon, Sweetheart, you’re gonna hurt someone!’

The Chevy just kept dipping and weaving.

‘We could wait till she runs out of gas,’ Floyd suggested.

‘Keep talking to her.’

Floyd tried the mike again. ‘Doreen, Lincoln’s here! C’mon, Sweetheart, pull over! He wants ta ‘pologize!’

‘I want to what?’

‘Pull over, Doreen, and he’ll tell you himself!’

‘What in hell are you talking about?’ said Lincoln.

‘Women always expect a man to apologize.’

‘But I didn’t do anything!’

Up ahead, the Chevy’s brake lights suddenly lit up.

‘See?’ said Floyd as the Chevy rolled to a stop at the side of the road.

Lincoln pulled up behind it and climbed out of the cruiser.

Doreen sat hunched behind the steering wheel, her red hair wild and tangled, her hands shaking. Lincoln opened the door, reached over his wife’s lap, and removed the car keys. ‘Doreen,’ he said wearily, ‘you gotta come back to the station.’

‘When are you coming home, Lincoln?’ she asked.