Read Online The Immortal Game (book 1) by Joannah Miley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Joannah Miley
Ads: Link
without the door to lean on.
She seized at the sight of him lying there. Facedown on the hardwood floor. Covered in blood.
SIX
When Ruby’s body remembered how to work, she fell to her knees and hovered over him. “Ash,” she started, tentative, and began to roll him over. He moaned. Her father said to never move a patient until you’ve assessed their injuries.
She scanned his back and legs in the dim light from the streetlamp. There were no cuts. Nothing was obviously broken. There was just the blood. She had to roll him over. What would she tell 911 if she didn’t know what was wrong?
She pulled again, on his far shoulder, and tried to roll him toward her, but he was heavier than she imagined. “Ash,” she whispered, “can you hear me?”
Another small moan escaped him, but no more.
She gripped his shoulder, this time from a wider stance above him and with better leverage. When he began to roll she got her first glimpse of the wound and dropped him in surprise. He made no sound. That, combined with the red raggedness of what she glimpsed, made her wonder if he was already dead. She sucked up her fear, bent again and pulled him over in one tremendous movement, grunting with the effort.
When he was flat on his back she crouched over him. She could see deep inside his body: maroon muscle, bright red blood, and something pink and spongy too. White jagged bones. Ribs, she realized, stood out in contrast, broken and splintered. She looked away, her stomach roiling from the metallic smell of blood, but something caught her eye. In the middle of the train wreck of his chest she saw something small, black, and hard looking. Metal?
She began to shake.
Ash was going to die.
Her hand came up to her mouth. It too was covered in blood. She lost the tentative grip on her senses and propelled herself backward, socks slipping on the wooden floor, until her back rested against the wainscoting.
She watched his chest rise and fall and with it was a low gurgling noise. His breathing was shallow and uneven. He was alive. But for how long? Would he die right now? Right here? In the front room?
She clambered to her feet and ran to the kitchen. She grabbed the yellow phone from its cradle. The receiver shook in her trembling hands as she placed it next to her ear. But there was nothing. The phone exchanges! The bombing! She dropped the phone and let it swing from its curly cord.
Her messenger bag was on the table. She threw the top flap open and rummaged through it with bloody hands. She seized on her cell phone and whispered, “Please.” But all she saw was the all too familiar notice: No Service.
A sharp cry escaped her. She clamped her mouth shut and thought of her father. What would he do? The metal piece was deep inside Ash’s chest. Should she try to remove it? Her father had told her stories, but she was no doctor, and she had no tools.
She went back to him and sat by his head. His face, the face that so often crept into her thoughts, was now streaked with blood. There was a long cut on his check. The blood there had dried. It was an older wound, probably by a couple of days.
Her eyes snapped wide.
It hadn’t been there before. It hadn’t been there when he left, when she made him leave , a few hours ago. This cut was new.
Flashes of memory ran through her mind; the long gash on the back of his hand, the black eye with the cut eyebrow. He healed too quickly.
And then she knew.
The cut on his face wasn’t days old. Only hours. A tingle traveled across her scalp and down into her shoulders. Her eyes went to the wound in his chest. Could he heal from that too? No, she didn’t think so. No one could recover from that, not without surgery. It would kill him, and probably soon.
She tried not to breathe in the heavy smell of Ash’s blood as she looked inside him again, at the metal there. Her head pulled back in surprise. The metal moved. Not with the rhythm of his breath, up and down and irregular, but closer
She seized at the sight of him lying there. Facedown on the hardwood floor. Covered in blood.
SIX
When Ruby’s body remembered how to work, she fell to her knees and hovered over him. “Ash,” she started, tentative, and began to roll him over. He moaned. Her father said to never move a patient until you’ve assessed their injuries.
She scanned his back and legs in the dim light from the streetlamp. There were no cuts. Nothing was obviously broken. There was just the blood. She had to roll him over. What would she tell 911 if she didn’t know what was wrong?
She pulled again, on his far shoulder, and tried to roll him toward her, but he was heavier than she imagined. “Ash,” she whispered, “can you hear me?”
Another small moan escaped him, but no more.
She gripped his shoulder, this time from a wider stance above him and with better leverage. When he began to roll she got her first glimpse of the wound and dropped him in surprise. He made no sound. That, combined with the red raggedness of what she glimpsed, made her wonder if he was already dead. She sucked up her fear, bent again and pulled him over in one tremendous movement, grunting with the effort.
When he was flat on his back she crouched over him. She could see deep inside his body: maroon muscle, bright red blood, and something pink and spongy too. White jagged bones. Ribs, she realized, stood out in contrast, broken and splintered. She looked away, her stomach roiling from the metallic smell of blood, but something caught her eye. In the middle of the train wreck of his chest she saw something small, black, and hard looking. Metal?
She began to shake.
Ash was going to die.
Her hand came up to her mouth. It too was covered in blood. She lost the tentative grip on her senses and propelled herself backward, socks slipping on the wooden floor, until her back rested against the wainscoting.
She watched his chest rise and fall and with it was a low gurgling noise. His breathing was shallow and uneven. He was alive. But for how long? Would he die right now? Right here? In the front room?
She clambered to her feet and ran to the kitchen. She grabbed the yellow phone from its cradle. The receiver shook in her trembling hands as she placed it next to her ear. But there was nothing. The phone exchanges! The bombing! She dropped the phone and let it swing from its curly cord.
Her messenger bag was on the table. She threw the top flap open and rummaged through it with bloody hands. She seized on her cell phone and whispered, “Please.” But all she saw was the all too familiar notice: No Service.
A sharp cry escaped her. She clamped her mouth shut and thought of her father. What would he do? The metal piece was deep inside Ash’s chest. Should she try to remove it? Her father had told her stories, but she was no doctor, and she had no tools.
She went back to him and sat by his head. His face, the face that so often crept into her thoughts, was now streaked with blood. There was a long cut on his check. The blood there had dried. It was an older wound, probably by a couple of days.
Her eyes snapped wide.
It hadn’t been there before. It hadn’t been there when he left, when she made him leave , a few hours ago. This cut was new.
Flashes of memory ran through her mind; the long gash on the back of his hand, the black eye with the cut eyebrow. He healed too quickly.
And then she knew.
The cut on his face wasn’t days old. Only hours. A tingle traveled across her scalp and down into her shoulders. Her eyes went to the wound in his chest. Could he heal from that too? No, she didn’t think so. No one could recover from that, not without surgery. It would kill him, and probably soon.
She tried not to breathe in the heavy smell of Ash’s blood as she looked inside him again, at the metal there. Her head pulled back in surprise. The metal moved. Not with the rhythm of his breath, up and down and irregular, but closer
Similar Books
