Page 94 of The Hitchhikers
“Hello?” The older cop’s voice was loud and close. “William? Ruth? It’s Constable Jack.”
Boots scuffing as the cop moved. Jenny licked her lips, tasted blood. She glanced up at the china cabinet and realized that there was a mirror at the back of it, behind the shelves, and it was showing the cop’s reflection as he moved into the living room.
Black police cap with yellow stripe. Dark sideburns. Strong nose. Thick eyebrows. Mustache. She couldn’t see if he was holding his gun. He was looking ahead into the kitchen.
Bones was inside now. Panting noisily and running around, his collar jingling.
“Where’s Ruth and William, Bones? Can you show me where they are?”
Oh, God, what if Bones found her or Simon instead?
The officer glanced over, and his eyes widened. It almost seemed like he was looking right at her. Could he see her in the mirror too?
He pulled his gun out of his holster and aimed it at the couch.He was backing up, trying to get out the door. “Stand up and show your hands!”
“Drop the gun!” Simon’s voice.
The officer spun. She could only see his head, the evening light of the open doorway.
A gunshot, so loud and close. She screamed and clapped her hands to her ears. More gunshots. She dropped to the floor, curled on her side, eyes clenched. Where was Simon? Glass shattered. The cops were yelling. She was crying and shaking, and she wanted it all to stop.
A sudden silence.
She was lying with her cheek pressed to the floor, her face wet with tears. She opened her eyes to find herself staring under the couch at broken glass. The door slammed, and she flinched, but then she saw Simon crawling across the floor toward her.
He stopped to crouch against the wall beside the window. He met her eyes.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
He peeked out at the yard from behind the curtain. He was breathing fast, his knees cut from the glass, but more blood was running down from the fleshy part of his shoulder.
She got to her knees. “Simon! Your arm.”
“Stay down,” he whisper-yelled. She flattened herself again, but she wanted to be closer to him. She used her elbows to pull herself, and the rifle, over to the armchair.
“Where are they?” Her ears were still ringing, her voice like she was talking underwater.
“Behind the car. I shot the shit out of it, but I don’t have many bullets left. The extra box is in my backpack.” He shoved the gun into the pocket of his jean shorts. “Pass me the rifle.”
She slid it over to him. “Is the cop hurt?”
“I got him somewhere in the chest or his shoulder. It happenedfast. I might have got him again outside.” He stumbled on the last words.
“You’re bleeding a lot.” She felt sick from it and put a hand on her stomach.
He glanced at his arm, rolling his bicep so he could see it better. His eyes were glistening. Tears from pain or fear? She didn’t know. He turned and looked outside again.
“Find gauze. Or a towel. Something to press on it.”
“Okay.” She kept low and skirted the edge of the living room. She didn’t see Bones. She wondered if he’d run out the front or if he was hiding in the bedroom. She hoped he was okay.
She quickly searched the bathroom medicine cabinet and found gauze pads, medical tape, and a small tin of antibacterial cream. She wet a cloth and rushed back to Simon. She knelt beside him, peeled up his sleeve. “It’s not so bad,” she said, to him, and to herself. The bullet had sliced his skin, but it hadn’t gone into his arm. She pressed the cloth to the wound.
He hissed and jerked away. “Jesus, that hurts.”
“Sorry, sorry. I’m trying to stop the bleeding.”
