Hell Bound

“Is there any part of you that isn’t bleeding?” Bucky asked, nearly dragging me across the road to where he’d left a truck idling. My leg still wasn’t moving very well, making it challenging to keep up with his long strides. He had no problem pulling me along.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “But there was significantly less before you crashed into us.”

“I didn’t know you weren’t secured. Crashing it was unavoidable.”

“Hey, no hard feelings. I was already bleeding.” He yanked the truck’s door open and then helped me climb into the tall seat. My legs were too short, and one was injured.

“Were you shot?”

“Back of the leg. I can still walk, so I guess it’s not as bad as it feels.”

“Put your seatbelt on this time,” he instructed. Then he shut the door.

I fumbled with the seatbelt. I didn’t want to tempt fate again, but my hands were slippery with blood, and I was shaking. I managed to lock it into place just as he climbed in beside me. He started the truck and handed me a rag he’d found on the floor. There was motor oil on it, but I wasn’t going to complain.

“To slow the bleeding,” he said. I reached for it, but my fingers were weak.

“I don’t know where it’s coming from,” I admitted.

“Just hold it to the side of your head until we’re far enough away for me to look at it.”

“I left the kid at the gas station.”

“I know.” He got the truck back on the road, zooming through the traffic that was building up.

“Were you following me?”

“I was following them.”

“We have to go back for him.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Please, Bucky?”

“They’re after you. Not him. The farther from you he is, the safer he is.”

“I can’t leave him there to worry about me.”

“Johanna,” he started with irritation. Like we hadn’t spent more than a month apart.

But then he just sighed and turned the car around. He was already driving at top speed as he zigzagged through the cars on the road. The truck was old, but even though he’d smashed in the front end when he hit the SUV, it was still running pretty smoothly. One of the tires was out of alignment, so I could feel it wobble every time we hit a bump or a pothole or he had to dodge a slow car. Every jolt made me let out a grunt of pain. Finally, I couldn’t hold the rag up anymore. I dropped it to my side and leaned my head against the back of the seat.

“Shit,” he muttered. I wanted to say something snarky just to let him know I was fine, but I couldn’t come up with anything. My eyes didn’t want to stay open, and my head felt woozier by the second. He reached for the rag and pressed it to the side of my skull. “I can’t hold it and drive at the same time. It’s a stick,” he told me.

“I’ll be okay. Probably.”

“Probably isn’t good enough for me.”

“Whose car is this anyway?” I struggled to get a grip on the rag again but couldn’t get my fingers to squeeze hard enough. I could feel his bloody fingers slip through mine.

“I take what I need.”

“I should have guessed.”

“Lie down. Put your head on my lap.”

“On your what?”

“Now is probably not the time to be modest. Lie down.” He pulled at my shoulder so that I flopped against him. He propped the rag beneath my head to help with the bleeding and then moved his hand over me to reach for the gear shift.

“I’ve seen you naked,” I reminded him. “Several times. It wasn’t a matter of modesty.”

“You sound delirious.”

“You would, too, if you’d been whacked in the head and shot. Or maybe you wouldn’t. I don’t know how it works for you. I saw you after getting blown up, and you could still stand.”

“Just try not to fall asleep if you can.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Just keep talking to me. Tell me about how you saw me naked.”

“Pervert.” He squeezed my shoulder to show me he was joking.

A few minutes later, the truck jerked to a halt. He reached over me to unfasten the seatbelt. Then he popped the passenger side door open and pulled me closer.

“Get in,” he said. Then he was moving me to make room for Graham. “What the hell happened to you?”

“She broke my nose,” Graham explained with a nasally voice. He climbed in beside me and shut the door. We peeled out onto the road again, but I kept my eyes closed.

“I was trying to save your life, you buffoon,” I muttered.

“Is she going to be okay? I barely understood that.”

“She’ll be okay. If we can get her to stop bleeding,” Bucky said.

“Dude, she’s bleeding all over you. And me. Holy fuck.”

“I know. Look for another rag or a shirt or something to put on her leg. Keep it elevated.” Graham picked up my legs and propped them on his lap. We were all uncomfortably cramped, but I was short enough to lie across the truck bench in the fetal position. He applied pressure to the wound on my leg, and I winced from the sharpness of the pain.

“What happened when she left?” Graham asked.

“She put up a fight,” Bucky explained. “Then I crashed the car.”

“Smooth.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“No, of course not.”

“I didn’t hit it very hard. I thought she’d be wearing a seatbelt.”

“I’m sure seatbelts are a top priority when you’ve been kidnapped by Nazis,” Graham remarked. “And you seem to forget that most people don’t recover like you.” Bucky made a noise that sounded an awful lot like a bear growling.

“The only reason I went back for you is because she asked me to. I’ll throw you out onto the street if you don’t stop while you’re ahead.”

“Boys, play nice,” I warned.

“Alright. Alright, sheesh,” Graham replied, squeezing my leg. “Sorry. I’m just a little grumpy after getting my face smashed in by a girl with tiny baby fists. Where are we taking her anyway?”

“Someplace safe. Do me a favor and keep her talking. Make sure she doesn’t fall asleep. Jab her in the leg if you have to.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered.

“Did you catch that?” Graham asked.

“Not a word,” Bucky admitted.