The Rendezvous - Part 2
by KK Sierra
He checked the clock on his dash. Thirty minutes before his babe’s plane landed; plenty of time to grab a pack of cigarettes and a can of
Skoal. It was a nasty habit he knew, but not one he was ready to give up.
The convenience store was brightly lit and well designed.
The aisles were wide, angling out from the counter to allow the clerk to see
customers at any location in the store. The glass front ensured visual
confirmation of anyone at the gas pumps, as well.
Standing in line behind a woman, he waited his turn to make
his purchase. The woman looked like she hadn’t showered in at least a week and
the pungent odor wafting from her made him step back a pace.
“Two thirty-two,” the clerk told the woman.
With painstaking deliberation, she pulled change out of her
dirty shorts and one coin at a time, carefully counted out a few quarters, nickels and pennies. Stifling
a sigh, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time.
The escalating whine caught his attention seconds before the
Mazda crashed through the plate glass. He didn’t think, just reacted. With a
step forward, he caught the woman around the waist and drug her with him as he pulled them both over and behind the counter, gashing his arm open as they went. The glass in the counter
shattered as it was clipped by the passenger side mirror.
A scream was cut off as the car crashed in the back of the store, and then relative silence. The incident had lasted mere seconds.
The scene was surreal as he pried the sobbing woman’s
fingers from his arm and helped her get to her feet. She was alright, as was the clerk who was muttering, “oh
holy shit.” Steam hissed from the engine
of the car where it rested among the cold sodas and chocolate milk.
His military training had him instinctually aware of his surroundings and he knew exactly where every person had been in the store prior to
the car crashing through. Seven people, in all; himself, the clerk, the woman,
a man at the soda fountain, two teens in the candy aisle, and a woman at the
end cap looking at donuts. He quickly surveyed the room. The donut woman was
missing.
Skirting the counter, and stumbling around in the debris, he
followed the path of the car. Donut boxes, among other things, had exploded on impact with the car.
On the far side of the car, he saw an arm. With authority he spoke to the
clerk, “Call the police.” He glanced inside the car at the driver. The old man’s
face reflected death. He suspected he’d had a heart attack. Reaching through
the open passenger window, he checked the man. The old man had no pulse. He knew there was nothing
more he could do for him, and instead focused his attention on the woman. “Tell
them we need two ambulances.”
Beckoning Soda Fountain guy he said, “Come help me.” On his
hands and knees beside the car, he tried to see the woman. He checked her wrist and found her
pulse to be weak, but steady. “See if the clerk has a flashlight. I can’t see
anything.” He didn’t want to move her from under the car, until he’d checked
her out a little better.
With the flashlight in hand, he was able to see her face.
She appeared to be unconscious. Nothing jumped out at him to indicate he needed
to leave her under the car until she could be better stabilized. “Help me move
her,” he asked Soda Fountain guy.
Together they carefully slid her from under the car. “Hold
her head,” he instructed Soda Fountain guy. He helped him put his fingers on
either side of her ears, toward her body, keeping her head still. She wasn’t moving, but it was important to
stabilize her head to prevent further trauma. "Don't let her move."
Running through a ingrained mental checklist, he gave her a once over. Her breathing was labored and his exam revealed obviously broken
ribs. He suspected significant internal bleeding. However, since she was breathing
on her own and there was no more than superficial bleeding to stop, there was little
else he could do to help her.
The paramedics arrived shortly thereafter and he let them
take over. The clerk was still standing behind the counter and handed him a
pack of cigarettes as he walked by. Guess he just had “I need a smoke” written on his face. He
walked outside. The parking lot awash with the garish flashing of emergency lights. News crews wouldn't be far behind.
The dirty woman came over to where he stood smoking the much
needed cigarette. They matched now; his clothes were filthy, covered with the
remnants of broken shelving, dry wall, soda bottles, food and blood. “Thanks,”
she said shyly. “I think this is yours.” He took his cell phone and
grimaced. He knew not memorizing phone
numbers would someday bite him in the ass. These days he didn’t even bother to
memorize the number to his work. Why bother when everything was so conveniently
stored in his phone and synced with his computer at home.
Now, looking at the smashed face of his phone, he swore. His
babe was waiting; probably waffling between worry and anger. He thought about
the young woman inside and how she only wanted donuts. He reflected on how
short life was and how quickly it could be taken away. He and his babe were
going to have a serious talk soon.
###
###
