I shake my head.
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“What happened then?”
“I fell backward onto all the medical supplies. My whole side felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t move at all for a moment. I think I knew I’d been shot, but it took me a few minutes to really comprehend it.”
“He shot you?”
“Yeah. Right in the back. The bullet came out in the front.”
I reach down and place my hand over my left side, sliding it down and grabbing the edge of my shirt. I pull the fabric up enough to show her the long scar between my ribs and my hip.
“Holy shit,” she mumbles. “That’s...”
“Pretty ugly.”
“Yeah. At least. How did you even survive?”
“I’m getting to that.” I breathe slowly, trying to say the words without actually reliving the experience, but it’s not easy. “So I’m lying on all these boxes of bandages, pills, and ointments, just stunned. I could still see Caesar’s face in my mind—he was smiling at me right before I fell—but I was having a hard time piecing together what had just happened. There was blood all over my shirt, and I also hit my head on something in the pile of supplies. I couldn’t move at all. I don’t know if it was shock from being hit, a concussion, or what, but I couldn’t move for what felt like the longest time. He must have thought I was dead, because he didn’t shoot again.”
“What did you do?”
“When I looked down, my shirt was covered in blood, and I could feel it bubbling out of me. The box of gauze I had already set aside was still right next to my hand, so I grabbed it and ripped open the hole in my shirt even wider so I could see the exit wound. I nearly puked, and I’m lucky I didn’t just pass out at that point.”
I have to stop and take another swig from the bottle.
It’s strange how comforting the burning liquid feels. I’ve never been much of a drinker.
“I could see…” I stop again, taking a deep breath. “There was a lot of blood, and it was still seeping out, but there were also bits of tissue mixed in with the blood, and I could see part of my intestines sticking out of the hole.”
Katrina gasps and places one hand over her mouth. Her eyes are wide, and she looks a little sick.
“I was sure I was dead. It burned so bad—like someone took a hot metal pole and shoved it right through me—but I couldn’t...I couldn’t die. Hannah was still out there, and he was going to go after her next.
“I pulled my shirt out of the way and used my fingers to push…to push everything back inside. I could feel everything shifting around in there, and I had to fight the urge to throw up. I used a wad of gauze to put pressure on the wound to try to stop the bleeding, but I knew it wasn’t going to be enough. I could feel the blood seeping through even as I piled more gauze on it. I was trying to run through all the shit medics would do in combat, but I was getting lightheaded, and I couldn’t think clearly.
“I felt pain in my back, too. At first, I thought I had landed on something that cut me, but then I realized it was where the bullet actually entered.”
“That’s good though,” Katrina says. “The bullet wasn’t still inside of you.”
“No, it wasn’t, but it was a hollow-point bullet. They’re designed to do more damage coming out.”
“Shit. What about your leg?” she asks.
“Give me a minute—I’ll get there.”
I reach to my thigh and rub at the scar before I go on.
“I’d been wounded before,” I tell her. “When I was in Iraq, I was hit with shrapnel. Lots of small wounds but nothing like this. Actually, I’d never been shot before—seen it a lot, but it hadn’t happened to me. All I could think was that I needed to stop the bleeding. I had to stop the bleeding and get back to Hannah, so I started looking around.
“I guess if you’re going to get shot, get shot in the middle of a hospital supply closet. As I saw all the stuff lying around me, I started thinking a little more clearly, but I knew that wasn’t going to last. I was losing a lot of blood. I had to crawl to get everything I needed, which made the bleeding pick up again, but I found a box of curved needles and suture thread.”
“I don’t know how you could even think after being shot,” Katrina says, shaking her head.
“I had to get back to her.” I look up at Katrina for a moment, wanting her to understand. “I knew they were heading for her and that they were going to hurt her. She was depending on me to keep her safe. I had to get back there. So I grabbed a bottle of alcohol and poured it over the wound, which made it hurt even worse. My hands were shaking, and it was hard to get the thread through the needle, but I eventually got it. I almost passed out after the first stitch though.”
“You stitched yourself up?”