This might be an excerpt from the story I plan to write for the novel project.
He collapsed in a dark alley, panting. Gingerly, he removed his left hand from his thigh. The alley’s light was only bright enough to show that it was stained with something dark; blood. He began unbuckling his belt. Thank God he always wore a pair of shorts underneath his jeans.
A female voice called out, “Are you alright?”
Alex looked up quickly, his ever active mind recording her British voice amongst its endless files. He could just make out the silhouette of a feminine form at the entrance to the alley. He grit his teeth in frustration. Why did girls have to plague him so? “I’m perfectly fine,” he managed to force out, all the while still removing his jeans.
“And what exactly are you doing, may I ask?”
“No,” Alex said, stripping his pants off and reaching for the bag he had dropped. He opened it and began rifling through its contents, all the while aware that the stranger was approaching. When she came close enough to see the stain on his shorts, she gave a short gasp. Alex ignored her, as he grabbed a scalpel from the bag’s miscellaneous contents.
He began cutting the cloth of his shorts away from the wound. Then discarding the scalpel, he put on a pair of gloves and began probing the bullet hole. “A clean shot,” he muttered to himself. He held out his hand, and felt another hand brush his as a bottle of acetaminophen was put in his gloved one. It was only then that Alex realized he had asked her to pass him the Tylenol. He shook his head and popped a pill into his mouth. Then he began preparing a bandage.
“You should clean the wound with alcohol you know.”
“I know,” he said irritatedly, snatching the bottle of alcohol that she held. “Don’t worry alright? I’m an expert. It’s just a small cut; not like I’ll need to go to the ICU or have to get a cat scan.”
“It’s a bullet wound,” she said quietly. “People go to the ER for this sort of thing you know.”
“Of course it’s a bullet wound! Does it look like a spear hole? Anybody would know that.” He said, even though he was surprised inside she knew what sort of wound it was. “Hand me the long thing in the bag will you?”
She passed it to him. “What are you doing?”
“I think the bullet’s inside. What am I supposed to do, suck it out with a syringe?” He snapped, as the bullet remover entered the wound.
“Anesthesia would help,” she commented quietly.
“Are you some sort of child life specialist? Of course anesthesia would help! It’s like I’m performing an amputation here alright? So can you please shut up?”
Alex finally managed to remove the bullet. He then cut off the cuffs of both legs of his jeans and used them to bandage the wound. The light in the alley dimmed slightly, and looking up, he realized that a curtain had been drawn. Hurriedly, he dumped all his equipment except for a stethoscope into the bag. He put the stethoscope up against a wooden door that led into the alley and listened.
“No, I am not crazy,” he said, at the stranger’s look of curiosity. “And I don’t need an MRI to check if my brain is functioning normally.”
She was about to answer when he put a finger to his lips and listened more intently. He heard a distinct “ka-shic.” Then he threw himself bodily into her and they both landed on the floor. Wood chips from the door began showering among them, and they were nearly deafened as the sharp ratatat of machine guns echoed in the narrow alley, and the sharp zing of bullets ricocheting off the brick walls.
Alex grabbed his bag and motioned for his companion to roll out of the alley. He followed, and once they were out of the range of the door, they stood up and began running. Once he judged they were far enough from the alley, Alex stopped. He groaned as he sat down on a park bench.
“What was that about?” she asked, sitting down beside him.
“I don’t know,” he exhaled, letting the tension from the past few minutes drain away so he could think clearly.
“Well why in the world would someone want to shoot at you with machine guns?”
“Listen,” he said, his voice betraying more than a little annoyance. “I’ve put up with your company for the past fifteen minutes. I don’t need you prying into my personal matters.”
“Putting up with my company?” She rose from the bench incredulously. “Fine, you weren’t even an expert anyway. I would know, since I study doctoring.” And with that flippant remark, she left.