the cab of the Cat once again. He was sure it was empty, but he felt the need to look before they left. His stomach pain was subsiding a little now as he made it to the driver’s side and peered into the dirty window.
His heart stopped and then started racing. His breath caught in his chest as he struggled to suck in air, finally succeeding with a great, gasping gulp.
The cab wasn’t empty. It wasn’t empty at all. Mr. Jackson was in there. At least Hunter thought it was Mr. Jackson. A man who once may have looked like Claymont Jackson was in the cab. He was covered in blood. It was coming from his ears, his nose, even his eyes had drops of blood under them. His head was drooped forward with his chin resting on his chest. The blood had run from his head and face to cover the shirt and pants worn on his slumped body. His hands were resting quite naturally in his lap – a cell phone in one. If it weren’t for all of the blood and the way his face was swollen, he could have been taking a nap.
Hunter noticed a few flies stuck in the blood around Mr. Jackson’s nose and felt sick to his stomach again. He imagined smelling the metallic odor of blood through the window. Suddenly, his body reacted. He turned and jumped the long distance from the cab to the ground and immediately started to dry heave. The contents of his stomach were long since history, but the convulsing waves were incredibly painful. He doubled over and his knees buckled, making him fall.
“AH! OH GOD!” He yelled and rolled onto his side. The image of Mr. Jackson’s bloody body was seared onto the back of his eyelids. He couldn’t make the picture leave his mind. That and the pain in his stomach was more than he could bear as he pulled his knees up to his chest and lay there fighting for breath in between the heaves.
Eli and Bug whirled in the direction of the Cat and saw Hunter jump down and then fall over. He was clutching his stomach and yelling. Eli had an awful feeling that Hunter’s stomach wasn’t the worst of it.
“Stay here,” Eli told Bug sternly and took off running toward Hunter. He had dropped the box at Bug’s feet, but she hadn’t noticed. Her eyes were on Hunter who was lying on his side and moaning.
The convulsions were easing a bit by the time Eli got to his side. “Hunter! What is it? Are you hurt?”
Hunter pushed himself up to his knees and said breathlessly, “Eli, Man. It’s bad. It’s really bad. Mr. Jackson’s in there, Man. Eli, he’s dead.”
It took a few seconds for Eli’s brain to comprehend. He had been feeling anxious ever since they had started back into the woods, and he didn’t really know why. He remembered hearing once that your subconscious picks up on all kinds of things, but your mind protects you from certain knowledge until you’re able to deal with it. Eli had known that something was wrong ever since Brody flew past him on his frantic way home a couple of hours ago. Going there with Hunter, he had felt more secure, but, deep down, he knew something was wrong. Now he knew what that something was.
“Are you sure, Hunter?” Eli said in a trembling voice. “Maybe the paramedics could save him. Are you sure he’s really d-dead?”
“Eli, he’s dead. There’s a ton of blood, Man. We have to call the sheriff.” He turned his head and spat on the ground.
Eli took his phone from his pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
Deputy Michael Clay was the first to arrive on the scene, followed quickly by an ambulance. None of the emergency lights were flashing on either vehicle. Eli had made it clear to Mrs. Putnam, the dispatcher, that there was no hope of resuscitation. Rachel had passed the information on to the ambulance driver and the deputy who had both gone quickly but quietly. A death in a small town has a tendency to elicit hysteria among its people. It was best to handle it as quietly as possible until the next of kin could hear it from an officer, not the town gossip.
Deputy Clay parked his
His heart stopped and then started racing. His breath caught in his chest as he struggled to suck in air, finally succeeding with a great, gasping gulp.
The cab wasn’t empty. It wasn’t empty at all. Mr. Jackson was in there. At least Hunter thought it was Mr. Jackson. A man who once may have looked like Claymont Jackson was in the cab. He was covered in blood. It was coming from his ears, his nose, even his eyes had drops of blood under them. His head was drooped forward with his chin resting on his chest. The blood had run from his head and face to cover the shirt and pants worn on his slumped body. His hands were resting quite naturally in his lap – a cell phone in one. If it weren’t for all of the blood and the way his face was swollen, he could have been taking a nap.
Hunter noticed a few flies stuck in the blood around Mr. Jackson’s nose and felt sick to his stomach again. He imagined smelling the metallic odor of blood through the window. Suddenly, his body reacted. He turned and jumped the long distance from the cab to the ground and immediately started to dry heave. The contents of his stomach were long since history, but the convulsing waves were incredibly painful. He doubled over and his knees buckled, making him fall.
“AH! OH GOD!” He yelled and rolled onto his side. The image of Mr. Jackson’s bloody body was seared onto the back of his eyelids. He couldn’t make the picture leave his mind. That and the pain in his stomach was more than he could bear as he pulled his knees up to his chest and lay there fighting for breath in between the heaves.
Eli and Bug whirled in the direction of the Cat and saw Hunter jump down and then fall over. He was clutching his stomach and yelling. Eli had an awful feeling that Hunter’s stomach wasn’t the worst of it.
“Stay here,” Eli told Bug sternly and took off running toward Hunter. He had dropped the box at Bug’s feet, but she hadn’t noticed. Her eyes were on Hunter who was lying on his side and moaning.
The convulsions were easing a bit by the time Eli got to his side. “Hunter! What is it? Are you hurt?”
Hunter pushed himself up to his knees and said breathlessly, “Eli, Man. It’s bad. It’s really bad. Mr. Jackson’s in there, Man. Eli, he’s dead.”
It took a few seconds for Eli’s brain to comprehend. He had been feeling anxious ever since they had started back into the woods, and he didn’t really know why. He remembered hearing once that your subconscious picks up on all kinds of things, but your mind protects you from certain knowledge until you’re able to deal with it. Eli had known that something was wrong ever since Brody flew past him on his frantic way home a couple of hours ago. Going there with Hunter, he had felt more secure, but, deep down, he knew something was wrong. Now he knew what that something was.
“Are you sure, Hunter?” Eli said in a trembling voice. “Maybe the paramedics could save him. Are you sure he’s really d-dead?”
“Eli, he’s dead. There’s a ton of blood, Man. We have to call the sheriff.” He turned his head and spat on the ground.
Eli took his phone from his pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
Deputy Michael Clay was the first to arrive on the scene, followed quickly by an ambulance. None of the emergency lights were flashing on either vehicle. Eli had made it clear to Mrs. Putnam, the dispatcher, that there was no hope of resuscitation. Rachel had passed the information on to the ambulance driver and the deputy who had both gone quickly but quietly. A death in a small town has a tendency to elicit hysteria among its people. It was best to handle it as quietly as possible until the next of kin could hear it from an officer, not the town gossip.
Deputy Clay parked his
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