Read Online Nasty Little F___ers-Kindle by David McAfee - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David McAfee
Ads: Link
chest with his chin. His shirt thus secured, Colby upended the vial of alcohol over the hole in his side.
Somehow, he managed to remain conscious.
When the pain faded to a dull throb, he wadded up the cotton and placed it over the wound. He then wrapped a few strands of the tape around his body to hold the bandage in place and tied it off with a spare shirt from Bock’s pack. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hold long enough to get back to camp. And anyway, it was all he could do.
When he finished, he grabbed the last canteen and took a long swallow. He had a long trek back to camp, and it would be even longer if he had to spend it without water, but he was so thirsty. A little dizzy, too. Probably from the blood loss. He opened up the bag of jerky and started munching on another piece, knowing he’d need the protein.
Still chewing, he stuffed the jerky, bandages, cotton, canteen, and the rest of the alcohol back into the backpack, then he slung it over his shoulders, wincing again at the pain in his side, and set off toward the camp. This time, he paid attention to the noises of the woods around him, so it was easy to pick out the sound of someone following him.
Chapter Eight
“I told you to slow down,” Allen said. “You burned out your testicles, didn’t you?”
Moretz ignored him and shuffled to the edge of the camp, pressing the ice pack to his groin with his left hand. In his right hand he carried a can of gasoline for the generator. It was heavy, and carrying it hurt his swollen balls even more, but he needed to get away from the others. Janice hadn’t said anything, but the guys in the camp, with the exception of Allen, looked at him like they knew.
So what? Who cares if they know? So Janice liked to play a little rough. Big deal. Moretz could play rough, too. This just meant there was more fun to be had, is all.
But damn, his balls hurt.
“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me,” Allen said from behind his back. “I hope you cleaned up after yourself, or Steinman’s going to be pissed.”
Moretz shot him the finger over his shoulder and continued his slow walk to the generator.
***
Moretz bent over the generator and filled the tank, which was hard to do with one hand on the gas can and the other holding an ice pack over his throbbing genitals. He had to balance the lip of the can on the mouth of the tank and pour very slowly to avoid making a mess. It would have been easier with two hands, but that ice pack wasn’t moving. Period. He was still cursing Janice’s sense of play under his breath when Colby burst through the treeline like a rampaging bull.
He was covered in blood from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes, and his eyes had a weird, not-quite-sane look to them. He whispered something that sounded like Thank God , then spent a few seconds looking around the camp. His lunatic eyes settled on Moretz, and he snapped the barrel upward and pointed it right at the scientist’s chest. Great , Moretz thought. Fucking fantastic.
“Open your shirt,” Colby said.
“What? What the hell is wrong with—”
“I said, open your fucking shirt, Moretz.” Colby slammed the rifle’s slide home and gestured with the barrel. “I won’t ask again.”
Moretz glared at him, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. When a man covered in blood points a gun at your head and tells you to unbutton your shirt, it’s best to unbutton your shirt. So he dropped the ice pack, yanked his shirt out of his pants, and loosened the buttons from his collar to his belly. When he was done, he looked back at Colby. His groin protested the loss of the ice pack immediately, and he fought the urge to pick it back up.
“Happy?” Moretz asked.
“Open it up,” Colby said.
Moretz did. Colby stared holes into his chest for a count of about thirty, then seemed to relax. He lowered the rifle and smiled, which scared Moretz almost as much as the rifle had. “What’s with the ice pack?”
“None
Somehow, he managed to remain conscious.
When the pain faded to a dull throb, he wadded up the cotton and placed it over the wound. He then wrapped a few strands of the tape around his body to hold the bandage in place and tied it off with a spare shirt from Bock’s pack. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hold long enough to get back to camp. And anyway, it was all he could do.
When he finished, he grabbed the last canteen and took a long swallow. He had a long trek back to camp, and it would be even longer if he had to spend it without water, but he was so thirsty. A little dizzy, too. Probably from the blood loss. He opened up the bag of jerky and started munching on another piece, knowing he’d need the protein.
Still chewing, he stuffed the jerky, bandages, cotton, canteen, and the rest of the alcohol back into the backpack, then he slung it over his shoulders, wincing again at the pain in his side, and set off toward the camp. This time, he paid attention to the noises of the woods around him, so it was easy to pick out the sound of someone following him.
Chapter Eight
“I told you to slow down,” Allen said. “You burned out your testicles, didn’t you?”
Moretz ignored him and shuffled to the edge of the camp, pressing the ice pack to his groin with his left hand. In his right hand he carried a can of gasoline for the generator. It was heavy, and carrying it hurt his swollen balls even more, but he needed to get away from the others. Janice hadn’t said anything, but the guys in the camp, with the exception of Allen, looked at him like they knew.
So what? Who cares if they know? So Janice liked to play a little rough. Big deal. Moretz could play rough, too. This just meant there was more fun to be had, is all.
But damn, his balls hurt.
“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me,” Allen said from behind his back. “I hope you cleaned up after yourself, or Steinman’s going to be pissed.”
Moretz shot him the finger over his shoulder and continued his slow walk to the generator.
***
Moretz bent over the generator and filled the tank, which was hard to do with one hand on the gas can and the other holding an ice pack over his throbbing genitals. He had to balance the lip of the can on the mouth of the tank and pour very slowly to avoid making a mess. It would have been easier with two hands, but that ice pack wasn’t moving. Period. He was still cursing Janice’s sense of play under his breath when Colby burst through the treeline like a rampaging bull.
He was covered in blood from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes, and his eyes had a weird, not-quite-sane look to them. He whispered something that sounded like Thank God , then spent a few seconds looking around the camp. His lunatic eyes settled on Moretz, and he snapped the barrel upward and pointed it right at the scientist’s chest. Great , Moretz thought. Fucking fantastic.
“Open your shirt,” Colby said.
“What? What the hell is wrong with—”
“I said, open your fucking shirt, Moretz.” Colby slammed the rifle’s slide home and gestured with the barrel. “I won’t ask again.”
Moretz glared at him, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. When a man covered in blood points a gun at your head and tells you to unbutton your shirt, it’s best to unbutton your shirt. So he dropped the ice pack, yanked his shirt out of his pants, and loosened the buttons from his collar to his belly. When he was done, he looked back at Colby. His groin protested the loss of the ice pack immediately, and he fought the urge to pick it back up.
“Happy?” Moretz asked.
“Open it up,” Colby said.
Moretz did. Colby stared holes into his chest for a count of about thirty, then seemed to relax. He lowered the rifle and smiled, which scared Moretz almost as much as the rifle had. “What’s with the ice pack?”
“None
Similar Books
