Page 3 of The Hijack

“This is Molly and Piere,” the older man said. “I’m Russel.”

“Theo Wells,” I introduced myself again.

“Theo’s hurt,” Russel said.

“Let me see,” Molly replied, holding out one arm.

I went to her like a lost child, allowing her to poke at my shirt. I couldn’t tell if it was the cold or the adrenaline, but I didn’t feel as much pain as before.

“He’s freezing,” Molly said. “Come inside and get warmed up.”

I followed her lead into a cozy living room, a crackling fire built up in the center. With a sigh that I felt down into my bones, I sat beside the hearth, holding my hands up. More than food, water, healthcare or revenge, all I wanted was to sit still and soak up the heat. I hadn’t realized how deep the chill had crept into my skin, turning me to ice from head to foot.

“Don’t try anything,” Russel warned, sitting down next to me with his gun in his lap.

It was a good reminder that I shouldn’t get too comfortable. I could make use of their fire and perhaps their phone, but I would have to keep moving shortly. Even if they offered me a place to sleep and a hot meal, I wasn’t going to take advantage of their hospitality. Russel was just looking out for his family, and I wasn’t a part of it.

“We should take him into town,” Molly suggested.

“I don’t want to be seen with him,” Russel argued.

“He needs a doctor,” Molly pointed out.

“I’ll go,” I offered. “Just give me a minute.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Molly said sternly, putting a hand on my shoulder.

She must have had a magic touch, because all the fight left me as soon as her comforting hand came down. I felt the warmth of the home and the genuine concern for my well-being, and I passed out. It was as if I’d struggled so hard to arrive somewhere safe, and I had nothing left in the tank.

I remember dim images of Russel and his son standing over me. There was the bite of rubbing alcohol in the air and the soft pressure of blankets on my chest. When I woke, I had a monster headache, but I was clean and warm, tucked into bed on an impossibly soft mattress.

Running my fingers through my hair, I discovered that there wasn’t that much pain in my chest. I was free to use all my limbs without tearing the wound any bigger. I wore a different shirt, not my style, but clean and blood-free. Pulling it away, I took a peek down at my chest. There were a few dark stiches closing what had once been a gaping hole. And the sides of the wound were a muted pink instead of the dark red that might indicate an infection. The family had probably used some kind of medicinal cleaner to sterilize the spot before extracting the bullet and sewing me shut. That kind of operation took experience. I was beginning to suspect Russel was even more knowledgeable than I thought. Was he some kind of retired special agent, up here to escape from the British government?

“Morning,” Russel said, surprising me from the doorway. That I hadn’t heard him approach spoke volumes. He had some real training—either that or I was slipping. It was probably a combination of the two, since I had pushed myself to the limit earlier and was only just recovering.

“Morning,” I responded.

“I’d like you gone after breakfast,” Russel said, his ever present shotgun slung up in his arms like a baby.

“Got it,” I answered, sitting up.

“Don’t be rude,” Molly said, pushing her way into the room behind her husband.

“It’s not about being rude,” Russel argued. “He knows.”

“I do,” I agreed. “I don’t want to bring you any hardship after you’ve been so kind.”

“Pierre stitched you up,” Molly said. “He’s a veterinarian.”

I took another peak at the black stitches, realizing that they were a rough approximation of surgical thread instead of the self-dissolving hospital kind. I didn’t care. I was just grateful to be on the mend.

“Tell him thank you,” I responded.

“Tell him yourself,” Molly quipped. “If we’re tossing you out after breakfast, then the least you can do is fill your belly.”

I looked at Russel and smiled. He shook his head, but I could tell he was proud. Finding a solid woman who would help nurse a wounded soldier back to health wasn’t easy. Russel was a very lucky man.

I followed the couple into their little kitchen where Molly had prepared a traditional English breakfast of boiled eggs and toast. We sat down to eat, but I didn’t feel like I needed to rush. Russel wasn’t being aggressive, just practical. He obviously knew as well as I did that any enemies of mine wouldn’t stop to ask questions before bulldozing the house.