As the truck lumbered toward them, the two men opened up on it in an effort to stop it. Joe rolled, re-gained his feet, and opened up on the two men. They were both dead before the truck rolled over them, dragging one of the men with it, as it crossed the road and crashed into the ditch on the opposite side, a long red smear marked its trail across the road.
Joe turned to look back for Becky, but she was already stepping through the shattered front windows of the showroom and running toward him with Peggy close behind. He turned to look for Delbert. He had lost track of him after he had jumped from the truck. The old man was walking toward him, limping Joe saw, an alarming amount of blood seeping from one leg, staining that leg of his jeans nearly red. He became aware of a stinging sensation on the side of his cheek, and just as he raised his hand to touch his face, Becky raced up.
"Let me see," she said, pushing his hand away from his face, "damn, Joe, you got hit."
He thought at first that it had been the flying glass from the windshield, but Becky quickly crushed that train of thought when she said. "Looks like one of the rounds that took out the windshield got you, Joe. It's gonna scar, but you'll live." She sounded calm as she spoke, Joe was surprised when she suddenly burst into tears, and threw her arms around him as she spoke. "Joe, it could have killed you, j-just a-a l-l-little b-b-bit..." she broke down and couldn't continue. He held her as Delbert walked up.
He raised his eyebrows, and said, "Dell, you okay?"
"Took one in the leg, I think," he replied.
Becky let go of Joe and tried to stop the tears as she turned to Delbert. Joe looked over Becky quickly with his eyes, and then moved on to Peggy, finally allowing his eyes to fall on Delbert's leg. Becky and Peggy appeared to have only a couple of minor cuts, probably caused by flying glass, Joe told his questioning mind. Delbert, however, was losing blood at an alarming rate. The entire right pant leg was shredded as well as being soaked with blood, and as Becky carefully pulled the material away from his leg to get a better look, Joe could see the torn flesh beneath. It doesn't look good, he thought. He had Delbert lean on him as they hurriedly headed back toward the showroom.
The one side, closest to the side lot, was untouched. They entered through the double doors, and Joe helped ease Delbert down onto the floor. He pulled out a small pocket knife, and quickly cut away the remainder of the pants leg.
The wound was bad, he could see, but thankfully it didn't look life threatening. With all the blood, he had been convinced he would find that one of the large arteries of the leg had been nicked, or even severed. That wasn't the case however, and the flow of blood was already beginning to slow. Becky folded the pant leg into a small square, and held it over the wound to further slow the bleeding. "Joe," she said, "I need the first aid kit from the truck."
"Going," he said, as he trotted out the side doors and headed toward the wrecked Suburban. He kept his eyes searching as he went, but saw nothing, and the only sound was of the Durango, which was still running in the ditch across the road. He pulled the first aid kit from the back of the truck, and ran back into the showroom. He handed it to Peggy who was kneeling with Becky beside Delbert.
"Damn," Delbert said, "makes a man wish he could get shot everyday so he could have two pretty women fussing over him," a small smile appeared over the tight set of his teeth.
Joe smiled back, surprised that he could, but a glance over at the covered form of Bill's body quickly wiped away the smile. "I'm getting us another truck," he stated, as he turned and walked over to the small pile of keys, and not from the back either, he told himself. He searched until he found the set of keys to the green Durango that Delbert had said was out in front, and then headed toward the front of the lot. He could still hear the other truck idling in the ditch, but all else was quiet and he saw no one at all.
This Durango was another stripped down model, with a bare interior, and aggressively tread tires. He thanked God mentally, got in, started it, and pulled over to the wrecked Suburban. Fifteen minutes later the contents of the Suburban were loaded into the rear of the Durango. The Durango was smaller, but he managed to make it all fit, and when he was finished he pulled the truck up next to the side doors, glancing at the gas gauge as he shut it off, which was resting between half and full, at three quarters of a tank. "Thank you God," he said aloud, as he exited the truck and walked back into the showroom.
Delbert was sitting up, resting against the bumper of one of the cars in the showroom. "How're you feeling?" Joe asked, as he looked over the bandaged leg.
"Not bad, and I'm about to feel a whole lot better," he said, raising a small pint of whiskey, "Becky found this in one of the managers drawers. I think it'll do the trick just fine."
Joe smiled, "Damn, Dell, I had no intention of getting you shot, I'm sorry, Dell, truly I am."
"What the hell are you apologizing for?" Delbert asked, his voice serious. "That ain't no
