Band Aid

Cameron returned with the blonde woman and the first aid kit, instructing the petite woman back to the ground.

Pushing himself up to stand, Sam grunted a little at the protest coming from the wounds in his side and back. Setting his rifle on the counter, he opened the Velcro strap holding the armor together and pulled up his black shirt to examine the wounds. The bullet had hit him just above the hip and exited through his lower back, stopped ironically by the inside of the rear body armor, each hole seeping a bright red trickle every time his heart beat.

“Sweetheart,” he called again, looking down at the woman in the dove grey skirt and white blouse who had fetched the first aid kit looked up, her bright blue eyes still wide. “Up here,” he said smoothly, motioning her to him with a head movement.

She got up, the three inch black heels she wore clicking on the stone floor as she came over to him. Even with the shoes on, she was almost a foot shorter than Sam was at 6’3”.

“What’s your name?” he asked, keeping his tone calm and relaxed.

“E-Elayne,” she answered, stammering and avoiding eye contact with him.

“I need you to do me a favor here Elayne, do you think you can help me?” he asked.

She nodded, holding her trembling hands together to try and keep them from shaking.

“Good, now I want you to take that pad right there,” he motioned by nodding his head to the drainage dressing in the paper package inside the kit, “And press it against the bullet hole in my side,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, voice bordering on a sob as she reached out with shaky hands toward the kit.

“Not that one,” Sam said as she picked up the wrapped 4”X4” gauze square, “The fatter one,” he said, motioning again.

“I’m sorry,” she said, picking up the other one.

“That’s right, you’re doing great,” he said as she struggled to tear open the sterile package. “That’s it, now press it against my side. It’s okay. I want you to press hard, okay?” he inquired.

She nodded, tentatively pushing the dressing onto the ugly wound in his lean and muscled stomach.

“Hold against me a little firmer Elayne,” he instructed, wincing slightly as she complied and added pressure. Putting his gloved hand over hers, “Now, get the clear tape from the kit, I’ll hold this,” he said, again nodding toward the kit.

She slid her hand out from under his and grabbed the near new roll of 3M surgical tape from the kit and returned to him. Tearing off a piece about four inches long, she taped the dressing along one side to his flesh, then repeated the process until the dressing was secured to him on all four edges.

“Good, that looks good,” Sam said reassuringly, slowly releasing the pressure he was applying to the wound. “Now I need you to do it again for the hole in my back,” he added. She nodded and replicated the procedure of dressing the injury. He nodded, “Good job,” he said, lowering his shirt and re-fastening his body armor before collecting his weapon off the counter.

He plucked an alcohol swab in a foil pack from the kit and handed it to her, “For your hands,” he said. She looked down at her blood stained fingers and started shuddering again, lower lip quivering.

“Now I want you to go lay down,” he said softly. She nodded and moved back to her original spot, once on the floor tearing open the package and wiping his blood from her hands, turning the towelette a soft pink.

“Why aren’t they calling us?” asked Cameron, pacing like a caged animal.

“Give it time,” Sam replied, looking over the hostages. Seeing what he wanted, he turned to George and pointed a woman lying on the floor, a young boy in shorts and t-shirt clinging to her side. “Those two,” he said. “I want those two.”

George nodded and walked over, “Up,” he growled, motioning in an upward direction with his rifle.

“No please,” pleaded the woman, draping a protective arm over the boy who could not have been more than seven or eight years of age.

“It’s okay darling, you and your boy are going to be alright. You’re to be the first ones we let go,” Sam explained in an easy reassuring tone.

“What do you mean let go?” demanded Cameron, swinging his weapon around, looking from the woman and boy to Sam.

“Not now,” Sam said, walking back to one of the desks behind the counter. Picking up the phone, he brought it to the side of his masked head and listened for a dial tone, finding none he put the receiver back in the cradle.

“No, what do you mean?” Cameron repeated.

“Our strategy has now changed, if we want anything we have to give up something, understand? I don’t think this kid needs to be here for this, you still fucking with me? I don’t want this kid’s mother to get caught in any crossfire if SWAT decides they’re going to rush us, so I’m going to let them go,” Sam growled.

“I-I,” started Cameron, somewhat abashed.

“I need you to grow a set and stop sniveling like a bitch, then SHUT THE FUCK UP,” Sam snarled with force, frustrated and angry at having to hold Cameron’s hand in this tense situation.

Admonished, Cameron bobbed his head quickly, a subordinate yielding to the alpha.

“YOU IN THE BANK,” called a loud voice over a megaphone from outside.

Sam raised his hand and motioned the woman and child back down onto the ground.

“Show time,” he quipped, if anyone could have seen his face, they would have seen the half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. If they could see under his shirt, they would also have seen the red blossom soaking through the dressing on his side.