The man chuckled. “They are always disagreeable, aren’t they?”
“These ones, especially,” Wyatt said. The people around them weren’t using their phones. Instead, they glared at their little electronic devices trying to will them to turn on. “What happened here?”
The man shrugged. “Just like I said, really. I was driving along on my way to work when the engine suddenly went completely dead and all the lights on the panel blinked off. Thank God the brakes still worked or I would have rear-ended someone.” He nodded to a cluster of cars just ahead of his own. “They weren’t so fortunate. Maybe it happened to them and they couldn’t react in time.”
Wyatt noticed the man wore a watch. “That still working?”
The man looked at it, holding it close to his face and squinted. “Nope. This, too. Damn!”
“And this just happened?”
“About twenty minutes ago, yeah.”
Wyatt was completely flummoxed by it all. What the hell is going on?
“But do you know what is really troubling?” the man said.
“What?”
“Where are the police? The fire department? No one has shown up, so that means either they are completely unaware of what’s happened on this street or…”
“Or they’ve got the same problem,” Wyatt finished, not liking what he heard. He listened for a few moments. “No sirens at all.”
“Nope.”
So that would mean no ambulance. Maybe not for a long time. He looked over at his friend. Ethan slouched on the bench, his hand over the gauze. Even from here, Wyatt could tell he wasn’t doing well.
What was he going to do with him now?
He and Ethan had been friends for years. He used to see Ethan at the weekly soup kitchen next to Saint Catherine’s Church. They started chatting and eventually became good friends.
Wyatt was very protective of his dumpster diving route, but Ethan kept insisting on tagging along. “Who wants to roll around in garbage by themselves?” he had said. Turned out he was right. Having Ethan along for his morning rounds helped take the edge of the perpetual loneliness he’d gotten accustom to. As they worked, they talked a lot and about everything.
But now Ethan was in some serious trouble, possibly life threatening.
Because of me, Wyatt thought, feeling his anger grow. I should have kept my big fat mouth shut and gave those assholes our money. Then maybe my only friend in the world wouldn’t be bleeding to death at a God-damned bus stop, right now.
To the man, he asked, “Hey, do you know of a hospital around here?”
“Well, I know of a private clinic some ways down north of that intersection there.”
“How far?”
The man shrugged. “No clue. But I’d guess a good twenty blocks, maybe more.”
Wyatt cursed inwardly. But what else could he do? Sit here and wait for this nonsense to sort itself out, hoping that an ambulance could eventually be called? Or haul Ethan’s weakening ass down twenty blocks on the chance of finding a clinic that might not really be there?
A commotion broke out behind them among a cluster of dead vehicles. Some people were shoving each other around and yelling.
This is getting ugly. If people’s nerves are frayed now, what will things be like in a few hours? Or a few days?
Wyatt shook his head at the prospect. He didn’t need to think on other people right this moment. Only his friend mattered.
He thanked the man and trotted over to Ethan.
His friend’s pallor was ashen, blood completely soaking his left side and down his trousers.
“How you doing?” Wyatt asked, trying not to look as worried as he felt.
“Just peachy,” Ethan said. His whole body was limp like his joints had given up on keeping things together. “Got a medevac on route, yet?”
Wyatt chuckled. “No, no medevac.” He handed Ethan the water bottle. “Here, drink this.”
Ethan took it graciously and guzzled the water down.
“Actually, I’m going to be your medevac.”
“Really,” Ethan said, dubious. “You gonna grow blades or wings or something and whisk me away?”
“Not quite,” Wyatt said. “Wait here, I’ll be right back, okay?”
Ethan shrugged, a weak gesture. “Don’t worry, I don’t think I can crawl very far even if I wanted to.”
It pained Wyatt to leave his friend alone, but he had to. Quickly, he ran down the alleyway and back to their carts.
He unlocked them, then took turns moving them around, testing their wheels. The one for glass bottles looked to be in the best shape, so he dumped it out.
Without bothering to lock the other cart, he ran back down the alley, rattling up a tremendous noise.
He pushed the cart up to Ethan and gestured at it with a smile. “Your medevac as ordered.”
Ethan, despite his weakened conditions, gave the cart a doubtful look. “Really? You’re gonna push me around in that?”
“Sure. Works for cans why not for you?”
“Well, I guess I’m recyclable in the grand scheme of things.” He shoved himself up off the bench with Wyatt’s help.
“But where are we gonna go?” Ethan asked as he crawled unceremoniously into the cart. He flopped inside so he was facing backwards, his legs up over the sides like a mischievous kid in a shopping mall. He grunted in pain at the movement.
“To get you fixed up, buddy,” Wyatt said with a smile he didn’t feel.
The man from the car trotted over. “Hey, you taking him to the clinic?”
“Yeah,” Wyatt said.
“Then here, take this.” The man held out a fold of money bills.
Wyatt and Ethan stared in shock.
Wyatt snapped out his reverie and asked, “What’s that for?”
“Unless you guys have insurance, you might have trouble getting help from the clinic. This isn’t much, but it should be enough to get your friend looked at,” the man said.
Wyatt stared at the proffered cash. So much of it. Several hundred at least. “I.. I don’t know..” he said with uncertainty. No one had ever given him that much cash before. A couple of bucks, sure. But hundreds of dollars? Never.
“Oh, hell, Wyatt,” Ethan said. “Take the money. At the very least it can pay for my funeral.”
Wyatt accepted the money graciously and shoved it inside his jacket. “Thank you. I mean it.” Then, as an afterthought asked, “What’s your name?”
“Ruben,” the man said. “Now get him out of here.”
Wyatt nodded at Ruben, again, and then pushed the cart, still in shock.
As they rattled along, Wyatt found his mind in a daze. That has to be the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him before. And for Ethan.
“See, not all people are complete shit,” Wyatt said as he pushed the rattling cart down the road, navigating around vehicles.
“The jury is still out,” Ethan said. His arms and legs shook with the cart’s movement, all the energy gone out of him.
Wyatt looked at his friend with a mix of pity, rage and confusion. Why was this happening to them? They should be in an ambulance by now if the damned power worked.
As he pushed the cart along, he found his thoughts echoed in the conversations of the people he passed.
What in the hell was going on?
CHAPTER SEVEN
After walking ten long blocks down Greenside avenue, Nate was ready to start shooting people.
He usually avoided crowds in general. No parties, or get-togethers or baseball games. Those were for the lesser folk, the chum of the sea.
In fact, if he had to count how many friends he had on his fingers he’d come up with a fist. He didn’t need friends. More of a hindrance to his line of work. Can’t trust people, and you really couldn’t trust the jackals in the underworld where he worked.
So having to listen to all the whining and wailing of the people he passed began to fray his already shortened nerves.