Pushing Bodey’s leg off mine, I unlocked the door and shoved it open. The rain had slowed to a fine mist, sticking to my hair strands and clinging to John’s beard in droplets.
“John, you’re here. Are you okay? You’re bleeding.” I tenderly touched around the scrape which had zinged away a piece of his hair.
He moved his lips but didn’t say anything. His eyes glazed over and I reached for him as he fell.
I barely caught him, oomphing to the ground with him on my forearms. Cold mud soaked my pants through to my skin. I kicked my foot on the car. Thud, thud, thud.
Screaming like I wanted to might bring negative attention and I couldn’t do that to Bodey and John. I struggled to keep the majority of John’s torso and head off the wet grass and mud.
Bodey peeked over the windowsill. His eyes widened and he joined us immediately in the swampy mess on his knees. “Dad! Kelley, what happened?”
“He passed out. I’m not sure before that. He tried speaking, but he fell first. Help me get him out of the cold.” The chill seeped in deep, fast. I couldn’t imagine how cold John was. His clothes were soaked through.
“In here. It’s warmer where we were.” Bodey backed into the car and pulled John while I pushed, laying him across the backseat. Bodey lowered his head, pressing his face to his dad’s cheek. “What are we going to do?”
I learned from my mom. I had this.
Apply pressure.
Tearing through the bag closest to me, I handed a sock to Bodey to press to his dad’s wound. “Push on his cut and hold tight. Head wounds bleed the worst.”
Bad. Worse. Worst.
Because I had so much experience with that type of thing.