Kelly
The pickup bounced off the pavement as Greg cut through an abandoned field as he tried to rush as quickly as he could to the hospital. Kelly, gritting her teeth, held onto the side of the bed, Tate’s head in her lap, his breathing labored. At least he wasn’t coughing up any more blood, she thought wearily. After moving him into the truck, and for the first half hour of the drive, she had held him up as he coughed and spit up blood so he didn’t choke. She looked down at her jeans, now splattered, and felt sick to her stomach. It stank too, not like blood from a normal cut or scrape, but like blood that oozed from a body that had been left to rot. Listening to his breath rattle in his chest, she hoped the drive wouldn’t take too much longer. He hadn’t been lying when she had tried to
