Free Gone in a Flash by Susan Rogers Cooper Page B

the seat, but was having trouble because of his long legs. ‘Guess we should deal with your foot,’ he said.
    ‘Ya think?’ Mr Jones asked, the sarcasm abundantly clear. ‘Take me to a hospital!’
    ‘Can’t do it,’ Mr Smith said. ‘They have to report all gunshot wounds to the police.’
    ‘Well, you should have thought about that before you shot me!’ Mr Jones said.
    Mr Smith found his way out of Black Cat Ridge without being followed and pulled onto a side road that went down to the river. He pulled under the bridge that connected BCR to Codderville, shut off the engine and turned on the interior light.
    ‘Get your foot up here,’ he said to Mr Jones.
    ‘I can’t!’ Mr Jones said. ‘My leg doesn’t bend that way!’
    Mr Smith sighed. ‘Get out of the car and lift your foot onto the seat.’
    Grumbling, Mr Jones got out of the car, limping and, holding on to the door, stuck his injured foot onto the passenger seat.
    Mr Smith studied the foot. The motorcycle boot Mr Jones was wearing had a hole in it in the baby toe vicinity. ‘OK,’ he said to Mr Jones, ‘I’m gonna take off the boot. So hold on to the door.’
    Mr Jones held on and screamed like a little girl when Mr Smith yanked off the boot.
    ‘Big baby,’ Mr Smith said. There was a lot of blood on Mr Jones’ white sock. Mr Smith pulled that off, eliciting yet another child-like scream of pain. Taking the already ruined sock, Mr Smith cleared the area of blood. There was a small divot cut out of Mr Jones’ foot, right below the smallest toe. It was less a wound and more a severe scrape. But in his position, Mr Smith noted a large hole in the floor of the car.
    He threw the bloody sock at Mr Jones. ‘Jesus, Jones,’ he said, ‘the car got it worse than you did. Get in.’
    Mr Jones looked down at his foot. ‘It’s still bleeding,’ he said.
    ‘Then keep the sock on it. Jeez, get in the car and let’s go.’
    Mr Jones got in the car, leaning down to wrap the bloody sock around his wound before shutting the door. ‘Where are we going now?’ he asked Mr Smith.
    ‘Now we gotta get another car.’ Mr Smith sighed. ‘This is getting old.’
WEDNESDAY
    The next morning was hectic. Nobody got much sleep the night before, knowing those two men were still out there, but it was the first day of school, the first day of being juniors for all three girls. It wasn’t as cool as being seniors, of course, but they were now upper-class women, and that was something. They got dressed, Bess and Alicia just as they’d described the night before, and, after much throwing of tops hither and yon, Megan managed to find a three-quarter sleeve, handkerchief-hemmed gauzy Indian print top, low-cut enough to show boobage, but not so low cut as to instigate a riot – either with the boys at school, the school authorities, or, she hoped, her mother.
    Megan lucked out. Her mother was too busy making breakfasts and fixing lunches to care.
    ‘I’d rather eat in the cafeteria,’ Megan said, turning her nose up at the brown bag her mother had prepared.
    ‘Eat it and shut up,’ E.J. said. ‘Email notice last night. The kitchen will be closed for at least one week pending the completion of the remodeling.’
    ‘That’s what you get when you go with the lowest bidder,’ her father said from his stool at the counter.
    ‘Where are we going to eat?’ Megan demanded.
    ‘The cafeteria will be open. The kitchen is cordoned off,’ her mother said.
    ‘Just great,’ Megan mumbled.
    ‘You’ll live,’ Alicia said from her stool where she was finishing up her cereal.
    ‘I’m driving this morning!’ Megan called.
    ‘Nope.’ E.J. pointed to a whiteboard on the refrigerator. ‘It’s Alicia’s turn.’
    Alicia stuck her tongue out at Megan. ‘Very mature, Alicia!’ Megan said, sticking her tongue out back at her.
    ‘Gawd,’ Bess said. ‘Mother, may I please take the bus?’
    Megan pushed Bess, who pushed back.
    ‘Finish eating, please,’ their mother