Free Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One by Adam Knight Page B

husband’s insurance was able to cover the majority of your
mortgage. Unfortunately, there isn’t much we can do as far as a
loan to help with your medications. The stipend you are receiving
from disability is already maxed out and given your status we are
not able to extend a loan on top.”
     
    Silence.
     
    “So what,” more
coughing. “What can we do?”
     
    The banker
looked over at me. Then back at his forms. “Well if you are willing
to sign the forms over to your son, we can transfer the mortgage
into his name. Once there he can buy extra health insurance and we
would be willing to extend him the same generous interest rate you
already carry.”
     
    Mom looked at
me with panic in her eyes.
     
    WHAM.
     
    “We’re losing
him!”
     
    “Sixty seconds!
A room is already cleared!”
     
    “How long on
the AED?”
     
    “Almost
ready!”
     
    WHAM.
     
    Mom watched me
as I reorganized my clothes into the closet. My old closet. The one
Dad had built for me when I was twelve. Donald’s room was across
the way. Untouched in years.
     
    Her face was
sad. Her housecoat wrapped tightly around her, though it was a hot
summer day.
     
    “Thank you,
Joseph.” She whispered, her eyes red. A high pitched whine rang in
my ears. Her cheeks were already sinking in. “Your father and I, we
never wanted this for you.”
     
    Nothing to say.
The lamps all began to flicker.
     
    Wait.
     
    That’s new.
     
    I don’t
remember that.
     
    “One day,” Mom
coughed, the lamplight behind her flickered harder. She never fell
into shadow. Always illuminated. “Hopefully you can find time to
finish college when I start to feel better.”
     
    What’s that
whine?
     
    Where am I?
     
    Lights
flickering.
     
    Whining.
Electronic whining.
     
    What … What the
hell is going on?
     
    WHAM.
     
    “Holy
shit!”
     
    “What the fuck
was that?”
     
    Smoke.
     
    Squealing
tires.
     
    “Hang on! I
can’t control it!”
     
    Pain.
     
    “Did you
overload it?”
     
    “I got it,
we’re cool. I’m pulling up now.”
     
    “This thing's
fried!”
     
    “Re-starting
compressions.”
     
    WHAM.
     
    Where am I?
     
    Dad.
     
    Donald.
     
    They’ve been
gone for years.
     
    Hit and run.
Semi-trailer on their way to a ballgame in Minneapolis.
     
    What the fuck
is going on?
     
    Isn’t there
supposed to be a light? A tunnel?
     
    What is that
whining sound?
     
    Shit.
     
    Mom.
     
    Who’s gonna
watch out for….
     
    WHAM
     
    WHAM-WHAM
     
    WHAM-WHAM-WHAM
     
    “Jesus
Christ!”
     
    “Somebody get a
fire extinguisher!”
     
    More smoke.
     
    “Did we blow a
circuit breaker?”
     
    Heat.
     
    “Get the
generator online.”
     
    Light.
     
    Smoke.
     
    Dad’s
cigarettes?
     
    No. Actual
smoke. Burning my lungs.
     
    Coughing.
     
    Mom?
     
    No.
     
    Me.
     
    “We’ve got a
pulse!”
     
    “He’s
breathing!”
     
    “Get him under!
We gotta get that bullet out of ……”
     
    Cold.
     
    Black.
     
    Rest.
     

Chapter 8
     
    Hospital food
gets a bad rep.
     
    Sure it
wasn’t a night out at Rae and
Jerry’s. But for a guy recovering from a triple
gunshot wound it was pretty darned fine.
     
    Not having to
cook it myself also went a long way.
     
    Plus, I like
Jell-O.
     
    April had given
away to May and the sun had melted most of the snow off the
streets. At least from what I could see out my hospital room
window. I leaned against the cool frame with one arm and stared
into the Old St. Boniface neighborhood with a bit of tightness
across the right side of my chest. Not painful really, but
noticeable when I stretched like that..
     
    I rubbed
at my chest, feeling at my scars through the old school Star Wars logo emblazoned on my
tee-shirt. Two of the GSW’s were classic TV-style
through-and-throughs, high through my trapezius and lower through
my guts. The third one was more center mass and got caught trying
to exit out the back of my ribcage.
     
    Lots of
tissue damage. Blood loss was severe. Over eighty percent