Another dart. This one hit her on the shoulder and it hurt much worse than the first, causing a stabbing pain that led her to trip and fall. They were coming, the four remaining ones, and she could already feel the effects of the silver nitrate in her body.
She looked down, at the blood dripping down her leg, staining her socks, and there, next to her shoe … keys. Not her keys. Car keys. Keys to the car they were trying to stuff Domingo in. She grabbed them and rushed toward the passenger seat, opening the door and sliding inside.
“Get in!” she yelled.
They shot a third dart. It shattered the front window of the car, bits of glass raining upon her lap. Domingo shuffled onto the backseat and Cualli jumped in behind him.
She tossed her empty, useless gun onto the passenger’s seat and pressed on the accelerator. She sped away, her hands stiff against the wheel. A light turned green, turned red, and she did not care. Amber, red, green, she kept going until she felt a deep, shivering pain and had to stop. She vomited over herself. A sticky, black mess.
She stepped on the brakes, opened the car door, and stepped out, teetering and stumbling, and suddenly there was the barking of the dog and a body next to her.
“Hey,” Domingo said. “You need to drive. I can’t drive.”
“I need to sleep,” she croaked. Her legs buckled, but he was there. He helped her stand, asked her if she could take a step, and surprisingly she could. She dragged herself forward or he dragged her with him, but somehow she walked.
CHAPTER
22
It would have been easier if Domingo had his shopping cart with him. He could have tossed Atl in it and wheeled her away. Instead, he was stuck half-dragging her into the subway station. This was his territory, and he felt a lot safer once they caught a train. Atl slumped onto one of the seats, her head resting on his shoulder.
Most people didn’t even glance at them. Atl’s clothes were dark and the blood didn’t show. Even if it showed, maybe they wouldn’t have cared. He imagined they looked like two dirty street kids with their dog. They probably thought that Atl was drunk or high. Either way, nobody spoke to them.
They got off the subway car and things went pretty well until Atl had to climb the stairs leading outside the station. She lost her footing, causing two bums who were sitting by the stairs to stare at them while he whispered to her, begging her to walk with him. Domingo had to put her arm around his shoulders, pulling her up. Soon they were in the tunnels and had reached his home.
He lowered her onto the mattress and lit several lanterns, then grabbed one and placed it on a hook above the bed.
“You need to take out the darts,” she said. “My leg. My shoulder. They’re … that’s … silver nitrate. It’s … anaphylactic shock.”
“Okay.”
He rolled her pants up and found the dart she was talking about. It was burrowed deep into her flesh. When he pulled, it seemed to sink deeper and Atl let out a gasp.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s messed up. It’s embedded into your skin.”
“Yank it out,” she ordered.
“I can’t … I … wait.” Domingo took the lantern away and dashed to the other side of the chamber, opening and closing boxes until he found what he was looking for: a pair of old pliers. He had rubbing alcohol, but no bandages. He tore a T-shirt into long strips and hurried back to her side. When he set the lantern down, the shadows on the wall seemed to tilt and bob up and down.
He pressed one hand against her leg and held the pliers with the other, pulling a small, metallic needle out. Blood seeped out and he grabbed the rubbing alcohol, cleaning the wound.
“The other,” she said. Atl yanked off her jacket and rolled onto her side, her back to him.
Again he pulled out a needle, this time from her shoulder. Another had embedded itself right above her heart, and when he took it away blood sputtered like a river and though he kept pressing the T-shirt against it, it didn’t seem to stop.
“Atl, what do I do now? Do I get Elisa? Do I take you to Bernardino?”
“No. I can’t have Elisa panicking. Bernardino … never him. Okay? Too … unpredictable … dangerous.”
“Who, then?”
“Nobody. I’ll get better. I need to sleep,” she said, clutching the shirt against her chest. “Let me sleep.”
Domingo pulled a blanket over her. He boiled himself a bit of coffee over his portable stove and sat in a corner, biting his nails, thinking about what had happened and taking sips of coffee. It had been so fast. He’d barely been able to string two coherent thoughts together before chaos had exploded and some guys had been trying to pummel him into a car.
It had been scary. He’d known Atl was in a shitty situation, but it had been an abstract thought. This was real. It wasn’t something he’d read or seen on the TV. Those men had tried to put him in the trunk of a car and God knew what would have happened if they’d succeeded.
The dog came to sit next to him and they both stared at Atl for a good, long time. His coffee cooled down and Domingo crouched close to the bed. He pressed a hand against her forehead.