Chapter 8
When he was finished stitching the wound, Andy’s fingers were slick with blood and ached. The needle’s imprint had dug into his forefinger and thumb, leaving behind a small gulley when he picked it out. Tying off the thread, he leaned down and bit it off, as close to Sam’s skin as he could get. Then he poured more whiskey over the black stitches to clean away the blood.
Beside him, Sam cried out. The anesthetic had worn off during the last few moments Andy worked at the wound. He’d ignored the sharp intake of breath and the hand clutching his leg as he hurried to finish. Now he took that cold hand in both his own to warm it as he studied the wound.
In the glow of the lantern, the puckered flesh blazed angrily. It looked as dark as thunderclouds before a storm, bruised and te
