Straining to keep his arm elevated, she dipped her head to the blood-splattered floor hump and snatched up the T-shirt with her teeth. She swung it around his wrist with a jerk of her chin, and managed to pin the twisted cloth where it crisscrossed itself beneath her bloody fingers. Glancing down she spotted the blue cap of a ballpoint pen, poking sideways out of the jumble of junk between the beverage holders. She drew the pen free with her teeth and clenched it there, then released his biceps and tied the shirt’s ends in a half-knot. He started hemorrhaging instantly, the blood leaping for the ceiling as if pumped from a squirt gun. She held the Bick to the half-knot and knotted the cloth twice more. Then she twisted the pen, praying it would not break—once, twice, a thousand times.
“Di
