A moment later the clerk returned with bandages, gauze, and a plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol. He sat them on the blood-spotted Formica next to the sink. Savanna ripped open one of the packages and blotted Roger’s wound dry with a sterile pad. “Did you call for help?” she asked the clerk.
He shook his head. “Lines are down. Been down for some time. Nothin’ on the radio, either.”
“We caught a little heading in ...” Savanna said. She pumped more soap from the dispenser and rubbed it between her crimsoned hands, then rinsed them off. “Part of the Emergency Broadcast System, just the tone.”
Roger stirred beside her, working his jaws open and closed like a grounded fish. Savanna looked up at the clerk in the mirror. “Whose station wagon is that out ...”
He was shaking his head. “There’s w
