The Fort (Aric Davis)

can’t even see what I need to be digging around in. So you got to be the one to do it, and I got to let you.
    “I figure if you do a good enough job we’ll both be fine, and if not, you get one in your dome and I wind up figuring out some story to tell while I’m waiting on an ambulance. I don’t know if I’m a good enough liar to pull that off, but I sure as shit know you’re not good enough with that little blade to stop me from shooting you if I get to thinking I need to.”
    Amy nodded at him. She looked onboard, as though she respected the situation and knew that doing a good job would benefit her just as much as it would him. It was sort of like dangling a carrot in front of a mule, Hooper thought. It was a good trick, but not a fair one. The only thing that was going to be happening for little old Amy once he got put back together was a whole lot of fucking. Maybe she’d come to see that was what would keep her alive, and maybe she wouldn’t, but just like with extracting the bullet, it was going to happen.
    He drank two quick swallows of the grain alcohol, shivering both times as the shitty-tasting liquid scorched his palate. Hooper didn’t care for strong drink. Life could be difficult enough without going around cutting your wits in half with booze, and it had been years since he’d had so much as a beer. Still, it seemed to be a necessary evil to dull if not completely shut off his senses.
    He handed Amy the bottle and said, “Pour some on the wound, then dry it with one of those towels.” She took the bottle, Hooper took a deep breath, and then fire was racing up his leg all over again.
    “It’s really swollen,” said Amy. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want you to shoot me just because it hurts.”
    She was gingerly wiping off his leg while she spoke, and when she was done, Hooper emptied his lungs and said, “You’ll be fine, girl. Just don’t go getting cute. I figure what you ought to do is open that hole back up with the knife and then go digging for the bullet with those forceps. If you stick to that plan, we’ll be doing just fine.”
    “When do you want me to start?”
    “There’s no time like the present,” said Hooper, and she began to cut. He added the ball gag to his mouth just a few seconds later. The feeling of her cutting into his wounded skin was just about the worst thing he’d ever experienced.
    “There’s like, black blood coming out,” said Amy. “It’s thicker than blood, and it’s really gross. There’s some yellow stuff leaking out too. Are you sure we need to do this?”
    “That just means we should have done it yesterday,” said Hooper, after spitting the gag into his hand. He sure didn’t envy Amy’s having to wear it all the time. “Have you cut it enough yet?”
    She hesitated, then said, “No, at least I don’t think so. This knife isn’t very sharp—”
    Hooper cut her off. “It’s going to have to work. Just put your back into it and get it over with. I can’t do this all day.”
    She started cutting in earnest then, and Hooper slid the saliva-slick ball back into his mouth and chomped down on it. And again the pain was somehow worse still than anything he’d ever felt. Worse than getting shot, worse than shrapnel had been, worse than falling off his bike when he was nine and breaking his arm.
    “Done,” said Amy, after what felt like an eternity. “At least I think we are. The hole is big enough now that I think the forceps will fit. How will I know when I get to the bullet?”
    Hooper had to pant for a while before he could talk. “You’ll feel it,” he said at last. “It’ll be like tapping metal on metal.”
    “All right,” said Amy, sounding utterly unconvinced. “Here goes, OK?” When she was done speaking Hooper felt the forceps enter him, and he nearly swooned from the pain. Somehow, it was worse than even the cutting had been. The ball gag fell from his mouth to the cement floor, forgotten, at least for the moment. Looking over his shoulder, Hooper could see her working. The forceps were in his leg, several inches deep at least. The yellow pus, or whatever it was, made it look like a longtime smoker had blown a loogie full of snot and throat stones all over the back of his leg. He was surprised to see that aside from the pus and black coagulate, there was little fluid coming from the wound, and what was coming out was thin and looked diluted to his untrained eyes.
    “Do you feel anything