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better control over the car and neither one of us
spoke. Thirty minutes passed and we were a long way from the Academy. I looked
behind us but nobody followed.
    We
headed further and further away from the Colony.
    I
didn’t know how wide the perimeter ran along our Land, but I was positive we’d
have to reach it soon.
    James
took a few lefts, heading perpendicular to the direction we had been driving.
    The
blackness encased us; the only light in our direction were the ones beaming
from the headlights of the car.
    I
finally inched up the nerve to ask James what was happening. I opened my mouth,
about to utter the words, when James’ body began slumping to the side and the
car slowed down. I reached forward over the headrest to grab him. But he kept sliding
until he was completely down across the front seat. The car stopped.
    I
peered over further. I couldn’t see it before; the shirt he had been wearing
was black. It camouflaged the blood puddling in his lap. I shoved the drenched
shirt up over his head, and he groaned in response.
     He had been shot. Blood soaked the seat.
    I
opened the rear door, quickly ran around to the front, and climbed in over him.
I pulled his shirt back up, observing a hole from where a gunshot pierced his gut.
I leaned him forward, he groaned again, and I examined his lower back with my
hand.
    I
held my breath as I felt around. But I couldn’t find another hole. No exit wound.
    “James,
can you hear me?” I lowered my face directly in front of his as he lay unmoving
on his side against the back of the seat.
    He
was weak, but he nodded.
    I
looked around, nobody could help us. We were alone.
    “James,
I don’t know where we are. What are we going to do?” I started to panic—more
than I already was.
    I
climbed back out of the car and walked over to the trunk. A small, metallic
button sat in the center of a latch. It looked like another lock. At least I
thought it did. I had never been this close to a car before.
    I
pressed it with my thumb, but it didn’t open.
    I
pressed it again. Nothing.
    DNA, I thought.
    I
quickly ran back to the front of the car, grabbed the finger lying on the floor,
then ran back and pressed it firmly to the same button.
    Suddenly,
I heard a pop of suction and the trunk smoothly rose.
    I
began searching…for anything. There wasn’t much in the back. I tossed around a
few useless items: shirts, pants, shoes, a large knife (too large), and some wrinkled
papers. There wasn’t a first-aid kit. If he lost too much blood before his body
regenerated, healing the wound, then he would fall into a coma. And he couldn’t
regenerate with the bullet still in his body. I had to get the bullet out. I
had to stop the bleeding soon, or he’d die.
    I
closed the trunk and ran back around the front. James was unresponsive to his
name.
    The
road we were on only left two options; we either go back or go forward. However,
I had no idea what streets to take that would lead home—not even sure if that
was the best place for us right now. The other option was to keep driving
forward and hope James had a plan, and I would somehow drive straight into it.
Maybe somebody was waiting for us?
    But
there was one vital problem—I had no idea how to drive.
    I
pushed James’ legs, scooting him as gently as possible over to the passenger
side. The weight of his body made it easy to push carefully; he was too heavy
for me to move any faster.
    With
the severed finger in my right hand, I gradually forced the tip onto the icy
blue button and the car hummed to life again.
    Now
what?
    I
grabbed the translucent wheel and felt the car jump forward. Startled, I took
my hands off the wheel, and the sound of the car halted. This time, I grabbed
the wheel gentler and the car hummed to a gradual speed. I was careful not to
press too forcibly on the wheel, which was harder to do than I thought. My
natural response to tense situations led to me being tense all over and I
wanted to grip the wheel with all of my