Ashford swung at Jill. Jill avoided the arcing pipe wrench as if she were playing champion dodge ball.
“THIS IS THE DENVER POLICE. LOWER YOUR WEAPON.”
Time shifted into slow motion.
Ashforth’s pipe wrench bashed into the open passenger door, catching on the roof of the Aston Martin. The window shattered in tiny pieces. Amidst the mist of Jacob’s blood, the tiny pieces of glass floated through the air to the sidewalk.
As Ashforth lifted the pipe wrench over his head for another swing, the police officers stopped running and lifted their handguns. Ducking the pipe wrench, she continued toward Jacob. The glass tore at her feet. She felt, more than saw, bullets pass over her.
Ripping apart the cardboard Kleenex box, she slid on her knees next to him. She jammed a wad of tissue into the river of Jacob’s blood coming from where his collarbone had been. The spray of blood stopped. Using her torn nylons, she tied the tissue in a neat pressure dressing. Yanking off her cotton work shirt, she pressed the fabric into his oozing, destroyed shoulder. Hoping to slow his bleeding, she pressed her weight into his shoulder.
Jacob opened his eyes.
“I love you, Jill.”
He jerked and went slack.
Time returned to a normal pace.
She felt Ashforth lumber toward her and then fall to the sidewalk.
One Denver Police officer ran past her to her ex-boss. Another police officer, a Hispanic woman, came to Jill.
“I have a weak pulse,” the policewoman screamed into the microphone at her shoulder, “We need an ambulance NOW.”
“He’s still alive?” Valerie whispered.
“For now,” Delphie said.
The retelling of Denver Cereal, Volume 1, continues tomorrow…
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