Driving down the road I saw that it had no numbers or signs so it wasn't a public road, which was no surprise. Getting to the gate I pulled out my handy card key and swiped it to get out of the gate. We still had electricity so I didn't have to push the gate open, thank God. It looked like it must have weighed 500 pounds. Driving out of the gate left me none the wiser as to where I was. After driving on a gravel road in the middle of nowhere for about 20 minutes I came out on a road that I finally recognized. It was a road that led to Mt. Shasta. Marking where I came out, I made sure I listed every street name and turn I made until I got back to Interstate 5.Speeding to the storage area I met Rita at the house. She was jumping up and down with curiosity, which I refused to fully satisfy. I told her the tunnel led to a room that had several dead people in it and told her of the messages I had read. She cried when I told her about the passenger, and I wondered again how old she really. I reached into the wound from the shrapnel and begin to feel for the bleeder. I must have done something right because the blood stopped spraying.I looked at the Butterbar and said, "You need to put your hand behind mine and follow your fingers down to my index finger. It's the one that's covering the bleeder. I will slip my hand out of the way and prepare the suture."For a fucking green Butterbar, he surprised me and followed directions to a T. Once I was sure his index finger was on the bleeder, I slipped my hand out of the wound in Jack's ass and prepared the suture tray.I looked at the Butterbar and ordered, "Okay, I'm ready. Once I start the suture, you need to try to mop up the blood so I can see and feel what I'm doing. But be careful that I don't nick you with the needle."He pulled his hands away, I reached in, found the bleeder and began the suture while the Butterbar did a hell of a job controlling the bleeding. One, two, three sutures and the bleeding slowed up. I looked.
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