“Gunshot Man”

By Marco Etheridge

Gunshot Man

The little boy had never seen a gunshot man before, had never seen anyone or anything shot with a gun except on television. Now there was a bleeding man with a bullet hole where his heart should be, stretched out on the couch of his mom and dad’s VW camper van.

It wasn’t a real camper van, not like the ones in the magazine that his dad showed him. His dad had built their camper van out of a regular VW van. I can do that better and for half the money. That’s what his dad always said.

And now there was a stranger laid out on the camper van couch that his dad had made, a couch that folded out into a bed. His mom and dad slept on that bed, and the boy was worried that the stranger’s blood might drip onto it.

There were three strange men in the VW van. One of them rode up in the front seat beside the boy’s father, in the special place the boy was allowed to sit in only if he behaved himself. His dad drove down the road while the stranger in the front seat talked and waved his hands.

The second stranger knelt on the floor of the van beside the sleeper couch, speaking to the gunshot man in a voice so low the little boy could not hear his words. The man with the bullet hole in his chest did not speak or answer. His eyes moved around like he was looking at something no one else could see, but his mouth did not move.

The boy and his little brother sat on the bench seat at the back of the Volkswagen. His mom sat between the two of them, holding their hands. His mom’s hand was trembling, and her grip was tight, so tight it hurt. His brother leaned forward past their mom’s body and looked at him with wide eyes. He answered his little brother with an eyebrow shrug, the way you do when you don’t want the adults to notice.  

The sunroof was open a bit and a warm wind blew into the van as his dad steered them down the road. The boy’s mom spoke to the gunshot man. Her voice sounded strange, like she was someone else.

Is that too much air for you?

It was the kneeling stranger who answered. The gunshot man didn’t say anything.

No, Ma’am, that’s fine. We’re fine.

The little boy stared at the man laid out on his parent’s sleeping bench. The gunshot man’s shirt was unbuttoned all the way and he was not wearing an undershirt. The boy could see the man’s belly. It was pale like a fish except where the blood was.

The bullet hole was down from the man’s nipple, but higher than his belly button. There was a big bubble of blood over the bullet hole and the blood was bright red, like a cartoon. The boy watched the blood, waiting for it to spill down onto the sleeping couch, but the blood did not spill.

When the gunshot man breathed in, the bubble got smaller, and when he breathed out, it got bigger. Bigger and smaller, bigger and smaller, like it was the blood bubble breathing in and out instead of the man.

The boy did not like the strange adult sitting in what was supposed to be his seat, up front beside his dad where you could see far up the road. This was not how family vacations were supposed to happen.

Their trip had started out like a normal vacation, with lots of driving and then camping at night. His dad drove them into Canada, which was a different country from the United States. Earlier in the day, before the gunshot man changed everything, they had visited Storybook Gardens in London, Ontario. Ontario was a province, which was another name for a state. The boy memorized these important details, just like he always did.

At Storybook Gardens, the little boy heard the story of Slippery the Seal. Slippery was a sea lion who lived at Storybook Gardens. Slippery escaped into a river, which is how he got his name. He swam all the way down to Lake Erie, which is really far and not in Canada anymore. Slippery played in the water and had a really nice time before some men finally captured him.

When they drove away from Storybook Gardens, the little boy was sitting in the good seat beside his dad. They were riding down a highway with farms and forests on both sides of the road. Then the boy saw a man in the middle of the road waving his arms.

His dad stopped the van so they wouldn’t run over the man. The man stood beside the window of the van, talking loud and fast. The boy heard the words wounded, and hospital, and flat tire.

Then his dad was out of the van. There was a car parked on the side of the road, and his dad walked to the car with the other man. The boy saw his dad bend down to look into the car, then hurry back to the van. The big sliding door flew open.

Get in the back, kiddo. It was the voice that meant do it now and no questions. So he jumped in the back.

Then two strangers came towards the van carrying another man between them. The man they carried was slumped forward and his feet dragged on the ground. He tried to walk, but mostly they carried him. He was the gunshot man. 

They loaded the gunshot man into the van and laid him down. That was when a regular vacation day changed into something else.

His father started the engine and then they were driving down the road again. That was how he ended up sitting in the back of the van with his little brother while his mom squished his hand.

They drove past more farms and patches of forest. His dad was driving faster than normal. After a while, the stranger sitting in the front pointed out the window and said something. The boy heard the funny noise the van made when his dad worked the gear lever and the van slowed down.

His dad turned off of the big road and drove up a long driveway to a big hospital building. When the van pulled to a stop, lots of things started happening all at once.

His dad and the man in front climbed out. The big sliding door slid open and the boy saw men in white coats and a tall woman with grey hair. She was telling the men what to do. She had a loud voice like a schoolteacher.

The men had a little bed on wheels. They jumped into the van and bent over the gunshot man. The white-coated men all moved together, and the gunshot man floated out of the van and onto the little bed. Then they were running, pushing the wheeled bed through some big doors. That was the last time the boy saw the man with the bullet hole in his chest.

When gunshot man was gone, his mom let go of the boy’s hand and he shook it to make the blood go back in. One of the strangers was standing outside the van with his dad. The man shook his dad’s hand and walked away.

His dad pulled the sliding door shut with a slam. The boy’s mom slipped into the good seat as his dad climbed back into the van. The engine started and they drove away.

The little boy sat where he was. He stared at the wrinkled cover on the sleeping couch. He could still see the outline of the gunshot man.

Later, he asked what would happen to the gunshot man. He asked again and again, but the adults did not have an answer. They said it was one of those things they might never know. They said it was a mystery, which is what adults said when they didn’t have a good answer. When he asked once more, they told him to hush.

That night, after they had eaten dinner in the campground, the little boy thought about the man with the bullet in his chest. He imagined the man escaping from the hospital, slipping away from the men in the white coats. Like Slippery the Seal, he would find a river and swim away.

Maybe he would swim all the way down to Lake Erie, clear out of Canada. He’d swim and swim and swim, just like Slippery the Seal. The clean water would swirl over his body and wash away the bubble of blood. The gunshot man would not be gunshot anymore. That would make him happy. Then he could live in the big lake and swim around and have a really nice time and try not to get caught.

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Marco Etheridge is a writer of fiction and CNF, an occasional playwright, and a part-time poet. He lives and writes in Vienna, Austria. His scribbles have been featured in many lovely reviews and journals in Canada, Australia, the UK, and the USA. Notable recent credits include: Coffin Bell, In Parentheses, The Thieving Magpie, Ligeia Magazine, The First Line, Prime Number Magazine, Dream Noir, The Opiate Magazine, Cobalt Press, Literally Stories, and The Metaworker, amongst many others. Marco’s novel “Breaking the Bundles” is available at fine online booksellers. His author website is: https://www.marcoetheridgefiction.