Adrenaline

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
When you hear a scream what would you do? What about a growling wolf? Your only with your cousin? A petite 13 year old who can barely do 20 push-ups let alone fight off a wolf? What if your adrenaline started pumping?

Submitted: October 25, 2008

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Submitted: October 25, 2008

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We ran through the seemingly endless forest of the frighteningly stolid maple and pine trees, our fast beating hearts clearly displaying the urgency of identifying where those frightening sounds had come from. Our feet were raw from the sharpness of the rocks and roots those four feet not only treaded over, but were eternally damaged by them, from scars to a fracture. The more injured our feet became, the slower we went. It was not from pure inability to move any faster, for at the time we didn't notice any pain, the adrenaline had covered any shred of it. My speed felt completely inorganic, borrowed, temporary, I hoped that this gift somehow landed on me for a good reason. Although, no matter how fast that I was going I was so afraid that it wasn't going to be fast enough. Thatâs when I found him. I first only saw him from a distance but I believed it was the person that we were looking for, based on the blood-soaked ground, rock, and fur of the vicious wolf. I ran the four yards into the clearing where the attack was taking place. When I reached the wolf I pushed at the grey fur, dripping with red, attempting to shove it off of the injured manâs back. The wolf became infuriated and ripped my arm open with his white, sharp teeth. That injury, I felt. For a split second I stared at my arm with disbelief and pain, which is when I saw the gun. It was conveniently placed away from the wolf, just out of armâs reach for the sprawled out, unmoving body. I grabbed the silver handgun in one swift movement without catching the attention of the dog. Not daring to shoot the dog for fear of also hitting the man, I aimed the gun straight to the sky and fired. The dog immediately ran off. I glanced over my left shoulder to see Ashley standing there gaping at not only the dying man, but also me, in shock that I would ever touch, let alone know how to use a gun. I sharply looked straight forward, knowing that there was no time for an explanation and said with such a shaky voice that it resembled a timid rabbit cornered by a seasonal hunter, âGo get help.â I sensed that she had not moved so I looked back at her and screamed, âGO!â She left. I set the gun down next to the large rock near where I was standing and rushed beside the man. I saw that he was still breathing and his heart was still beating, and it was my job to keep it that way. I tore off my Washington DC souvenir t-shirt, knowing that I will need to dress his wounds, a fact that I learned from the Civil War unit in middle school Social Studies. I was glad that I at least had a sports bra on for when my cousin comes back with help. I took the pocketknife out of my front right jean-shorts pocket and began to cut my shirt into strips. I took one and first wiped the blood off the back of his bicep to find where the wound actually was. When I found it I noticed that it was really deep, but tied the makeshift bandage around his arm tightly so that there was enough pressure on it, but blood still came through and I hoped that we could get him to a hospital quickly. I noticed the blood on the sharp rock just above where his head laid and realized that when he was attacked he must have fallen over and hit his head on the rock, which would explain why he was unresponsive. I decided that the wound too his head must have done more damage then the ones on his back, which had been repeatedly worsened by more of the wolfâs sharp teeth and claws. I began to lift the head with one hand while there was a long cloth strip in the other. When I saw a his profile I immediately dropped the head and stood up with only a few words on my mind, âNo, impossible, it canât be, itâs not.â I got down on my knees near his stomach and began to push him over, when his stomach was up I was almost too scared to look at his face, but I still did. Through the blood streaks I could still recognize the features, âDadâ I whispered, quivering. I moved up closer to his face, sobbing, his face was the most distorted thing that I have ever seen in all of my life. I put my hand on his cheek to wipe the blood off, then I touched his forehead and I could feel the deep wound, I sobbed harder. I put my head on the side of his stomach and cried, and then realized that I still needed to save him. It was very emotional trying to just wrap the cloth around his head, after that I just began to cry again, completely convinced that this wasnât happening, but it was. So I waited, waited for someone to come save us.


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