Blood Bath

As Andrew released his wrist-numbing grip, the man blurted out, "We need your oxygen! There’s a guy up there bleeding bad! We need it because his neck is cut real deep! We need to force oxygen into him!" Andrew, not realizing how serious things were, snapped back. "We don’t carry oxygen. Its only compressed air. Same as you breathe!" Ward was already out of his equipment and stomping up the short knoll eager to find someone to engage.

Ward noticed there was a cluster of young people in their early and late teens lingering in a huddle at the top of the knoll. He forcefully spread two people apart and demanded loudly, "Who the hell else was dropping rocks on us?" He had dismissed the guy near the water’s edge because Andrew already had a piece of him. He was looking for more challenging prey anyway. Size or numbers didn’t matter. He knew that by the time things started getting messy, Andrew would be there to back him up. There wasn’t time for a reply from anyone before a spray of blood hit Ward’s legs.

The young man attending the injured victim had lifted another blood soaked towel away from his neck checking to see if the bleeding had stopped. It hadn’t. Andrew, still standing on the ledge, commanded the boy who had grabbed his head, "Back off, pal and let me out of here!" He dropped his attacker’s throbbing hand and climbed out of the water. Andrew hadn’t noticed that his own hand was covered in blood until he started to remove his wetsuit gloves. He looked down, staring in disbelief at the amount of blood dripping from his glove. His eyes refocused between his feet. "The ground man, the ground is covered with blood." Andrew, dumbfounded, brought his gaze back up to the boy standing before him. The frail boy mumbled, "That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. The guy up there is bleeding God awful."

Andrew cast his eyes again at the ground. He precisely moved his feet, stepping out of the small river of blood that was now dripping into the quarry. The blood spread out on the surface of the water like an oil slick. Eventually, it began to sink in the form of long, stringy stalactites. Andrew was stunned at the sight of all that blood. His eyes never left the trail of blood as he followed the red river back up the knoll to its source. Andrew could only see the lower half of the victim’s legs among the numerous people bent over him. The victim’s feet were twitching and his legs were bare and ashen.

By the time Andrew joined Ward it was nearly over. The boy trembled at every limb and suddenly he was still. They had witnessed bloody scenes before in their short eighteen years of life, but this was the worst. There was no heartbeat and no breath. The young man had bled to death. The entire event had taken only a few minutes to unfold.

Now it was quiet; no one spoke as the boy lay as if asleep. His face no longer has the anguish of pain, the terror of knowing he is dieing. Behind the group, a rescue team could be seen racing around the rim of the quarry. They carried a stretcher and a dangling first aid kit, but they were too late. The cut was so deep it would have been impossible to stop the bleeding. The two rescue men knelt down next to the victim and checked for vital signs. Finding none, they pronounced him dead. The young man’s face was still visible, but it had a wax like pallid appearance and appeared unreal. The rescuers reverently placed him on a stretcher and covered him with a white sheet. The accumulation of blood beneath the sheet began to seep through and create gruesome, Rorschach-like designs on the surface. The Racine police arrived seconds later. The police restrained the culpable young man. Then they began to interrogate the group. Each witness in turn gave his or her version of what had happened. Both sides pointed fingers and exclaimed, "They started it!"

The perpetrator remained silent until he was confronted by one of the witnesses. The accuser again pointed a finger and charged the boy who threw the bottle with murder. The police took the arrogant tough kid aside and questioned him. Then they interviewed several witnesses again.

The story began to take form. Six teenagers playing on a knotted rope attached to a huge limb hanging over the quarry, about 10 feet above the water. Another group of four young gang members from Racine were drinking beer out of quart bottles. The leader of the gang, a Napoleon-type character, warned the teenagers to leave the area. The teens ignored the threat and continued to swing out into the quarry. Obscenities were exchanged and the gang leader threw an empty beer bottle. It exploded on the shoulder bone of one of the teens and peeled back a flap of skin from the top. Shards of glass sprayed in every direction. Tragically, another unlucky teen standing directly behind the first injured teen was hit in the throat. It was slit from front to back producing a three-inch gash. The carotid artery was not only cut, but a portion had been torn away.