Wednesday WIP

This is the first of what I hope will be weekly excerpts from whatever my current work in progress is. This is from a short story, tentatively entitled Gleed:

"Johnson," I say.

He grunts. His response to most shit, but you get to know the tones, and this grunt says, Yeah, what?

"You shouldn't be driving."

He grunts again, and this one I take to mean, Shut the fuck up.

"You'll be next," I say, "and you shouldn't be fucking driving."

"Well the hospital ain't comin' to us."

The headlights make two overlapping circles on the road ahead of us, and the center line flashes through it, blip, blip, blip. I close my eyes. "Call a fucking ambulance," I mutter.

He grunts to tell me to shut the fuck up again.

Ambulance takes too long, he's thinking. Maybe an hour, out here in the boondocks. He thinks he can get us there faster, but he can't. He won't. We won't make it.