Roughly ten minutes had passed since Sam had bandaged his leg.  Allistor had looted the canid at his feet and was feeling better, the pain receding a bit.  The buff from the jerky had him feeling stronger.  Still, he could see blood spreading through the shirt’s fabric very slowly.  He knew he needed to loosen the strap on his thigh soon, to allow a little circulation.  But he was hoping the wounds would have closed by now.  With a sigh, he loosened the strap.  The stains on the shirt grew more quickly. After about thirty seconds, he began to feel dizzy.  He quickly tightened the strap again, grunting in pain.  He grabbed the bottle and drank some more water.

Max whined, laying his head in Allistor’s lap for moral support.  Allistor laughed in spite of the pain.  He scratched the dog’s ears and rubbed his tummy, waiting for Sam to return.  Another ten minutes passed in doggy-communing bliss before Sam walked up.

“Everything’s loaded.  Except the safe.  Going to need help to move that.”   He extended a hand and helped Allistor to his feet.

“I might be able to help.” Allistor tested his weight on the injured foot.  He didn’t feel much pain, as the leg was asleep from lack of circulation.  He took a single step forward, and the pain was bearable.  After a few more, he said, “Yeah, let’s do this.”

The two men walked slowly back to the garage, Max frolicking around them and barking happily.  Sam just smiled at him and muttered, “Stupid mutt.”

When they reached the garage, Allistor saw that the vehicles were loaded, and more than a dozen long guns were stowed in the back of Frank’s pickup.  Next to the empty gun safe stood a four-wheeled furniture dolly – basically, four lengths of 2x4 bolted in a square with a wheel at each corner.   Sam said, “We can wheel it right up the trailer ramp on its side, if you help me tilt it onto the dolly.

Allistor obliged, gritting his teeth against the pain as they first lowered the safe, then pushed it up the ramp together.   When they were done, he took a minute to sit on the stool by the workbench and loosen the strap again.  This time there seemed to be less blood loss.  Or the shirt was just so saturated he couldn’t tell the difference.

With everything loaded, Sam boosted him up into the pickup, asking no less than three times if Allistor was sure he was okay to drive.  When Allistor finally answered, “Yes, mom, I’ll be fine,” Sam snorted and let it go.