The blood flowed from the flesh wound on Campy's arm. It ran down his side and splattered on the ground beneath the bike but Campy kept on.
"Vic! You okay?" He asked.
"I think so, but your arm is bleeding pretty bad."
"Never mind that, I'm okay." That's what Campy thought, but to make sure, while he rode, he took out his handkerchief and with his teeth to help him, tied off his arm just above the flesh wound.
He didn't falter in the climb and even seemed more determined than before to reach the summit before the cars caught them. Girlymann's heart though, so strong to pump his blood cycling, now worked against him. Even with the tourniquet, the pressure exerted by his heart forced the blood through the clamped off wound. It wasn't as bad as it was at first, but he was seeping blood every second through the crimson soaked handkerchief.
More shots rang out, some came close. The cars were now one curve behind the two cyclists. Each straightaway brought danger for the bikes and spurred them on as a whipped horse. The top came into view, one more curve, a short climb and the crest would be there's. If they could have a second more, A mere breath.
Then Vic cried out, "I'm hit."
To be continued.....
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