got the juice to pull the trigger, shell.”
“Don’t kill him!” Otley whispered. “We need the young ones alive.” He was still lying on the ground, and though his hand clutched his stomach, he seemed relatively fine.
How could the man still be alive?
“Don’t worry, general. My gun’s on sleep,” Lemuel said, squinting one eye.
Mason pulled his trigger, but it didn’t budge.
The safety.
He fumbled with the switch, certain he was about to feel a bullet enter his skull; instead, a gun went off, the report cracking through the air. Mason cowered, and his ears rang. The enforcer Lemuel fell, a hole between his eyes.
Mason whipped around. Papa Eli’s arm fell, his pistol clutched in his hand. Mason lunged to his great-grandfather’s side and helped himlie down. The bullet had entered just below Papa Eli’s right shoulder and looked to have pierced his pectoral muscle and possibly his right lung. He lifted Papa Eli until he spotted the exit wound in his center back.
Control the bleeding, staunch if possible. It didn’t matter if his hands were dirty. An infection could be treated later. There was no pressure point for the shoulders, so all he could do was apply direct compression and pray God sent a miracle. He tried to pull Papa Eli’s shirt up. No good. He shrugged off his own cattail vest, folded it up, and pressed it over the entrance wound.
Papa Eli gasped. “Careful, boy!”
Good. He was talking, which meant his airway was clear. But that didn’t mean Papa would survive. There could still be issues with his lungs and his breathing, and the exit wound was extremely close to the spine. “Turn your head to the side, Papa, so you can breathe better.”
“I can breathe fine.”
The blood quickly soaked through Mason’s vest and coated his hands in a glossy sheen of red. He needed something else for the exit wound, and fast. All the blood was likely draining out the back. He tucked his vest under the exit wound on Papa Eli’s back and pressed his hands over the shoulder wound. “Can you move your hands and feet?”
“You’re worse than my Hannah.” A dreamy smile claimed Papa Eli’s face. “You would have liked your great-grandmother, Mason—tenacious in her ministrations, she was. And I’ll tell you the same thing I’d tell her; if it’s my time to go, your efforts won’t matter.”
Tears flooded Mason’s eyes. He didn’t want anyone else to die.
Get it together, Mason —focus!
What else could he do? His body suddenly felt heavy with the realization that until the bleeding stopped or until another pair of hands came along, there wasn’t anything else he could do.
His great-grandfather shivered and sucked in a series of weak breaths—he was going into shock. Mason needed to get a blanket, something, but he didn’t dare leave Papa’s side.
A sting between his shoulder blades knocked him forward, and he barely kept himself from collapsing on Papa Eli. A burning tingle throbbed out from his center back. He looked over his shoulder and felt his head swim.
Otley was watching him. Smiling. Pistol in hand. “Nightie-night, shell.”
Mason turned back to Papa Eli, bloody, blurry … two Papas, three.
The sky was bright blue above him. Fat white clouds. How had he gotten on his back? He needed to help Papa Eli. Stop the bleeding.
But Papa Eli’s face appeared above him, dark, backlit by the light of day. He grabbed Mason’s hand and squeezed. “Don’t let them change you, boy. No matter what. Stay true to …”
Mason’s eyelids slid closed.
CHAPTER
5
T he motorcycle jerked over the ruts of the mountain trail. Omar tried to steer carefully, but his efforts only seemed to make the ride bumpier. He liked the feel of Jemma’s arms around his waist though, and how they tightened whenever he hit a bump. He hoped it wouldn’t be long until he found a fiancée of his own.
Omar slowed to turn onto the valley road, and the ride became much smoother. He sped over the thick treads
“Don’t kill him!” Otley whispered. “We need the young ones alive.” He was still lying on the ground, and though his hand clutched his stomach, he seemed relatively fine.
How could the man still be alive?
“Don’t worry, general. My gun’s on sleep,” Lemuel said, squinting one eye.
Mason pulled his trigger, but it didn’t budge.
The safety.
He fumbled with the switch, certain he was about to feel a bullet enter his skull; instead, a gun went off, the report cracking through the air. Mason cowered, and his ears rang. The enforcer Lemuel fell, a hole between his eyes.
Mason whipped around. Papa Eli’s arm fell, his pistol clutched in his hand. Mason lunged to his great-grandfather’s side and helped himlie down. The bullet had entered just below Papa Eli’s right shoulder and looked to have pierced his pectoral muscle and possibly his right lung. He lifted Papa Eli until he spotted the exit wound in his center back.
Control the bleeding, staunch if possible. It didn’t matter if his hands were dirty. An infection could be treated later. There was no pressure point for the shoulders, so all he could do was apply direct compression and pray God sent a miracle. He tried to pull Papa Eli’s shirt up. No good. He shrugged off his own cattail vest, folded it up, and pressed it over the entrance wound.
Papa Eli gasped. “Careful, boy!”
Good. He was talking, which meant his airway was clear. But that didn’t mean Papa would survive. There could still be issues with his lungs and his breathing, and the exit wound was extremely close to the spine. “Turn your head to the side, Papa, so you can breathe better.”
“I can breathe fine.”
The blood quickly soaked through Mason’s vest and coated his hands in a glossy sheen of red. He needed something else for the exit wound, and fast. All the blood was likely draining out the back. He tucked his vest under the exit wound on Papa Eli’s back and pressed his hands over the shoulder wound. “Can you move your hands and feet?”
“You’re worse than my Hannah.” A dreamy smile claimed Papa Eli’s face. “You would have liked your great-grandmother, Mason—tenacious in her ministrations, she was. And I’ll tell you the same thing I’d tell her; if it’s my time to go, your efforts won’t matter.”
Tears flooded Mason’s eyes. He didn’t want anyone else to die.
Get it together, Mason —focus!
What else could he do? His body suddenly felt heavy with the realization that until the bleeding stopped or until another pair of hands came along, there wasn’t anything else he could do.
His great-grandfather shivered and sucked in a series of weak breaths—he was going into shock. Mason needed to get a blanket, something, but he didn’t dare leave Papa’s side.
A sting between his shoulder blades knocked him forward, and he barely kept himself from collapsing on Papa Eli. A burning tingle throbbed out from his center back. He looked over his shoulder and felt his head swim.
Otley was watching him. Smiling. Pistol in hand. “Nightie-night, shell.”
Mason turned back to Papa Eli, bloody, blurry … two Papas, three.
The sky was bright blue above him. Fat white clouds. How had he gotten on his back? He needed to help Papa Eli. Stop the bleeding.
But Papa Eli’s face appeared above him, dark, backlit by the light of day. He grabbed Mason’s hand and squeezed. “Don’t let them change you, boy. No matter what. Stay true to …”
Mason’s eyelids slid closed.
CHAPTER
5
T he motorcycle jerked over the ruts of the mountain trail. Omar tried to steer carefully, but his efforts only seemed to make the ride bumpier. He liked the feel of Jemma’s arms around his waist though, and how they tightened whenever he hit a bump. He hoped it wouldn’t be long until he found a fiancée of his own.
Omar slowed to turn onto the valley road, and the ride became much smoother. He sped over the thick treads
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