by JoAnn Durgin
“Do you recognize any of these men?” Sam said. “Think one or more might have a grudge against you or any of the men here who are police officers?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Is it okay if I talk with them?”
Sam could tell the other man was waging a mental debate. Finally, Cheveyo blew out a breath. “You can try,” he relented. “I’ll be right beside you.”
Walking toward the group of men with Cheveyo beside him, Sam halted a few feet away, facing them. “I’m Sam Lewis with TeamWork, and—”
“We know who you are. All of you,” one of the men said, his gaze moving down the row of his TeamWork men. Standing in the middle of the group, he was the man who’d spoken before. The men on either side of him remained silent, but they stared at Sam and Cheveyo with contempt written in their expressions.
“Why did you violate the TeamWork camp and file the complaints against the church?” Cheveyo demanded.
“Because we can,” one of the men sneered, his voice full of contempt. “How about that? It’s our right as citizens, and it’s still a free country last time we checked.”
“TeamWork has as much right to be here as you do,” Sam said.
“Is that right? We got a problem with you helpin’ this group of Indians. They don’t belong here.”
“They’ve done everything properly and legally, and their rights are fully protected under the law,” Sam said.
“They’re no good,” another man said. “They lie, they steal, and they’ll molest your women. I wouldn’t trust no Indian as far as I could see him.”
Inside, Sam seethed, but he forced calm into his voice. These guys might not listen to the voice of reason, but he needed to try. “That’s a very broad and overly generalized statement. The color of a man’s skin, his race or nationality—none of those things determine the measure of a man. Neither are they an indicator of intelligence or a level of tolerance, or intolerance, it would seem.”
The spokesman snorted. “Listen to the rich man talk! I don’t even know what you said, man. Why don’t you get off that high and mighty pedestal you’re sittin’ on and talk in plain English. We been watchin’ your group. You got some mighty fine women over there.” The other man’s dark eyes bore into his, making Sam flinch at the pure hatred reflected in them.
“Real pretty ladies. I bet they’d like real men for a change.”
“Yeah,” another man said, the fire in his eyes begging for a fight. “I bet they’d be real sweet—”
“Enough!” Sam took one step closer to the opposite line of men.
“Let us at them, Sam.” Marc came to stand beside him with Josh right behind him.
Sam nodded to the spokesman. “If you say another word like that, you will have a fight on your hands. Is that what you want? Is that why you came, to fight us, to try to get some kind of satisfaction for your shortcomings by acting no better than common street thugs?”
“Shortcomings, eh?” The spokesman laughed, a bitter, harsh sound. He nodded to the guy standing on the end. Pulling a lighter out of his pocket, the man walked in the direction of the gazebo. Another man reached behind him and then took off with something in his hand. A gas can. Sam stiffened and the muscles in his jaws hardened.
“Stop! No!” Shouting, Landon and Mitch started running after the men.
“Let them go,” Kevin said, his voice resonant in the quiet night. With his mouth set in a firm line, he stared straight ahead. “The gazebo can be rebuilt. Better and stronger.”
Sam watched with deep sorrow as the men doused the gazebo with gasoline and then set it on fire. The pungent smell of burning wood filled his nostrils, turning his stomach.
“Go get the fire extinguishers,” Cheveyo ordered one of his men.
“Are you happy now? Proud of yourselves?” Marc stepped forward. Sam prayed they could somehow resolve this confrontation without any physical contact. Maybe torching the gazebo would satisfy them and they’d leave. That seemed unlikely, but the men who’d come into their camp on Sunday afternoon had fled when Sheila pulled out her bow and arrow. If needed, they’d have a fist fight or an old-fashioned brawl.
“Please leave the premises. You’re welcome to return if you need a place to worship the Lord,” Cheveyo told them. “And if you come in a spirit of peace and unity.”
“Yeah, right. That’s not gonna happen anytime soon,” another man said, and several of them laughed.
The ringleader of the group stepped forward, and several of his men did the same. “Don’t you get it? What we’re sayin’ is we don’t want your kind around here,” he said to Cheveyo. “Never did. Never will.” He tossed a derisive glance at Sam and his men. “Yours either.”
“This property legally belongs to the One Nation Church,” Sam said. “As such, you’re considered trespassers if you damage property and harm anyone on the premises.”
“I say let’s torch the church,” one man sneered. “Laugh and spit on it as it burns all the way down to the ground.”
“There will be nothing left of your precious church,” another said. “We’ll be dancing on the ashes.”
“It’s what we should have done in the first place,” the spokesman said. “Shouldn’t have bothered with this group of—”
“Do as you wish, but the spirit of God will remain,” Cheveyo said. “The church is nothing more than a shell, a place to gather for worship.”
Sam stepped forward. “You can tear down the building, but the spirit of the Lord lives in the hearts of its people. Their spirit will not be broken.”
Cheveyo stepped beside Sam. “You will not steal our joy.”
Several of the men stepped forward with threatening expressions. A number raised their fists.
Sam linked arms with Cheveyo, the One Nation men, and his TeamWork men. Together, they formed a stalwart wall of faith. A wall that would not be broken by taunts, lies, threats. And prejudice.
“‘By transgression an evil man is ensnared,’” Sam said, “‘but the righteous sings and rejoices.’”
“‘Scorners set a city aflame, but wise men turn away anger,’” Cheveyo quoted. Then, from one man to the next, moving down the line and speaking in loud, clear voices, they each quoted a verse from Proverbs 29. Not a one faltered, not a one doubted.
“‘When the wicked increase, transgression increases; but the righteous will see their fall.’”
“‘An angry man stirs up strife, and a hot-tempered man abounds in transgression.’”
“‘A man’s pride will bring him low, but a humble spirit will obtain honor.’”
“‘The fear of man brings a snare, but he who trusts in the Lord will be exalted.”
“‘An unjust man is abominable to the righteous, and he who is upright in the way is abominable to the wicked.’”
The leader stared through Sam. “We could have done a lot more damage to you. We just wanted to warn you, but you don’t listen very well, do you? Maybe we should have come after your children. Maybe that would have gotten your attention. Your God can’t always protect you.”
“‘A fool always loses his temper, but a wise man holds it back,’” Marc said, his voice elevated. “No one ever said I was a wise man. Let’s go, guys!” He led the charge.
Putting his arm across Cheveyo’s chest, Sam backed off. Then he saw his father. Sam Sr. stood nearby, poised to join the fight. No, no, no, no! Go back to the camp, Dad, he silently willed. Dear God, please keep Dad safe. He gestured wildly with his arms, pointing in the direction of the camp. Relief filled him when his dad departed a few seconds later.
The fire at the gazebo had been extinguished, and lingering sparks drifted upward in the dark sky. The charred scent filled Sam’s nostrils, a scent he’d never forget.
Fists were flying fast and hard between the Extant men, several of them big and burly, and the TeamWork men.
Landon handily took care of one man, sending him to the ground. “We’re havin’ some fun now,” he called out as his
fist landed in another guy’s stomach, knocking him to the dirt.
“Careful, bro,” Mitch hollered. “Don’t get full of bravado and be caught unaware.”
“Got it!” Landon turned around and took a punch to the gut. Dean intervened and clipped the jaw of Landon’s attacker. Eliot handily and expertly dispensed of two of the men singlehandedly, at the same time. Josh and Marc were holding their own. Kevin had another man in a chokehold, and stood off to one side. Sam winced as one of the men slammed into Josh’s shoulder. That had to hurt.
If left on his own, Eliot could handle every one of these men. Something caught Sam’s eye—a flash of silver in the hand of a man headed straight for Mitch. At the same time, one of Cheveyo’s men raised his pistol in the air and fired. At the sound, most of the men took off running.
“Mitch, left shoulder!” Sam rushed forward and shoved Mitch out of the man’s path. With a glint in his eye, the man raised the knife in his hand as he moved closer.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Marc shouted from behind him, pushing Sam to the side with such force that he stumbled forward and fell to his knees on the ground. Not to be deterred, the man whirled around in a circle, keeping the other men at bay by slashing through the air with the knife.
As if in slow motion, the attacker headed toward him again, focused on him. Seemed he was the man’s sole target. Rising to his feet, facing his attacker, Sam felt a hand on his shoulder as Eliot moved in front of him, directly into the man’s path—a human shield, and his protector. With a loud cry, the man plunged the knife into Eliot’s chest. Backing away, his eyes widened, and then he took off at a fast run.
Staggering forward, Eliot glanced down at his chest before slumping to the ground.
“Eliot,” Sam rasped, his eyes widening in horror.
Josh reached his side first, dropping to the ground. “Mitch, what do we do?”
“Leave the knife in his chest!” Mitch said. “The knife will actually help stem the blood flow. Talk to him. Keep him awake and calm. Someone call 9-1-1 now!”
“Got it!” Pulling out his phone, Landon started to pace. “Pastor Chevy, I need the physical church address.” Cheveyo hurried over to join him.
“Eliot,” Sam said, kneeling by Eliot’s head with Marc and Josh on either side of him. “Hang in there, buddy. We’re calling for help now.” One of the One Nation men handed Sam a jacket and Mitch told him to put it beneath Eliot’s head.
“Leave…leave the knife where it is,” Eliot said, his breathing somewhat labored. “Needs to be…stabilized.”
Mitch tugged down the suspenders of his costume and ripped the shirt from his chest, bunching it around the knife in Eliot’s chest. “Get ’em off, guys. Put them around the knife.”
Landon and Marc followed suit, as did Kevin. Kneeling by Eliot’s feet, Kevin began to pray, and Dean joined him, as they all laid their hands on Eliot.
Mitch spoke to Sam in low tones. “In the interest of time, we can drive Eliot to the hospital.” In the far-off distance, they heard the sounds of a siren. “Thank the Lord,” he said. “He’s showing signs of going into shock. We need to get him to the hospital and this is the fastest way.”
Sam grew alarmed by the coolness and clamminess of his skin. Leaning closer, he noted Eliot’s uneven and somewhat labored breathing.
“Mitch, what’s happening?”
“He’s going into shock from the internal bleeding. The blood might be building up around his lung, putting pressure on it, making it collapse. If air enters the pleural cavity, that could also make it collapse.” Sam watched as Mitch applied pressure around the wound site.
Within minutes, the ambulance arrived. Working quickly, the EMTs assessed the situation and Eliot was lifted onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. “I’ll go with him,” Sam said to Josh and Marc. “Tell Lexa. And pray.”
After he climbed into the back of the ambulance, Sam clasped Eliot’s hand, being careful not to squeeze too hard. “God be with you, Stephen Polaris.”
Bowing his head, Sam prayed. Sometimes it was the only thing he had. Always, it was the best thing.
Chapter 44
~~♥~~
An hour later, Josh walked over to Sam in the hospital emergency waiting room and put a hand on his shoulder. “Here.” He put another cup of coffee in his hands. “Drink something.”
“All this coffee is dehydrating me,” Sam said quietly. “I should drink water.”
“I’ll get it. Be right back,” Mitch told him. He’d been monitoring the situation and periodically talked with any of the medical personnel he could find in the area.
“How’s the shoulder?” Sam asked. “You took a pretty hard blow.”
Josh rotated it a bit. “Just sore. Don’t think anything’s dislocated.”
Sam shook his head. “This night will do nothing for my reputation as a TeamWork director.”
“Nonsense,” Josh said. “No one could predict something like that happening.”
“Does Marta know?”
“She does. You know Marta. She’s calm, but I can tell she’s frightened.” Josh rubbed a hand over his brow and sat down across from him. “Lexa’s bringing Marta over here along with a change of clothes for you, Mr. Presley. They should be here within the hour.” He chuckled when Sam smirked. “I heard you talking with the nurse. Stephen Polaris?”
Sam nodded. “Yep. Trust me, it’s necessary, Josh.” Taking a sip of the coffee, he winced from the bitterness.
“I know you well, my friend. You wouldn’t go along with something that’s unethical, illegal, or immoral.” Josh shook his head. “Have to tell you, though. It makes me wonder even more about our man Eliot. Do you know if Marta’s been privy to his ‘other life,’ for lack of knowing what else to call it?”
Sam nodded slowly. “Yes. Eliot told her when they were at the Balloon Fiesta. Telling someone in a hot air balloon is one of the most secure places, I should think.”
“Unless she decided to deck him and sent him over the edge. Glad that didn’t happen. Sorry, Sam. I’m feeling a little punchy, being the middle of the night and all.”
Sam stretched out his legs and blew out a breath. “First thing I want to do when I get back to Houston is sleep for a day non-stop. I know it won’t happen, but it’s what my body’s craving right about now. As far as Marta, I don’t think she was all that surprised to hear about Eliot’s…work.” Sam glanced over at Josh. “She’s not going anywhere. The Lord knows, as always, and she’s the right woman for him.”
Leaning back against the chair, Josh crossed his arms. “After this, do you think he might retire?”
“That’s a good possibility, but not because of this incident. He’s been wounded several times in the past, but he’s never had anyone else to consider until now. He told me he’s booked with assignments here and there until sometime in the spring.”
“Then he can retire.”
“Let’s hope so,” Sam said. “He’s going to have to start turning down assignments or else quit cold turkey. Don’t mind saying I’d like to see that happen. I’ve put in extra prayer time for that guy since he’s been a member of my TeamWork crew.”
Josh nodded, and a slight frown creased his forehead. “Like you did for me a few years ago, I’m sure.”
“Yes, but for different reasons.”
“We meet again, Mr. Lewis.”
Sam rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Hello, Dr. Robinson.”
“I’m glad to see you’ve recovered well from your spider bite.” Dr. Robinson shook his hand, and then did the same when Sam introduced him to Josh. “Now I know my nurses weren’t drinking or smoking anything funny on the job, as I’d suspected when they told me Elvis was in my ER waiting room. You have certainly livened up their evening.”
“How is my friend doing?”
Mitch returned and greeted the doctor before handing water bottles to Josh and Sam.
“You can be grateful your friend Mr. Polaris is in such great physical shape
. The knife was a five-inch, fixed, straight knife used mostly for hunting, and the wound measured 2.5 centimeters. The knife nicked an artery, and he suffered a Class II Hemorrhage, with a 25% to 30% blood volume loss.”
“Will he need a blood transfusion?” Josh asked.
“No. A body can lose up to 1.5 liters of blood before a transfusion would be needed. A strong, healthy young man like Mr. Polaris should be able to naturally replenish his blood count quickly. We’re giving him IV fluids now. He had bleeding around the lungs, called a hemothorax. The thoracic surgeon on duty performed a chest tube thoracostomy. You’ve probably heard it referred to as a chest tube, and it’s a hollow plastic tube that’s inserted between the ribs and into the chest to drain fluid or air from around the lungs. The tube will remain in his chest until all or most of the air or fluid has drained out, usually a few days.”
The doctor turned to go. “I’ll check on him again later. Obviously, he won’t be able to do any more physical labor for the rest of your time here in Albuquerque.”
“Not a problem,” Sam assured the doctor. “Thank you, Dr. Robinson.”
A slight grin upturned the corners of the physician’s mouth. “As wonderful as your group is, Mr. Lewis, I hope I won’t be seeing any more of your TeamWork crew here in the hospital.”
Sam nodded. “I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Chapter 45
Day 10, Wednesday
~~♥~~
Dawn peeked through the drawn blinds in Eliot’s hospital room. “Am I dead?” His gaze settled on Sam dozing in a nearby chair. “Guess not.” His mentor looked ragged, but at least he’d changed out of the Elvis costume. Laughing a little, Eliot groaned with the effort.
Sam startled and lifted out of the chair. “I heard that. You’re going to be around a long time, buddy.” He put his hand on Eliot’s arm and gave him a light squeeze. “How do you feel?”
“Like someone put a knife in my chest.” He lifted the sheet and looked down at the hospital gown covering his chest. “Good riddance to that thing. How long was it, anyway?”