by N. C. Reed
“Yeah.”
-
“BP's dropping, but slowly,” Kaitlin warned, watching Holloway's vitals. “Respiration is shallow. Pulse is still steady, but weak.”
“He's lost a lot of blood,” Maseo nodded, rigging a bottle of plasma for the IV line he had established. “This will help, plus I'll rig a saline drip as soon as I set up a transfusion.” Four people among the newer contingent had O positive blood and had readily agreed to donate. All realized it might well be them or a loved one who needed blood next time.
“None of these are. . .Patricia paused as she worked a set of forceps into the leg wound, “. . .life threatening in and of themselves, but. . .,” she paused again, “. . .the blood loss could kill him if we can't get him some volume back. There,” she said more to herself than anyone else. “I haven't had to deal with a GSW since I was in school,” she sighed, working to patch the wound to prevent further blood loss.
“From the look of it, he took at least two more in the torso, but his vest held. Plasma working,” Maseo reported.
The three continued to work, heedless of the world around them. Soon Greg Holloway was receiving blood from the first donor, which happened to be Big John Barnes himself. He pumped a small rubber ball as blood ran from him to the fallen deputy under the watchful eyes of Kaitlin Caudell. Behind Barnes were Jose Juarez, Ellen Kargay and finally Nathan Caudell if Holloway still needed blood and no one else had been found. At sixteen Nathan was technically too young to donate blood but physically he was okay to give once in a while in an emergency. This definitely qualified.
“I didn't think to get anything that would work as a sedation if we had to do surgery,” Patricia sighed, her mind running over the preparations she had made.
“We didn't either,” Tandi shrugged. “Got plenty of morphine and other stuff, but it didn't occur to us.”
“Maybe we can scrounge something up somewhere,” Patricia said. “If nothing else there may be some nitrous at the clinic. We had a dentist visit once in a while,” she said at the looks from Tandi and Kaitlin.
“That would do in a pinch,” Kaitlin agreed. “Certainly better than nothing or even morphine if you had to do real surgery.”
“I'm sure we 'll find other things we overlooked,” Patricia said with another forlorn sigh. “It will take some getting used to that we can't just order what we need.”
“Amen.”
-
“Any word on Gregory?” Clay turned at the question to see his parents walking up.
“Your brother told us,” Gordon replied to the unspoken question in his son's eyes. “We woke up with the blue lights still flashing but weren't quick enough to get outside before everyone was gone.”
“Nothing yet,” Clay nodded to his father's explanation as he replied. “They're working on him, and Jose is giving him blood at the moment. Big John gave him nearly two pints I think already.”
“Isn't that dangerous?” Angela asked.
“Can be, but John's healthy and we won't make a habit of it I'm sure,” Clay shrugged. “I honestly don't know what they're doing. Have to trust the three of them to know and do it. We didn't consider blood when we did all this. Maybe we can all start storing it ourselves, assuming we can get the gear we need to do it. I think so long as we keep it refrigerated it's okay to store. But I don't know that for sure either,” he shrugged yet again.
“Did he say anything?” Gordon asked.
“Just that town was burning and he'd had a rough night,” Clay shook his head. “Passed out again right after that. Patricia said he'd been shot at least twice. Once in the leg and once in the arm. Neither were dangerous she said, but he had lost a lot of blood. I…I hope they can save him,” he finished softly. Greg was one of his oldest friends.
“Clay!” Jake Sidell's voice boomed suddenly. “Is it true? Greg's here and been shot?” The big mechanic came hurrying into the impromptu waiting area, hair mussed from sleep and one clasp of his overalls hanging across his back.
“It's true,” Clay told his friend. “Lost a lot of blood. Luckily he was able to tell us his blood type so we're able to give him blood from donors.”
“I'm O negative,” Jake said at once. “Universal donor. I can donate.”
“I 'll let them know if they need more,” Clay told him. “Right now they have another two lined up and we haven't checked with the others yet.”
“How bad is it, Clay?” the bear-like Sidell asked gently.
“It's pretty bad, Jake, but it could be a lot worse,” Clay admitted. “The real danger is the blood loss. He's been shot at least twice but neither wound is life threatening according to Patricia. It's just that he's lost so much blood, that's all.”
“Was he able to talk at all?” Jake asked.
“Just said town was on fire and that he'd had a rough night,” Clay snorted. “We could see all that for ourselves of course,” he added, shaking his head.
“He's too stubborn to die,” Jake said confidently. “He 'll be fine.”
“Jake, does Greg have any family around?” Clay asked. “I know both his folks are gone, aren't they?”
“Yeah,” Jake nodded. “His dad was gone before we graduated, and his mother had cancer, remember? He didn't have much family to amount to anything other than them. A few cousins was about it as far as I know. None of them close. I guess they were afraid they might be asked to look after him. He had a girlfriend for a while. Girl named Gina Something-or-other from Lewiston, but she broke it off with him not too long for you came home. Left him for a trooper of all things,” he snorted. “Bout broke him,” he added.
“I just wanted to make sure there was no one I needed to go and get for him,” Clay sighed.
“I'd say about everyone who cares much for him is in this room,” Jake shook his head. “Probably why he came here.”
There was nothing to say to that and conversation died away for a while as they waited to hear if their friend would make it or not.
-
“We've done what we can do,” Patricia said tiredly as she and Maseo emerged from the small clinic room, Kaitlin remaining to keep an eye on the recovering Holloway. “His blood volume is back up to an acceptable level and we've pumped him full of fluids and added some plasma to help his volume. That has his blood pressure and other vitals coming back up. He needs rest for now, and when he wakes we need to try and keep him awake long enough to let him eat if he can. He needs his strength.”
“You think he 'll make it?” Clay asked carefully.
“I think if he makes it the next twenty-four hours or so without going into shock then he will probably recover,” she said cautiously. “His wounds are serious but not threatening, and he didn't suffer any broken bones. Most of the damage is muscle tissue, and while that's bad, it's treatable and not anything he can't recover from. We 'll have to give him some therapy probably, especially that leg, but I know how to do that.”
“Thank you, Patricia,” Angela smiled at her daughter-in-law.
“Of course,” she smiled back tiredly. “Now, I'm going to go home and rest a bit. Tandi is going to get some rest and come back to relieve Kaitlin in a few hours and then I'll relieve him. Meanwhile just please make sure someone is here to help Kaitlin or run errands for her if she needs it, okay?”
“Will do,” Clay promised. “And thanks.”
“I've known him a while too, Clay,” Patricia reminded him with a tired smile that robbed the words of any sting. “I'm glad to do it. Besides, we have to help our friends these days. No one else will.” With that she headed outside where a ride was waiting to take her home. When she was gone Gordon looked back to his youngest son.
“What are you going to do about this, Clayton?”
“Huh?” the question caught Clay by surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what do you plan on doing about all this?” Gordon repeated. “Peabody burning, Greg being shot, not to mention whatever else has happened. What are you going to do?”
> “Nothing?” Clay sounded more like he was asking than telling. “I don't know what I can do about it to amount to anything. I mean we're helping Greg all we can and Jake already said he didn't have any family to check on, so-”
“And Peabody?” Gordon cut him off. “We have a lot of friends in Peabody. We have to try and help them through this.”
“How exactly do you plan on doing that, Dad?” Clayton asked him. “What is it you think you can do?”
“I meant you,” Gordon specified. “You can help them, Clayton.”
“And how were you going to suggest I do that?” Clay asked, his voice entirely too reasonable Lainie thought.
“Well, I don't know,” his father admitted, almost sputtering. “I just assumed you would have some plan.”
“Plan to do what, exactly?” Clay pressed. “I can't rebuild the town. I can't feed it. And I can't protect it. What other 'help' were you thinking about? I can't think of anything else just right off that they might need at the moment.”
“We can't just abandon them!” Gordon insisted.
“We most certainly can,” Clay said calmly. “Because there's nothing else we can do. We 'll be lucky if we can look after ourselves, let alone go dancing into Peabody and offering to look after everyone there. We have no idea what the situation is there and won't have until we can talk to Greg. And even then, we won't know exactly because there's no telling what may have changed since he was shot. I had planned on taking a look at Peabody in the days ahead, but that was before this happened. Now? There's nothing there to look at. Anything we could have used will either have been burned to the ground or will be too expensive to try and trade for. Whatever we needed from there we 'll have to do without it.”
“There's more to it than just what we need,” Gordon sounded disapproving. “There are the people there to consider.”
“I'm still waiting for you to tell me how and in what way, Dad,” Clay folded his arms and did just that. Waited.
“You can't tell me there's nothing you can do to help them!” Gordon almost snapped.
“I don't even know what's happening there, and I'm not risking any of us to find out,” Clay managed not to snap back. “I am not willing to risk a single person from this outfit to help anyone else unless I think it helps us as well. You need to face some cold, hard facts, Dad. I'm only interested in looking out for us. Those I help will be those who can and will help us in return. And right now, there's nothing anyone in Peabody can do for us that we can't do for ourselves.”
“That's not a very good attitude, Clayton,” Angela sounded disappointed.
“I can't afford to have a good attitude, Mom,” Clay shrugged. “I have to think about Abby and Gordy and the twins, and now the rest. There are a dozen young people here that deserve any and every advantage we can give them as their parents, grandparents and guardians.”
“Now I'm sorry for what the people in Peabody are going through, or may be going through,” he mollified his tone a bit. “I am. But the rest of the world is in just as poor a shape at the moment, and I can't help them, either. Not without it costing our own something. I'm not willing to do that. Are you willing to see your grandchildren go hungry in order to take care of someone else? I'm not.”
“I would have thought after what you've seen you'd be more inclined to help others,” Gordon wasn't quite cold but it was close. “Especially children,” he added cryptically.
“That's a low blow, Dad,” Clay's subdued voice was vibrant with anger. “A low blow that I didn't have coming.” He turned to Lainie.
“I'm headed back home,” he said, his voice taking a kinder and gentler tone with her. “Ready to go?”
“Yes,” she nodded at once. She could tell he was angry and wanted to make sure he didn't do something stupid because of it.
Without a word to his parents Clay took her hand and the two walked out, headed for their own cabin. Gordon, a bit shamefaced at being reminded how low he had swung at his own son, didn't call out after him.
“What was that all about?” Angela asked as her youngest child stomped away from them. She was not privy to everything about her son's past that her husband was.
“Nothing,” Gordon mumbled. “Just me shooting my mouth off when and where I shouldn't.”
“Something of a family trait, dear,” Angela smiled sadly. “Why 'especially children'?” she asked.
“Not mine to tell,” Gordon shook his head, refusing to look at his wife of many years. “I shouldn't have said anything at all.”
-
“Are you alright?” Lainie asked softly as she and Clay made their way home. He was tense with anger she could feel through his hand.
“Fine,” he replied shortly, though not completely unkindly. “Just . . . I'm fine,” he amended whatever he had been about to add.
“What did he mean by 'especially children'?” she asked, her voice still gentle.
“Just an underhanded stab in the back by someone who can't face reality,” he sounded bitter he realized, but that wasn't wrong; he was bitter.
“Okay,” was all she said, knowing that if he wanted to talk about it he would.
“The war in Africa was often waged on children,” he said a few seconds later, his voice tight with tension. “The village was only one instance where children were taken or used as nothing but pawns in a bigger game. Seeing adults die, even innocent ones, is one thing. Seeing children punished for nothing more than their parents are the wrong religion? Or their village is on the wrong side of some mountain? Or some invisible line? It's infuriating. Maddening.”
“What did you do?” Lainie asked, more to let him talk it out than because she didn't know. She knew Clay Sanders very well at this point. She knew in her heart what he had done.
“I killed as many of them as I could,” he confirmed her thoughts with his next words. “I tracked them everywhere I could and when I found them I killed them all.” He stopped suddenly, aware of how blood thirsty that sounded. He looked at her a bit sheepishly then, as if afraid of what she would think or say. She drew him into her arms and kissed him softly.
“So long as you're good to me, and treat me well, I don't care,” she told him softly, not for the first time. “I. Don't. Care. You're still my cowboy, Clayton Sanders, and I still love you.” She punctuated that statement with another kiss before breaking away, his hand still in hers. She tugged gently on that hand as she took a step toward their cabin.
“Let's go home, Cowboy.”
CHAPTER TWO
-
“Why is there a police car behind the barn, Gordon?” Leon demanded as soon as he made his way down for breakfast, leaning on both his staff and Janice Hardy, who sat down on one side of The Old Man while the hulking Brick took the other. Neither spoke unless they were spoken to.
“Gregory Holloway drove out here last night, Pa,” Angela replied instead of her husband. “He'd been shot and lost a great deal of blood. He's in the clinic, hopefully recovering.”
“He gonna be okay?” Leon's tone moderated now. The Holloway boy was family more or less. He would always be welcome.
“I think so,” Angela nodded as she continued to put food on the table. “Patricia, Tandi and Kaitlin worked on him into the near morning hours and one of them is staying with him all the time. His wounds weren't too severe according to Patty, but the blood loss was serious.”
“Any idea what happened to him?” Leon asked. “And before you make a smart-ass comment, Gordon, I mean do we know who shot him and why,” he turned his gaze to his son, who had indeed been about to make such a comment that Angela has just explained what happened to Greg Holloway.
“All he managed to get out was that Peabody was burning and he'd had a rough night,” Angela shook her head at the long familiar exchange between her husband and father-in-law. Peas in a pod, those two.
“We need to steer clear of there until the dust settles then,” Leon stated firmly. “No sense running in there blind and getting ourselves
in a pickle.”
“We know a lot of those people, Dad,” Gordon registered only a mild sounding objection. “Most of them in fact. Shouldn't we at least see if we can help them?”
“No,” Leon's voice was firm and his eyes clear. “It's not personal, son,” he softened his tone ever so slightly. “Simple fact is we 'll be fortunate not to have trouble of our own. We got plenty to see to right here without going looking for more. That might be a hornet's nest waiting to be kicked. Best we don't.”
“Clay said the same thing,” Gordon sighed. “It just seems wrong,” he shrugged helplessly.
“In normal times it would be,” Leon surprised him. “Simple fact is these ain't normal times. Better to say that this here is the new normal, and our new normal means we take care of ourselves. First, middle and last. It's the only way we can survive and make sure these young ones is got a future.”
Gordon nodded, accepting the truth in what he'd been told by both his father and his son. It hurt him, down where he lived, not to go and see could he help the people he'd known all his life. People who might even now be injured, homeless and hungry while he sat here waiting to eat breakfast, safe and secure.
But it wasn't like someone had just given them that safety and security, was it? The thought hit him out of the blue and settled on him like a lead weight. The family had worked hard to make sure they were set for come-what-may. Had they not then there would be nothing they could possibly do for the people in Peabody to begin with. Which led him to another thought;
If they went rolling into Peabody, how many of the people he wanted so badly to help would be angry and resentful of his family and their relative safety and security compared to the community around them?
Probably most of them. He shook his head as Angela set a plate before him. No, there was nothing they could do that wouldn't make their own position much worse. Which meant he owed his son two apologies.
Great way to start the day.
-
Work. There was always work to do on a farm or ranch. That was a solid rule that never changed and in their 'new normal', there was just that much more to do.