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“Be quick,” Max ordered. “And careful.”
He studied the street—theirs weren’t the only tracks in the snow—the near buildings. Nothing stirred but a trio of deer nibbling at seeds spilled from a wrecked bird feeder across the road.
He considered trolling for another SUV. The snowfall had slowed, but a four-wheel drive would serve better, especially where they were headed.
Maybe after he gassed up, they’d hunt one down, reload. At least they’d leave a full tank for another traveler. He relaxed a little when Lana came out again, carrying a bag.
“I still feel wrong about just taking things, but I did it anyway. Not much left in there, but I found some potato rolls stuffed into the freezer section. When they thaw out, I can make some sandwiches.”
“That’ll give us time to get somewhere more secluded.” Max replaced the hose, closed the tank. “Too open here.”
“It feels wrong, doesn’t it? More like a photograph than life.”
She bent down, scrubbed at the pup’s head when he raced back. “In you go, Joe.”
He leaped in the back as Eddie walked back. He glanced behind him.
“I thought I heard a—”
The shot that rang out shattered the stillness, a hammer against glass.
She saw Eddie jerk, saw his face go white, and the blood bloom on his flapping army green coat. Before she could rush forward, Max shoved her into the passenger seat.
“Get in, get in!”
He grabbed Eddie as Eddie stumbled forward, all but throwing him in the back.
The next shot shattered the right taillight.
“Get down. Lana, get the hell down.” Max ducked around the front of the car.
Two men ran into the lot from the back, still firing.
Enraged, Lana threw out power, heaving it at them even as Max pulled the gun from his hip and fired back. Both men flew backward, guns firing in the air.
Max yanked the driver’s-side door open, hit the starter and the gas even before he slammed the door shut. He spun, fishtailed, feared for a moment he’d flip the damn car, but the chains bit in.
In the rearview, he saw the men struggle to their feet, take aim, but their bullets thudded into the snow behind them.
Others came out of some of the houses, armed, watching with cold eyes as he drove away.
“Are you hurt? Lana?”
“No, no, are you?”
“No. Eddie, how bad?”
“I’m shot!” He pressed a hand between his collarbone and right shoulder. “I’m fucking shot. And Jesus, Jesus Christ, it fucking hurts.”
“Lana, strap in, goddamn it,” Max snapped as she started to crawl between the seats.
“I have to see how bad it is. If I can help.”
“I can’t stop yet. I can’t stop until we’re sure they’re not coming after us.”
She wedged into the back, hauled up the dog currently whining and licking Eddie’s face. She plopped Joe on the front seat. When he immediately tried to wiggle back, Max snapped again.
“Sit!”
Joe didn’t sit so much as curl up and cry.
“I need to see, need to see.” Lana unbuttoned the jacket.
“You’re going to see I’m shot! What the hell, man? We weren’t hurting anybody.”
“Quiet now, just quiet.” With hands that surprised her by staying steady, she ripped open his shirt, then yanked off her scarf, used it to put pressure on the wound. “I’m going to stop the bleeding, that’s the first thing. You’re going to be all right. As soon as we’re far enough away, Max’s going to find a place we can stop, and we’ll get you inside, take care of this. I think I can help.”
“Like you helped back there, knocking those assholes on their asses like with your mind or something? You’re one of those, those others? Both of you?”
Lana looked at him, into his shocked eyes. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
“Hell, you just saved my life. Unless I’m dying anyway.”
“You’re not dying. I … Max, I feel like I can help.”
Eddie moaned, gritted his teeth. “If you’d get that bottle of Jack—I mean the whiskey—that’d be a start.”
“Good idea. You need to press down on this while I do. Even though it hurts.” She put his hand on the bloody scarf, pressed. “Like that.”
She turned, unwedged the bottle from the floor, unzipped the duffel, dug through until she found a T-shirt. Lifting herself up a little, she pulled out the multi-tool Max had given her, cut through the shirt until she could rip it and make a couple of thick pads.
She opened the Jack Daniel’s bottle, nudged Eddie’s hand and the scarf away.
“Brace yourself.” And she poured the whiskey on the ugly little wound.
He let out a sound that tore at her, but she doused it, then pressed a fresh pad against the wound while Eddie, eyes glassy, fought for breath.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“I was looking to drink it.”
She put the bottle in his trembling hand so he could.
“I screamed like a girl.”
“You screamed like a man having whiskey poured on a bullet wound.” She got a hand under him, felt the hole in the coat, the wet. “Press that pad, keep the pressure on.” She pressed the second one to his back. “It went through. The bullet went through. I think that’s good.”
“It ain’t so good when you’re the one it went through. Coming out makes a bigger hole. Pretty sure.”
“We’ll take care of it. Max.”
“I’m looking. They’re not following, so I’m looking.”
She took a breath, looked into Eddie’s eyes again. “I think I can help, help slow the bleeding. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Me, either.” He gripped her hand. “Probably going to hurt.”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s find out.” He closed his eyes.
She didn’t know what stirred in her, but it reached up and out, it quivered to help. She kept one hand gripping his, the other pressed on the exit wound. Let it flow out.
It hurt. She heard the pain, felt it, saw it black and pulsing. She opened herself to whatever rose and stirred and flowed—white and cool against the black and hot.
“Stop.” Eddie gripped her arm now, squeezed, shook. “Stop!”
She shivered back. Whatever flowed and stirred in her stilled.
“Stop,” he
said again. “You look as bad as I feel. It’s better. Whatever you did there, it’s better. I don’t feel so shaky, and it hurts—Christ knows—but it’s not as bad.”
“Let me try to—”
“Lana.” Max spoke quietly, but firmly. “You can’t push too hard, too fast. You need to re-gather.” He slowed the car. “There’s a house—not much of one. It looks deserted. We’ll try it.”
He turned in slowly, sat, waited.
“I’m going to go check it out. Lana, you come and get behind the wheel. If there’s trouble, you go. I’ll find you.” He turned to look at her. “I’ll find you.”
She nodded, but when he got out, walked down to the house, she stayed where she was.
“No way we’re leaving him,” Eddie said.
“No, we’re not leaving him.”
“So, ah, hey. You guys like gods or something?”
“No.” Gently, she brushed his hair back from his face. “Witches.”
“Witches? Huh.”
Max jogged back. “Nobody here. Doesn’t look like anybody’s been here for a couple of weeks. It’s a dump, but it’ll do.”
He drove around the back, through the snow until he felt certain the car wouldn’t be seen from the road.
He helped Eddie out and, when his legs buckled, picked him up and carried him inside. Lana’s first thought was the kitchen was a small nightmare of filth, garbage, bugs, and mouse droppings.
They’d deal with it.
The living room wasn’t any better, nor was the bedroom Max turned into.
“Wait, don’t lay him down on that. We have to keep the wound clean.” She stripped off the ratty blanket, the stained sheets. “Just wait.”
She dashed back out, dug out the sheets she’d packed, the towels. Inside, she yanked the sheets over the mattress, spread one of the towels over the bottom sheet.
“We have to get his coat and his shirt off.”
“Help him stand,” Max told her.
Between the three of them, they got him stripped down.
