Bex is moving toward Thunder and the kitchen has become a thing I don't have words for.
I know I'm not supposed to stand up, but I have to. There are things we have to fucking do, and multiple people and animals that need help.
I open the drawer next to the stove where Marlena keeps the dishtowels, grab everything in it, and bring them to Dakota on the floor next to Marlena.
Marlena is breathing. Shallow. Her sundress is dark red under her cardigan. Dakota has both hands pressed into her mother's chest. Her face is wet.
I drop to my knees on the other side of Marlena. I take Marlena's wrist and find her pulse. It's there, but it's faint.
Dakota speaks up, her voice stressed. "Press here. Here. Both hands. Hard."
I press.
Grace is across the kitchen with the babies on her hip and her phone at her ear. "—shots fired, bunkhouse, Sharp Shooter Ranch—three down, two adults critical. One's my stepmother. I'm a vet, I can help but I need two ambulances, fast. Yes, the address is on file, front gate is open?—"
She sets the babies down on the rug by the stove. Waylon doesn't cry. Cal does. Grace doesn't have time to comfort either of them.
She drops down next to Diesel.
Her hands go on him fast. "Hadley, he's alive. He's alive. Shoulder wound. I need… Bex, first aid kit under the kitchen sink, and some clean towels, and ice from the freezer?—"
Bex throws Grace the first aid kit and towels, and runs over to Thunder.
She's on her knees on the kitchen floor with her hands pressed into Thunder's lower abdomen and her belly resting against the side of his thigh because that's the only way she can get her weight into the pressure she needs to be putting on the wound. "Thunder. Thunder, you stay with me. Banshee is gonna come through that door any minute and he's gonna need you to be alive when he does. You hear me?"
Thunder's eyes are open. He's looking up at the kitchen ceiling. His mouth moves but I can't hear what he says.
The kitchen has three patients and four women and two babies on a rug.
My hands are pressed into Marlena's chest and her blood is coming up through my fingers and I am terrified, because I don't know how this is going to turn out.
The sound of bikes comes up the gravel hard from the south.
Multiple sets of pipes cutting off outside, boots hitting gravel.
Phantom comes through the front door first.
His hat is gone. His sidearm is in his hand. His eyes go across the kitchen—Banshee on the porch boards behind him bleeding, Marlena on the floor with Dakota and me pressing into her chest, Thunder under Bex's hands, Diesel under Grace's hands, the two babies on the rug.
He turns his head over his shoulder toward the porch. "Roan. Get on Banshee. Now."
Roan's voice comes back from outside. "Already on him, Prez. He's breathin'."
Bex's head comes up off Thunder. Her hands don't move from the wound but her eyes find the front door. "Is he?—"
Phantom doesn't waste any time in letting her know. "Roan's got him, Bex. He's breathin'. You stay where you are. You hear me?"
Bex's chin drops once. Her hands press harder into Thunder.
Phantom rushes up to Marlena. He puts his forehead against hers. His shoulders shake once and then they go still.
He lifts his head. His eyes find Dakota's. "'Kota?"
Dakota's voice shakes, "Daddy."
"You holdin' pressure?"
"Yes, sir."
