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“Not anymore, honey. That’s old advice. Now doctors say if there aren’t any other symptoms, let them sleep. His brain needs time to heal. Along with the rest of him.”
“Is it okay if I wake him later just to make sure he’s okay?”
“Yeah.” Joe smiled. He liked Lake’s baby sister. The few times he’d checked up on her in Glasgow for Lake, he’d enjoyed their conversations. Although he could use fewer lectures on why his car was killing the planet. “When Alastair wakes again, don’t let him move around too much—keep him as still as possible until someone gets to him. Otherwise he could make his injuries worse.”
“How am I supposed to stop him moving around? I can’t get him to do anything.” The exasperation was loud and clear.
“Sit on him if you have to—but not on his chest. If those ribs snap they could puncture a lung. If he has a mild concussion, a hit to the head could turn it into something serious. Don’t give him any aspirin or ibuprofen, they’ll exasperate any bleeding he has.”
“What about paracetamol?”
“That’s fine, honey,” Joe said.
“What about the guy with the gun? I can’t get in contact with anyone but you lot. The phones are out. Do you want me to go outside? I can find out what’s going on and give you an update.”
“No!” everyone in the room shouted.
Joe held up a hand to silence everyone and barked at the intercom, “Do not go outside the guardhouse. Barricade the door and stay inside. Take care of Alastair. We’ll deal with everything else. Claire has gone to town to get help. This will be over soon.”
“But—” Rainne said.
“No buts, sweetie.” Kirsty had gone as white as the snow outside at the thought of Rainne playing spy. “You have your hands full with Alastair. There are a lot of us here. We’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” Rainne sounded resigned. “But if I spot anything from here, I’ll intercom you and let you know.”
“That’s a good plan.” Kirsty breathed a sigh of relief. “That would help. Just don’t attract attention to yourself.”
There was a pause. “I’m scared,” Rainne whispered.
The looks the women shared said they understood totally.
“We all are,” Kirsty told her. “Lake will be here soon, you’ll see. We’ll check in later and let you know what’s happening. If anything changes, call us.”
“I will.” Then there was silence.
Kirsty stared at the silent intercom as Caroline wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“She’s going to be okay,” Caroline said.
The two women headed back to the sofa where they’d been sitting. Joe looked around the rest of the women. He didn’t like this situation one bit. Caroline and Kirsty were holding it together, but he didn’t know for how long. Jena didn’t seem to be worried, but he suspected she was pretending so as not to freak Abby out, which Joe appreciated—the last thing they needed was a freaked-out heavily pregnant woman. Meanwhile, the women of Knit Or Die were in proactive mode, dealing with the stress by trying to keep busy and feign control. Magenta was less sarcastic than usual. Julia was hiding in the bathroom. And Megan...
He looked over to the bed where Megan was questioning their captive, who was more relaxed and amused than threatened. Megan was in her element. Joe suspected that in her head she’d cast herself as Lara Croft in a big-budget action movie. There was no way she’d get any information out of the guy she’d captured. But if it kept her occupied and out of trouble, he was happy to let her try. And if that guy was French, Joe was a freaking Martian.
Jena had found a bag of cookies from somewhere and was dishing them out to the group when Joe held up his hand for silence. He was surprised when he got some. Maybe they could be trained after all.
“We need to barricade the door,” Joe said to Ryan. “Help me pile furniture up against it.”
“Not yet.” Kirsty’s mum pushed through the room holding two bottles of olive oil. “I need to deal with the stairs.”
Before Joe could stop her, she was out the door pouring oil over the wooden stairs and floor. Then she shut the kiddy gate at the top of the stairs for good measure.
Kirsty watched her mother. “I don’t think that gate will stop them getting past, Mum.”
“Every little bit helps,” Margaret said as she came back in the room. She faced the women of Knit Or Die. “Barricade the door, girls.”
The retired women rushed to move furniture against the door. And Joe got the sense he’d lost control of the group.
“Aren’t you going to complain about the oil on the floor?” Kirsty asked Caroline.
