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From his phone came rock music timed to the tempo of an effective thrust.
Nutsbe looked over his shoulder. “Olivia.” He waited for her to look him in the eye. “Okay?”
“I’m fine.” She leaned over the man’s head. “This is Judge Greenway,” she said with alarm. Shuffling to the side, Olivia positioned a leg on either side of the wheel, her skirt stretched wide. “Should I do mouth-to-mouth?”
“Yeah, good.” Nutsbe was breathing hard as he thrust down the required two inches. The sharp stones ground into his knees.
“Actively monitoring. Over,” the Iniquus communications officer said.
Beowolf stepped carefully along the far side of the judge, then came to sit to Nutsbe’s left. As Nutsbe leaned forward into the compressions, the dog’s body would effectively shield Olivia. “Good boy.” They caught each other’s gaze, and there was no mistake; they were partners in keeping Olivia safe.
Nutsbe had a flicker of hope as the first rescue siren screamed in the distance.
Help was coming.
But with the shooter still aiming at the cars around them, could they all survive the wait?
Chapter Seventeen
Olivia
Sensory overload fried Olivia’s nerves.
The bullets that burst the cars’ windows set off their alarms, shrilling to the owner to come and check.
No one was coming.
As soon as Judge Greenway collapsed, distant yelling told Olivia that everyone had scrambled for safety. As far as she could tell, their little knot hunkering between the cars were the only people still outside.
The only human targets.
Oh, those car alarms, with their bright wails that pulsated and glared! They whipped about on the buffeting gusts and echoed off the hard sides of the surrounding buildings. Each joined in at a different point, none aligning with their neighbor. It was a constant nerve-jangling discordance.
From her phone, the upbeat rock music kept Nutsbe steadily at work. Red-faced from exertion, sweat-slicked his skin. He had to be exhausted. She wished she could relieve him, but the shuffling and maneuvering in this cramped space would take too much time away from their work.
Nutsbe had the muscles for this job. Not pretty muscles—not show muscles, power muscles. Muscles trained to do things like this—save people.
Day two of Nutsbe’s heroism.
Rescue sirens blared and squawked, surrounding them on three sides. The fourth side was a railroad with no access. They seemed to have formed their semi-circle and stopped at too far a distance to be particularly helpful.
What they needed was a gurney, a chest compressor, and an airbag.
She was the airbag.
Olivia, once again, turned her head cheek to nose, drew a breath in through her mouth, then turned to seal her lips over the judge’s mouth and exhaled. That breath forced his lungs to visibly expand. The sharp prickle of emerging beard was like sandpaper, making her lips feel raw. She turned her head and breathed in fresh air, then turned back to force life past cold blue lips.
But this time, as she blew, vomit bubbled up the judge’s throat, filling her mouth.
Thrusting back, gagging and gasping, gobs of his half-digested food fell from her lips. Olivia made the mistake of looking down at the puddle of coffee and sweet rolls. And something red and chunky.
As her own stomach churned and bucked. Olivia was vaguely aware that Nutsbe had rolled the judge to his left side and was sweeping his airway clear.
As another wave of vomit spewed across the parking lot, Nutsbe scooped the puddle away from the judge. And when that wave receded, Nutsbe cleared his mouth again.
“Vomit,” Nutsbe called for the Iniquus person’s benefit. The phone had dumped from the judge’s crotch to the blacktop. “I have a pulse and a breath.” His voice was filled with victory and exhaustion.
Olivia, trying to still her wobbling stomach, watched as Nutsbe bent and folded the judge into the rescue position she had practiced in her yearly first-aid class but wasn’t sure she’d remember how to do now that it was necessary.
