Aftershock (12 page)

Don’s head lolled to the side as he lost consciousness. His
pants leg was ripped above the knee, and soaked in blood.

Owen didn’t know what to do. He took off his jacket, looking
for something to slow the bleeding. Garrett had been carrying rope in his
backpack. Panicking, Owen yanked his T-shirt over his head and tore it down the
middle. He wrapped the strip of cloth around Don’s thigh and tied it as tight as
he could.

Then he paused, listening for Jeb. There was no gunfire, no
footsteps.

Christ. What a clusterfuck. Could the plan have gone any
worse?

He couldn’t waste time worrying about Garrett, so he started
dragging Don away. The old man was heavy. Owen had no idea if he was doing more
damage by moving him. He’d heard somewhere that you weren’t supposed to move
injured people. But what else could he do, leave him there for Jeb and
Mickey?

Panting from exertion, Owen focused on getting to the RV. The
glow of light from their side of the cavern beckoned him. As he got closer, Owen
could see the pallor of Don’s skin and the bright red blood smear in his wake.
He went as fast as he could, but the muscles in his arms and back were on fire.
When he arrived, he was dripping sweat.

Lauren burst through the door, her blue eyes wide. “What
happened?” she asked, kneeling to examine Don.

“He’s shot.”

Cadence ran outside to join them. “Grandpa!” she screamed,
hugging his limp form.

Penny stood in the doorway, her hand on her belly. She looked
flushed and scared and miserable.

“Where’s Garrett?” Lauren demanded.

“Back there,” Owen said.

“Did he get shot, too?”

“I don’t know, but we need to get out of sight.”

“I’m not leaving my grandpa,” Cadence said. She stared up at
Owen, her teeth chattering and her cheeks wet with tears.

He felt sadness settle into his chest, along with a hefty
measure of guilt. Earlier today, he’d felt like a hero. Now he knew he’d been
fooling himself. He’d really thought he could help these people? What a
joke.

Everything he touched turned to shit.

“Go inside and lock the door,” Lauren told Penny. She stood,
taking Don’s legs. “Let’s get him to triage.”

Owen grabbed Don’s arms and helped Lauren carry him to the
tent. He was surprised by how much of his weight she managed. Cadence followed
them, sobbing. They set Don on an empty stretcher next to Sam.

“You tied your T-shirt around his leg?” Lauren asked.

He glanced at Cadence, covering the symbol on his upper chest
with a shaking hand. Although she wasn’t looking, he’d never been more deeply
ashamed of his tattoos. The ones across his torso were the most offensive. He
wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

Hadn’t she suffered enough?

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Owen said.

“By stanching the blood flow, you saved his life,” Lauren said.
“That was smart.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I’m not sure.”

Owen thought she was staying positive for Cadence’s benefit. He
doubted Don would survive the wound, so Owen’s T-shirt tourniquet made no
difference.

Keeping his palm pressed to his pectoral muscle, he slipped
outside, avoiding Cadence’s tearful gaze. If someone had told him a week ago
that he’d rather cut off his skin than hurt a little girl’s feelings, he’d have
laughed in their face. But the last few days had changed him, brought him a step
closer to the man he wanted to be.

Still, he was no hero. Although Garrett needed him—assuming he
was still alive—Owen hesitated. He stared into the dark, reluctant to go on a
suicide mission. His nerves were jangled, his feet glued to the ground.

If the situations were reversed, he knew Garrett wouldn’t leave
him hanging. Chickening out was not an option. So he removed the hammer from his
belt loop and receded into the darkness once again, ready to fight.

* * *

G
ARRETT
CURSED
UNDER
his breath as Jeb lit up the cavern with
gunfire.

One of the bullets struck the wall above his hiding place.
Debris rained down on the ground near him and concrete dust tickled his nose. He
didn’t dare inhale for fear of choking on the cloud.

Jeb had fired twice in the opposite direction. Garrett didn’t
think it was a coincidence. Don and Owen must have done something to draw his
attention.

In the ensuing chaos, Garrett couldn’t make sense of what was
happening. Both of his comrades might be lying dead or bleeding. He needed to
find an opportunity to escape so he could help them.

Swallowing hard, he listened for movement. Either Jeb had bad
aim, or he didn’t know where Garrett was. Banking on the latter, he edged out
from underneath the car and took a quick glance around it.

Jeb kept his gun raised as he scanned the immediate area.
Mickey had opened the passenger door of the truck. He looked groggy.

“Follow me,” Jeb ordered Mickey. “Not too close, though.”

Garrett ducked back down, his blood pumping with adrenaline.
Jeb was going to come after him. He couldn’t hide and hope for the best.
Figuring it was do-or-die, Garrett burst from behind the blackened car and made
a run for it. He sprinted toward the next vehicle, abandoning stealth in favor
of speed.

Sure enough, Jeb spotted him and opened fire. The car’s front
windshield exploded, sending a waterfall of glass across the broken asphalt. Now
that he’d been seen, Garrett had no choice but to keep going. He headed toward
the east wall and ran away from the RV, keeping his head as low as possible.

Garrett had made a grievous error in underestimating Jeb. He
might be stupid enough to get drunk, crash into parked cars and waste water, but
he was stingy with his bullets. He also didn’t let down his guard.

While Garrett weaved through the shadows, crouching behind any
object that would provide cover, Jeb followed close behind, stalking him with
the patience of an experienced hunter.

This motherfucker had probably grown up in backwoods Alabama.
Garrett had known plenty of military men like him. They could chew through swamp
grass, wrestle gators and shoot the balls off a squirrel at a hundred yards.

Mickey’s footsteps echoed in the distance. Jeb’s approach was
silent.

Garrett skirted around another car, almost losing his balance
as his boot slipped in a large puddle of blood. It looked bad, but not as bad as
a dead body. There was a chance that Owen and Don had made it back to the
RV.

The shadows shifted, edging closer.

Cursing silently, Garrett darted behind another vehicle, aware
that he was leaving bloody footprints in his wake. He was also sweating, his
body emanating fear and nervous energy. Jeb might be able to smell him.

In another few strides, his back was literally against the
wall. He’d arrived at the pile of rubble where they’d buried the dead.

Garrett considered circling around and attempting another
ambush. But Jeb would be ready for it this time. So would Mickey.

Working quietly, he removed some of the rocks from the tarp.
Before he could rethink the decision, he crawled in among the dead bodies,
making a space next to Mrs. Engle. He tried not to identify any specific parts.
Grimacing, he covered himself up and waited.

He didn’t know how he endured it. Minutes felt like hours. He
couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Every shallow inhale felt like death creeping
into his lungs. The burned corpses had smelled awful when fresh. Now, the stench
was unbearable.

Garrett suffered from a lack of oxygen, and an overabundance of
imagination. He thought he could hear maggot activity. The soft squish of
decomposition sent chills down his spine. His cheek was pressed against exposed
bone, his hands buried in gore. If he had to hide here for much longer, he’d go
crazy.

He couldn’t think about Lauren. No. In a place like this,
recalling a woman’s taste and scent was impossible. A sacrilege.

In a dark corner of his mind, he was aware of Jeb’s voice.
Garrett couldn’t make out his exact words, but he noted that the conversation
wasn’t whispered or low pitched. They didn’t know Garrett was nearby.

Soon, the sound faded.

Garrett stayed still for as long as possible before he crawled
out of the makeshift grave, bits of rotten flesh clinging to him. There was no
sign of Jeb or Mickey. He replaced the rocks on the tarp, trying not to
vomit.

“Wait until you try to climb again, hero!” Jeb’s shout echoed
across the cavern. “I’ll be watching you.”

The taunt came from the north end, so Garrett knew Jeb couldn’t
see him. Ignoring it, he beat a silent retreat toward the motor home. The lights
inside the RV and triage tent created a soft glow in the middle of the cavern.
Garrett was so focused on getting to safety that he almost jumped out of his
skin when a figure rose up from the shadows.

Owen stepped forward, his hammer raised. When he recognized
Garrett, he lowered the weapon slowly, covering his nose with the crook of his
arm.

“Fuck,” he choked. “You stink.”

“Where’s Don?”

“In the tent with Lauren,” he said, gesturing with the hammer.
“He’s in bad shape.”

“What happened?”

“We tried to run away, and...he got shot.”

Garrett struggled against a wave of guilt. This was his fault.
He’d gotten his crowbar caught on the bumper and miscalculated his opponent. His
plan had been faulty, his intelligence flawed and his execution a disaster.

“Where were you?” Owen asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said curtly, removing his
sweatshirt. Using a clean edge of fabric, he wiped away some of the grime as
they walked back to camp.

Owen had also taken off his jacket and shirt. Jailhouse tattoos
covered his lean torso. White Pride was written in Old English lettering in an
arch over his stomach. There was a burning cross on his upper chest.

Garrett shook his head at the sight, feeling numb. They were a
couple of miscreants. Owen just broadcast his flaws, while Garrett hid his deep
inside.

“Do you think they’ll come after us?” Owen asked.

“Hopefully not tonight.”

As they approached the RV, a muffled cry of pain rang out. It
was Penny. They exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

“Is anyone in there with her?” Garrett asked.

“No.”

“Well, go help her.”

“Me?”

“Who else?”

Owen contemplated the door of the RV, gulping with trepidation.
Garrett suspected that he was more intimidated by women in labor than men with
guns. “Okay,” he said anyway, preparing to go inside.

Garrett thought about telling him to put a shirt on first, but
he had more important issues to deal with. Don might be dead or dying. He
continued toward the triage tent, determined to face the consequences of his
actions.

CHAPTER TWELVE

L
AUREN
DIDN
’
T
THINK
she could save Don.

His wound was life-threatening, and he’d lost a critical amount
of blood. Almost half his supply, by her estimate.

She applied tourniquets above and below Owen’s makeshift
binding while Cadence fetched a crate to prop his foot on, elevating the injury.
Lauren put an oxygen tube in him and attached a large IV in his arm for rapid
fluid intake.

Unfortunately, she was low on fluids. Five hundred milliliters
of lactated Ringer’s went quickly. She had several bags of normal saline, but
not enough to replace his total blood loss.

Pushing that problem aside for now, she focused on his leg. A
wound this serious would require surgery, and she was no surgeon. Working
carefully, she untied the T-shirt, which was soaked red. The hemorrhage was
under control because of the tourniquets. Don’s heart rate had also slowed
dramatically, which helped matters. Unconsciousness was the body’s way of
conserving resources.

Leaving a tourniquet in place for more than a short time could
be fatal. Lauren had to employ another method to stop the bleeding. Taking a
deep breath, she cut away the fabric of his trousers and examined the
injury.

The bullet had entered the back of his thigh and come out the
front. An exit wound wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Gunshot trauma created a
very destructive path, leaving destroyed tissue and broken bones inside.

In Don’s case, the majority of the internal damage involved the
femoral artery. It appeared nicked, rather than severed, and she didn’t feel any
fractures.

The femoral artery was almost as important as the carotid, so
Lauren couldn’t put a Band-Aid on it and hope for a miracle. She couldn’t close
off the blood flow or let it spill freely. Cauterizing the wound wasn’t an
option, and repairing the artery was a complicated procedure. She didn’t have
the equipment or the expertise.

Without fluid replacement, he wouldn’t live anyway.

“Can you fix it?” Cadence asked, her eyes pleading.

Normally, Lauren didn’t like having relatives or loved ones in
her workspace. They got in the way, asked distracting questions and slowed her
down. This situation was different, because Lauren had no one else to help
her.

“I’ll try,” she promised, searching through her medical kit.
She’d have to apply a pressure dressing to replace the tourniquets. The
procedure wouldn’t save him, but it was a start. And she had to do s
omething.

While she was gathering the supplies she needed, Garrett
appeared at the front of the tent, startling her.

He was filthy. His face was streaked with what appeared to be a
mixture of blood and charcoal. The unpleasant odor of singed flesh clung to him.
His eyes were dull, as if he’d been to hell and back. Although he bore an
uncanny resemblance to a corpse, he was clearly alive, maybe even unharmed.

Lauren hadn’t realized until now that she’d assumed he was
dead. She’d been completely focused on Don, refusing to consider Garrett’s fate.
The sight of him made her eyes water and her knees turn to jelly.

He’d made it.

Cadence gave him a curious glance. “You smell like my dog after
he rolls around in the garbage.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up a little. “How’s your
grandpa?”

“He’s lost a lot of blood.”

Now
his
eyes were watery, brimming
with emotion. He looked away for a moment, taking a ragged breath. When he’d
pulled himself together, he turned to Lauren. “I’m type O, if you need a
donor.”

She blinked at this unexpected news. “O negative?”

“Yeah. I’ve given blood before. Lots of times.”

Lauren’s mind raced with possibilities. Could she perform a
basic transfusion with the supplies she already had? Maybe she could cache the
blood in the empty IV-fluid bags, and then transfer them to Don as soon as they
were full.

First, she had to bandage his leg. If she couldn’t stop the
bleeding, there was no reason to do a transfusion. The donor sample would flow
right out and be wasted.

After packing the wound with wet/dry gauze, she wrapped the
bandage material around his leg, winding it tight. It was very likely that Don
would lose the leg no matter what she did. But she had to sacrifice the limb to
save his life. When she was finished with the pressure dressing, she removed the
tourniquets, praying for success. To her amazement, the technique seemed to be
working. The bandage held.

So far, so good.

“Lie down next to him,” she told Garrett.

He reclined on the floor of the tent. Grabbing an antiseptic
wipe, she passed it to him. “Clean the crook of your arm,” she said, rising to
collect the empty fluid bags and an IV kit with an eighteen-gauge needle. She
also needed sodium nitrate. The anticoagulant had other uses, so she had some on
hand.

After Garrett scrubbed his arm, she knelt beside him, tying off
the vein. Again, she noted that he had great blood pressure. Uncapping the
needle, she pressed down on the ropey vein, puncturing it easily. He made a
quiet hiss of discomfort. She attached the empty IV bag and released the
tourniquet, watching the tube turn red.

Satisfied with her work, she secured the IV with tape so it
wouldn’t get dislodged. When the bag was full, she cut off the flow from
Garrett’s IV. Before transferring the blood to Don, she mixed in the sodium
nitrate. This additive would keep the blood from clotting inside the vein, but
had no adverse effects.

She hooked the full bag to Don and attached another empty bag
to Garrett. For several minutes, she monitored Don’s vital signs. He didn’t
regain consciousness, but he seemed to be having a positive reaction.

“How are you?” she asked Garrett, who would have to give a lot
more blood.

“Fine,” he said, closing his eyes. “Walk in the park.”

Compared to whatever he’d done earlier, it probably was. Lauren
hadn’t sorted through her feelings about the dangerous venture. She’d been
furious with him for leaving, terrified when he hadn’t come back.

His sudden reappearance didn’t ease her anxiety. Obviously, the
plan had gone awry. They’d gained nothing in the raid, and almost lost Don.

They could still lose Don.

“When will he wake up?” Cadence asked.

“I don’t know,” Lauren replied. She’d never performed a blood
transfusion on the fly before. It just wasn’t done. Estimating his recovery time
was impossible. “He might sleep for a few days, like Sam.”

Cadence frowned at Sam, who was wasting away slowly. “Maybe you
should give him some blood, too.”

It wasn’t a bad idea.

Garrett pumped his fist to make the blood come faster. “I’ve
got plenty.”

Cadence held Don’s hand for a moment before returning her
attention to Garrett. “I miss my dad,” she whispered.

“I miss mine, too.”

“What happened to him?”

“Nothing,” he said. “We just don’t see each other anymore.”

Lauren adjusted the IV drip, thinking of her own father. She
didn’t want to disturb Cadence by mentioning his death.

“Your dad is Don’s son?” Garrett asked.

“Yes.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a police officer.”

“Get out of town. Where at?”

“Irvine Meadows.”

“That sounds like a nice place to live.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “It is.”

Cadence had been managing the trauma well, so far. She’d stayed
upbeat. Having Penny and Don around seemed to help her cope. Although she spoke
of her mother often, the girl hadn’t mentioned her dad until now. Lauren assumed
that Cadence’s father was white, like Don. Maybe Garrett reminded her of
him.

Exchanging a glance with Lauren, he stretched out his right
arm. Cadence curled up next to him and buried her face in his T-shirt, which
wasn’t half as dirty as his jeans. He didn’t tell her not to cry. He just gave
her his shoulder and held her tight.

Lauren tore her gaze away, blinking the moisture from her eyes.
Again, she wondered if Garrett had kids. He’d been kind to Cadence, but he
didn’t give the impression of an experienced parent. Her heart rejected the
notion. She couldn’t picture him as a doting family man, betraying his wife and
children.

It hurt too much to imagine.

* * *

P
ENNY
WANTED
TO
DIE
.

Before she left, Lauren had set the stage for childbirth. She’d
placed a plastic barrier on the bed and covered it with a sheet. Then she’d
given Penny something for the pain and promised she’d be okay.

When Owen dragged in Don from the shadows, Lauren took him to
the triage tent. Cadence had followed close behind, crying her eyes out.

Penny was on her own. In labor. Terrified.

The contractions were coming faster, less than five minutes
apart. Lauren had told her not to worry. As soon as her body was ready, she’d
feel a strong urge to push. What Penny felt now was a strong urge to vomit.

Another contraction ripped through her, making her writhe in
discomfort. Each one lasted longer, and hurt more. She clenched her hands into
fists and let out a strangled cry as it passed. At this rate, she’d be delirious
by the time the baby came.

A tentative knock sounded at the door. Penny turned and stared
in that direction, her heart still racing from exertion.

“It’s Owen.”

She was torn between screaming at him to go away, and rushing
over to let him in. Any distraction from her current predicament was welcome,
and she needed help. But—not from him. Owen couldn’t deliver her baby. No
way.

“Can I come in?”

“Where’s Lauren?” she asked. Her voice was loud, but shaky.

“She’s busy with Don.”

Selfishly, Penny resented Don for getting injured. And Owen,
for whatever role he’d played in that fiasco. She went to unlock the door
because she wanted to know what had happened to the other men. Owen could keep
her company, and fetch Lauren for her before the baby came.

“Thanks,” he said, letting himself in.

She backed up a few steps, frowning at his bare chest. He’d
been shirtless outside, but she hadn’t noticed any specific details. Now she
did.

The racist tattoos on his hand and neck were nothing compared
to the sweeping insignias all over his torso. She was offended by the sight.
Hate and ignorance disgusted her. But what really caught her attention, to her
chagrin, was his muscle definition. She’d had no idea he was packing washboard
abs and rock-hard pecs.

Her gaze lifted to his face, which startled her further. His
deep-set blue eyes gave him a poetic edge. Underneath that bristly goatee, he
was handsome. If he cleaned himself up a little, he might be as pretty as
Tyler.

Penny recoiled in horror. She wasn’t sure what disturbed her
more; his repellant tattoos, or the fact that she found him attractive.

Had she lost her mind? He was trash. Redneck, neo-Nazi, poor
white trash. And she was in
labor
.

“You look like a serial killer,” she blurted, keeping her
distance.

Those lovely eyes darkened with hurt, or maybe just
resignation. “Sorry,” he muttered, glancing around the RV. “Does Don have any
extra shirts?”

Penny pointed to a drawer.

He found a wife-beater undershirt, which was fitting. It was
the only thing in there besides some old-man suspenders. The sleeveless garment
covered up the worst of his ink but didn’t hide his sculpted physique.
Apparently men in prison had nothing better to do than lift weights. Maybe he
wasn’t that different from Tyler.

“What happened to Don?” she asked.

“He got shot in the leg.”

She glanced down at his blood-smeared jeans, smothering another
wave of nausea. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about Garrett?”

“He’s back. Helping Lauren, I think.”

“Did you get the water?”

He shook his head.

“Wow,” she said. “That didn’t go well.”

“No,” he agreed.

They stared at each other for an awkward moment.

“Do you need anything?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said pointedly. “Water.”

There were a few bottles in the cabinet, along with several
cans of soda and a sports drink. She would have helped herself, but she didn’t
know how much they could spare. Owen grabbed a bottle, unscrewing the cap for
her. She drank in thirsty gulps. His throat worked as he watched her swallow.
She didn’t share.

Seconds later, another contraction hit, robbing her breath.
Shoving the water at him, she grasped the edge of the cabinet and tried not to
scream.

“Oh, Jesus,” he said, capping the bottle and setting it aside.
“What should I do?”

She’d have told him to shut up, but words were beyond her. His
hand hovered near her arm, as if he wanted to help her sit down. She grabbed it
and squeezed as hard as she could, her fingernails digging into his palm.

When the pain faded, she eased her grip, letting out a slow
breath.

“Okay now?” he asked.

She nodded and pulled her hand away. Although she must have
hurt him, he seemed reluctant to break the contact.

His gaze darted south. “Is the baby coming out?”

She laughed at his panicked expression, on the edge of
hysteria. “No. Lauren said that first labors usually last around twelve
hours.”

“When did it start?”

Penny’s water had broken around noon. Maybe the baby would come
at midnight. She looked at the clock. “Five or six hours ago, I guess.”

Owen relaxed his shoulders. “We have time, then.”

They
didn’t have anything. Penny
had been pacing the RV for what seemed like days, and now she wanted to rest. As
she made her way toward the bed, she placed her hand on her spine, trying to
ease the ache.