Out of Nowhere (The Immortal Vagabond Healer Book 1) (34 page)

‘Are you alright?’ Sarah’s voice reached me, muffled by the fact that my ears were still ringing from the unexpected gunfire so close. My head was pounding, but I think that had as much to do with the way I’d... abused... my gift.

‘Mostly,’ I said. ‘You should have run.’

‘Sorry I couldn’t shoot. At first, I had to wait for you to get out of the way, but even when you did, I... I just couldn’t.’

I decided not to tell her that my whole strategy was to stay in the way so she could make a getaway. I hadn’t done a very good job anyway.

‘No shame,’ I said. ‘I think a reluctance to resort to violence is nice in a girlfriend.’

‘How’s Pete?’ Nique asked, straining over me to see for herself.

I crawled a foot or so to where I could see, and shook my head.

‘Can’t you fix him?’ Sarah asked.

‘What do you mean?’ Nique demanded. ‘He’s a good medic, but we’re not superheroes.’

‘Sean can heal wounds,’ Sarah said. ‘Oh, do not look at me like that,’ she warned. ‘I gave you a pass on the escort name and the fact that you look like you do and spend more time in a week with my boyfriend than I do, but if you look at me like I’m crazy right now I swear—’

‘OK, OK,’ Nique raised her hands; she’d dealt with enough agitated patients to let the escort comment slide. ‘But what do you mean he can heal wounds?’

‘After that other girl got beat up. Crystal or something—’

‘Tiffany,’ Nique corrected.

Sarah tossed her head in dismissal. ‘After that, I was attacked. Some of those bastards beat the hell out of me. Sean stormed in to the rescue, killed them and healed me.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ I cut in. ‘His heart’s stopped. He’s dead.’

Nique looked at me like I was an idiot. ‘Can you patch up that hole?’

‘Yes. Don’t ask how, but I could, if he were alive. I can’t get dead cells to work, and I can’t make his heart beat.’

‘Jesus, Sean,’ she shook her head. ‘I know it’s been a long day, but you can stop thinking like a pirate and start thinking like a medic. Death isn’t an event. It’s a process. His throat hasn’t been cut for more than a minute.’ She pushed into the room, slinging the heavy kit off her shoulder. ‘Fix that hole. We have enough saline in here to top him off and enough epi to give a steak a heartbeat.’ She unzipped the bag and began assembling IV supplies.

I shook myself into action. I’d never tried this before. In theory, his cells would still be alive, just a bit oxygen deprived. The blood loss we could maybe reverse, maybe get a rhythm back.

I supposed it could work.

If I still could.

I felt slimy. Sick. I’d killed people, but never like this. I’d never used something I held so sacred to harm.

Enough of that,
I told myself.
Suck it up, Marine.

If I hadn’t taken out the enemy, I’d be dead. Sarah and Nique would be dead. Nobody would be around to try to save Pete. So, fight the demons later, but dig deep and do this thing now.

I gingerly sat beside Pete, placed my hand on the gaping gash on his throat. I’d never tried to repair a body with no pulse. I felt the extent of the damage. The trachea was lacerated, the right exterior jugular was severed, but the carotid was intact. I sent a trickle of energy through to the tissues, prodding them to knit.

It was... odd. The cells responded, but lethargically. Like they were drunk, disoriented. Hypoxic.

Which they were. Anthropomorphism aside, the cells were alive, still vital, but they had been without circulation for long enough to begin to feel the effects.

I poured more energy through, pulling the ends of the blood vessels together, sealing the cut. I closed the tear in the windpipe next.

‘IV’s in,’ said Nique.

‘OK,’ I replied. ‘I got the cut closed. Fill him up.’

Nique opened the IVs, hanging the bags on my coat-rack. She had started two large bore lines in Pete’s left arm, one in the antecubital space inside the elbow and one in his forearm. Pete was a young, healthy guy, so even flat from blood loss, he had some nice big veins.

She dragged a chair over and lifted his feet onto it. Move all the blood he had left to the core, where it could do some good.

‘No pulse?’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I think we have an empty tank.’

‘We need a defibrillator,’ she said. ‘I’ll call 911, get a truck over here.’

‘Wait!’ I put a hand on his chest, feeling my way down to his heart. What should have been a beautifully choreographed symphony of contractions was chaos. The cells were all in business for themselves, firing impulses randomly. Fibrillating, to us medical types.

‘We got fib now,’ I said. ‘How much fluid we got in?’

She quickly looked at the two bags. ‘Six hundred cc’s between the two.’

‘Good enough,’ I replied.

‘He needs a shock,’ she said.

‘I got this,’ I informed her calmly.

‘You gonna walk across the carpet in your socks and touch him?’ she demanded.

‘He doesn’t have time to wait for a defibrillator! Just bag him and trust me.’

She paused for a second, then nodded and assembled the bag valve mask, falling into the support role like a good partner, even when confronted with the unexplainable.

I sent some energy to calm the impulses. Quiet the disarray, to create a moment of electrical silence so that the natural pacemaker could resume its control.

People think a defibrillator restarts the heart. It doesn’t. It stops it. Any cardiac cell can create its own impulses. Generally, they follow the lead of the sinus node, which sets the pace, but if it fails, any cell can take over. When the cells get irritated—for example if they’re asked to beat an empty heart, deprived of nutrients and oxygen because somebody cut your throat and let all the blood out—they stop acting like a well drilled marching band and start acting like the patrons of an Irish bar at last call on Saint Patrick’s Day.

The shock of defibrillation silences it all.

Like the sound of a bottle of Jameson’s being opened.

Then, in theory and sometimes in practice, the sinus node resumes calling the pace and a productive heartbeat resumes.

I was hoping to achieve the same result without burning my friend by sending two hundred joules of electricity searing its way through his chest. Even supposing he could wait that long—which he couldn’t.

I quieted the jumble of impulses, the same way I would still the pain of an injury. After a short delay, the cells responded.

I held my breath, hoping the heart would come back online. After a long, long second, I felt the cells contract in glorious sequence, atria then ventricles, a beautiful, rhythmic
ba-boom.

‘Sinus rhythm!’ I shouted. ‘I am a GOD!’

Nique pressed two fingers into the side of his neck. ‘Pulses,’ she said. She gave a little shrug. ‘Rapid and weak, but it’s a pulse. I guess you are good for something.’

‘You’re too kind,’ I replied. I focused my attention on Pete, assessing the damage. There was no more trauma; the lethargic, disoriented hypoxic taint in the cells was fading, the saline that was pouring into his veins was replacing the volume spilled on the floor. Saline didn’t actually deliver oxygen, mind, but it gave the remaining blood enough volume to prime the pump. Like when the ice melted in your drink. It wasn’t a very good drink any more, but it was better than nothing.

I nudged the marrow to speed up production on blood cells. ‘Stop bagging for a sec,’ I said. Nique, being a medic and thus able to follow directions from someone without bugles on his collar, did so.

After a few seconds, I saw Pete’s chest rise with a deep breath. Once I was certain this was becoming a trend, I relaxed. He looked horribly pale, but he had a pulse, he was breathing, it was just a matter of time now.

I sat back, nursing my throbbing wrist and trying to think what to do next.

I’d never before used my powers to resuscitate someone although, in fairness, I’d been healing broken bones for centuries before I ever took a cardiology class, and
quieting
the heart of a dying person isn’t really intuitive.

The sound of a cell phone cut into my thoughts.

We all froze for a moment, before I realized the sound was coming from the dead man’s pocket.

I dug out the phone, a sleek new model, and pushed the green button. ‘Ja?’

Chapter 37

‘KARL!’ DOORS’ VOICE BARKED over the phone. ‘Get back here immediately. I do not authorize this. I will not have my word questioned. Do you understand?’ A long pause, ‘Karl?’

‘Karl can’t come to the phone,’ I answered.

Another pregnant pause. ‘Mr Danet. I trust you are well?’

‘I am. Karl is less so.’

‘I apologize for any inconvenience he may have caused. I assure you, this was done without my consent or authorization.’

I actually believed him. His tone was embarrassed. Exactly what I’d expect of an aristocrat in this position. He wasn’t sorry I’d been endangered, or upset at what might have happened to his man; he was ashamed that his orders had been disobeyed.

‘I assume you will take steps to control your people in the future?’ I said as arrogantly as possible.

‘I will see that they all take Karl’s example to heart,’ he replied, an edge to his voice. ‘I would like to pick up my employee.’

‘You know where he is?’ I asked. I wasn’t going to give him my address if Karl was the only one who knew it.

‘I found his message.’

I thought for a moment. ‘You come alone,’ I decided.

‘Agreed.’

I put the phone down. ‘Doors is coming to collect the body. Sarah, keep the .45 and put your back to the wall there. Nique, help me get Pete up on the couch in the living room.’

‘He’s coming here?’ Sarah asked, shocked. ‘You agreed to it?’

‘It’s not like he can’t come in if I don’t invite him. He’s not a vampire,’ I grunted as I looped my arms under Pete’s shoulders. ‘He’s coming alone, we have two guns.’

‘So, we’re going to take the murdering drug dealer at his word?’ Nique asked. ‘There’s no chance we’ll regret that.’

‘One, two, three,’ I counted and we lifted Pete and carried him to the couch, propping his feet up on one of the arms. ‘Well, if we say no, what’s to stop him showing up anyway? If he wanted to surprise me, why ask? Now we’re alerted. He knows I’m armed and dangerous. And you need to think like an aristocrat. Or a gang boss. If it gets out that he’s broken his word, who’s gonna deal with him?’

As I talked, I retrieved the Browning from Pete’s jacket. I checked that there was a round chambered and took up position near the wall, facing the doorway where the body lay. I leaned back against the wall, taking my weight off my injured ankle. I took a deep breath and forced myself to concentrate. There would be time to lie down soon enough.

One way or another.

‘Nique,’ I said, ‘if Pete’s vitals are stable, you and Sarah probably want to get out of here. I got this.’

‘No chance,’ said Sarah.

‘Don’t count on it,’ said Nique. ‘You need her to back you up with that gun and you need me to remind you you’re a medic. Partners look out for each other.’

I smiled back. ‘Thanks. That means a lot. Just don’t complain when I’m wrong and he shows up with eight henchmen and they kill us all.’

‘You always know what to say to a girl.’ Nique shook her head.

‘That’s why I love him,’ Sarah put in.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door.

The three of us jumped. Fortunately, the safety was on and my finger was outside the trigger guard or I might have put a round through my floor.

‘Already?’ whispered Nique. ‘How’d he get here so fast?’

There wasn’t time to explain teleporting and I’m not sure it would have been a good idea anyway, coming so soon after the revelation of my superhuman healing ability. Nique was cool, but even she probably had her limits.

‘Long story,’ I replied. ‘OK, if you’re going to stay, get in the bedroom, out of sight. We’ll move Pete there, and you can keep an eye on him. If you hear anything scary, call 911 and hide, alright?’

‘OK, but if he kills you, your last thought better be how I was right this is a bad idea.’

We got a blanket and carried Pete into the bedroom on it. I gave Nique the most reassuring smile I could come up with and closed the door.

‘Mr Danet,’ came a now-familiar voice. ‘May I come in?’

I didn’t know when he’d picked up a polite streak. I glanced at Sarah, who nodded. I settled the Browning in my grip, aimed at the floor in front of the door, where I could whip the gun up and fire in a split second but he wouldn’t walk through to see a barrel pointed at his face. That makes some people twitchy, and twitchy is never good.

‘It’s unlocked,’ I said. No point in asking if he was alone. Either he was honest and came alone like he said, or he wasn’t and he’d just lie again. I still didn’t know how many of his people were able to teleport, plus he seemed genuinely concerned about keeping his word, so I guessed he was flying solo on this one.