Page 147 of Wasted

Thirty-Nine

“I’ll need your help with this following God thing, Vicks.” Cillian hefted Victoria higher against his chest as he trudged through the snow, carrying her in his arms. “You’d better stay with me, or you know I’m going to mess it up.”

Her eyes were still closed, her breathing shallower than before. Her face was so pale.

But he kept talking to her. Had to give her a reason to fight, to keep going.

But until when? He didn’t know where he was going. Hopefully in the direction Warren had taken off, back toward the city, toward help.

The snow still blew so thickly in the darkness that he couldn’t see any houses or streetlamps. Nothing that could lead him to a phone or people.

“God, you know I’m new to this whole thing of asking you for stuff. But Vicks says you don’t need my help to do whatever you want. And I know you must love her a lot. So could you do your thing and send some help?”

Cillian glanced down at her terrifyingly pale face as he pushed his legs to stride faster. Should he be putting pressure on the wound again to stop the bleeding? He’d done that for several minutes, but he couldn’t just sit there, watching her die. He had to try to get help.

“Did you hear that, Vicks? I just prayed. And I even kind of admitted you were right about something. I’d love to hear what you have to say about that.” The attempt at humor stuck on the lump in his throat. “Please, God. I can’t lose her.”

A sound, somewhere beyond the constant swooshing of the wind, touched his frozen ears.

Crunching?

“Hello?” His call was swallowed up in a snowy gust.

Yeah. It was crunching. But steadier and louder than footsteps.

Light. A soft glow, breaking through the wall of snow.

The light grew brighter, whiter, coming closer.

His heart raced. Was that?—

Headlights. The hood of a red vehicle appeared, driving toward him. A pickup truck. Was that Hank’s pickup?

“Over here!” Cillian shouted, unable to wave with Victoria in his arms.

The truck slowed, skidded to a quick stop.

Both doors opened, and two men dropped out, running toward Cillian and Victoria.

“Vicki!” Hank’s alarmed call cut through the wind at the same time Cillian recognized his silhouette.

Robert ran beside him, both of them reaching Cillian in seconds. “What happened?” Robert glanced from his sister to Cillian.

“She’s been shot.”

“What? No.” Anguish twisted Hank’s voice as he reached for her. “Where’s the wound?”

Cillian blinked at him. Right. He was a med student. He could help. “Her stomach, I think. It’s in the abdomen area.”

“Lord, please help Vicki. Help us.” The prayer spilled from Hank as naturally as breathing as he peeled back Victoria’s coat to see the bloody patch of clothing. His gaze met Cillian’s. “Get her in the truck. I’ll sit in the back with her and do what I can. Rob, you drive.”

Surprise filtered through Cillian at Hank’s sudden switch from the laidback, youngest child to take-charge leader.

They hurried to the pickup where Hank hopped into the back seat of the extended cab. Robert helped Cillian transfer Vicki to Hank as gently as possible.

A moan emerged as they set her on the seat, halfway onto Hank’s lap.

The sound of pain cinched Cillian’s chest. He shot Hank an alarmed glance.