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the wound and breathed a mental sigh of relief. It wasn't that bada small ragged hole about the size of a nickel just above her breast. He gently turned her over. |
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On its way out, the bullet had left a hole the size of an orange. Kyna's sweater and the yellowed bones underneath her were covered with red blood. Cyrus cradled her head in his arms and began rocking slowly back and forth. |
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Oh, God. Oh God, please no! |
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Her body was already starting to grow cold. He put his fingers to her throat and felt for a pulse. It was there; a tiny spasm so weak it took all of his powers to find it. Then he put his hand over the wound and tried to will it to close. |
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Her eyes fluttered and squeezed open. |
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"Don't look at me." Her voice was so tiny. "I look so old." |
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He had to get to a telephonehe had to get help! |
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But reality told him that even if there were a phone somewhere on the mountain it was going to take at least an hour for help to arrive. The way Kyna was losing blood, she had five minutes at best. |
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She couldn't die! She just couldn't! |
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Paula! he cried out with his mind. Paula, can you hear me? Kazie! Someone, tell me what to do. |
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"Don't be upset," Kyna whispered. "I've always been afraid of growing old, of the pain." |
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But the answer was right there in front of him. |
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Cyrus pulled his hand awayit was sticky with her blood. Holding the hand up, he turned it slowly in the light from the torches. It was like no hand he had ever seen: the coarse hair, the needlelike claws jutting from the tips of humanoid fingers. His eyes came to rest on the hole in her chest. It was still oozing blood, but slowly now. A spurt . . . another . . . Slowmotion death. There was so much blood! The coppery fetor filled his lungs like nitrous oxide and made him dizzy. Her pain reminded him of Kazie, for the smell of dying, fast or slow, was nearly the same. But could he do it to Kyna? Could |
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