|
|
|
|
|
|
|
lived lay in the slight but steady rise and fall of her chest. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Chris jumped out of the car and ran around to the passenger side. He eased open the door and caught her head before it lolled off the seat. When he lifted her into his arms her head hung over his arm, frighteningly lifeless. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He turned, and as he raced up the steps of the log cabin the door opened. A young man, with hair as red as D.J.'s and eyes as blue as the sky in winter, stepped onto the porch. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties and wore the costume of the northjeans, flannel shirt, and huge high-topped boots. The welcoming smile on his lips froze at the sight of Chris with D.J. in his arms. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"D.J.," he breathed, staring at her still face in horror. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"She's been shot," Chris said. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The young man's gaze flicked to Chris, then back to D.J. He motioned toward the door. "In here," he said, leading the way through the house to a medical office in the rear. "Put her on the table." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Chris complied, then stepped back, waiting for the young man to call the doctor. To his surprise, the kid pulled on plastic gloves, grabbed a stethoscope from the counter, and approached D.J. himself. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Chris stepped in the way. "She needs the doctor. Right now." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The young man glanced up at Chris and frowned. "I realize that. If you'll just get out of my way, the doctor will help her." |
|
|
|
|
|