CHAPTER TWELVE
LAUREN 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 something.
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.
* * *
PENNY 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.
“Does your back hurt?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, lying down on her side.
“Can I help?”
She wished he’d go away. She wished he’d stay. She wished for another earthquake to bury them all. He started massaging her back with tender, tentative motions. It was annoying and embarrassing, only a slight improvement over nothing.
“You fail at massages,” she mumbled.
His hands stilled. “How do you want me to do it?”
“Rub harder. With your thumbs.”
He did it. Not hard enough, and in the wrong place, but better.
“Lower,” she said.
After a short pause, he moved lower, where she really ached. He still wasn’t using enough pressure, and the sore spot seemed to move around. He couldn’t quite get to it. Satisfaction was elusive.
“To the right,” she growled.
He went too far.
She pressed her fingertips on the side of her spine. “Here.”
When he kneaded the general area, instead of a specific place, she wanted to scream. “Just forget it,” she said, swatting his hands away. She buried her face in the pillow, fighting tears of anxiety and frustration.
It reminded her of the time Tyler had tried to bring her to orgasm. He kept slowing down, or missing the mark just slightly. When she offered a few gentle instructions, he got mad and gave up.
Owen hadn’t given up. Although she’d been mean to him, he’d followed her directions and made a more genuine attempt at pleasing her than the father of her child.
“I hate you,” she cried into her pillow.
He didn’t say anything. When another contraction came, he offered her his hand. She gripped it like a lifeline, her fingernails leaving red crescents in his skin. Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes.
After it was over, he started rubbing her back again. This time, she didn’t complain.