“How long ago was she hit?” Greg said, moving in by Lucky.
“She lay here bleeding about five minutes before anyone could get to her,” Lucky said. “We’ve had pressure on it about twenty minutes now.”
“Did she lose consciousness at all?”
“I don’t think so.”
“All right. Erik, you keep the pressure. Exactly what you’re doing. Lucky, you scoot back and ease up on the wound, let me in here. Let’s see.”
Greg moved the towel dressing and Erik looked away. He had an awful ache between his shoulder blades from holding his position, holding the pressure, but he didn’t move. Daisy had her arm over her eyes, blocking the light from the lanterns over the apron. Her other hand was still clamped around David’s fingers.
“Bleeding’s relatively minimal at the wound, Lew,” Greg said, replacing the towel. “Your hand there again, Lucky, please. Good.”
With a pair of shears Greg cut through the ribbons of Daisy’s pointe shoes, straight up her pink, bloodied tights. A quick slide of the blades and he tossed the material aside. With his gloved hand he felt around the thigh and Daisy cried out, her head lifting out of David’s hand, teeth bared.
“It’s all right,” David said, his voice cracking.
Greg’s fingers ducked into the hollow under Daisy’s knee. “Popliteal fossa has no pulse. Bullet got the femoral artery or else the hematoma is compressing it. We gotta move.”
“Scoop and scoot, man,” Lewis said. “Get an IV in, let’s fly.”
They flew. Let rip with jargon and acronyms. Another EMT came over and relieved Erik of his pressure duties, and finally he could get up to Daisy’s head. David scooted away to make room for him.
“I’m here, Dais,” Erik whispered, sliding his hands where David’s had been.
She turned her head toward the sound of his voice. “Did I fall down?” she asked again.
He ran his hand carefully along her face. “You fell down,” he said. “You’re going to be all right.”
“Give me a vein, give me a vein,” Lewis said under his breath, his fingers palpating along Daisy’s arm. “You’re a little thing with little veins aren’t you…”
She did look little. Small and defeated. Down by her leg, Greg was packing fresh gauze and Erik made the mistake of looking. At the sight of the gunshot wound, he clamped his teeth on his lip, fighting not to break apart.
“IV going in, Daisy,” Lewis said. “Big pinch here and some sting. Scream if you gotta.”
She didn’t scream, just closed her eyes and moved her hand with Erik’s against her mouth. She set her teeth against Erik’s knuckles. Tears began to slide from her eyes, running diagonally toward her ears.
“It’s all right,” Erik said, lying down on his stomach to put his head by hers.
She was breathing harder now, her eyes flitting all around. “Where are you?”
“I’m right here. I won’t leave you.” He glanced up, catching Lewis’s eye.
“She your girl?” Lewis said lowly.
Erik nodded.
“Where are her parents? How far from home is she?”
“Two hours.”
Lewis gave a grunt, his hands busy. “I can’t let you ride in the back of the bus,” he said. “You can ride up front if you keep cool, stay out of the way and don’t puke.”
“Thank you,” Erik said, forcing his voice into calmness, digging down and pulling it together from some unknown reservoir of strength. He was grateful for the simple directions, which he repeated like a mantra: keep cool, stay out of the way, don’t puke.