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over the dog as she grabbed Martha by her uninjured shoulder. Half
dragging, half supporting the woman, she staggered for the back door.
At any moment, Josy expected to feel the numbing cold of a bullet
penetrating her back. But the gunfire had stopped. They made it as
far as the laundry room before Josy's weak leg gave out and they ended
in a heap on the cold tile floor.
"Martha's bleeding!" Bitsy said from the doorway. She stood in a
direct line with the window.
"Bitsy! Go into the living room. Get behind the couch.,.."
"No! I want to stay with you!"
Josy couldn't be sure what Bitsy would do if she sent her away. Was it
better to keep her nearby?
"Okay, Bitsy. It's okay. Come over here. Sit in front of the clothes
dryer." The heavy machine would offer the best protection from a stray
shot. Fortunately, the child obeyed, though her eyes remained riveted
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on Martha.
Martha half leaned, half lay against the washer, her eyes closed, her
skin pasty white.
"Is she gonna die?" Bitsy asked.
"No, sweetie. She isn't going to die."
Please, God. Don't let her die. Josy offered up the prayer as she
blocked Bitsy's view and tore at Martha's sweater, terrified by the
amount of blood that had soaked through her back. Josy fumbled with
the buttons on the red flannel shirt beneath the sweater. Blood soaked
her fingers. Too much blood. There was a neat round hole where the
bullet had entered, a gaping jagged tear where it had exited lower down
on her back.
"Martha?"
Martha's eyes fluttered, but otherwise, she didn't respond. Josy
hadn't spent months of convalescence without learning a few things.
Martha was going into shock. If Josy didn't act fast, Martha would
die.
Pressure and elevation, right? And warmth for the shock. Oh, God,
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don't let her memory be playing her false. Where was the pressure
point for a shoulder? She didn't know! Josy glanced around
frantically for something to use to stem the flow of blood.
"Bitsy, I need your help, sweetie. Can you reach a towel from that
stack of laundry without standing up?"
Bitsy nodded, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Josy
was amazed the child wasn't hysterical. She was also grateful. She
felt a little too close to that edge herself. Maybe the little girl
didn't realize how serious things were.
Bitsy tumbled the laundry from its neat pile on the folding table and
handed Josy a fluffy white towel. In the process, she dropped the
object she'd been holding. Only then did Josy realize it was the
cordless phone from the kitchen.
"Good girl, honey! Let me have the phone."
"It's Uncle Adam."
Josy snatched up the instrument, but all she heard was empty static.
Immediately, the blood flow increased from Martha's wound. Heart in
her throat, Josy dropped the phone and used both hands to press against
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the wound. The shot must have hit an artery. She had to keep pressure
on the wound.
"Bitsy, do you know how to dial 9 II?"
Bitsy nodded.
"We learned in kindergarten." Her voice was shaky.
"Good girl. I'm so glad you're here to help me. Can you grab some
more towels and cover Martha's legs?"
"There aren't any more towels," she said fearfully.
"Can I use this?"
Josy didn't even look to see what this was.
"Yes. Anything. We have to keep Martha warm."
"Like they did when the baby sheep got all cut up on the wire?" Bitsy
started piling clothing on Martha's legs.
"Tiny cried, but I didn't.
Uncle Adam says I'm brave. " But her lips trembled, and her eyes
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seemed to dominate her small round face.
"Uncle Adam's right. You are brave." And she thanked God for that.
Josy was scared enough for both of them.
"Call 911 and tell the operator we need an ambulance. Can you do
that?"
"Okay."
As Bitsy dialed, Josy realized she hadn't locked the back door. Fear
rippled through her. The shooter might be heading for the house. She
had to keep Bitsy safe!
"Aunt Josy, the man wants to talk to you."
"I can't let go of Martha. Can you hold the phone for me?" Awkwardly,
Bitsy brought the phone level with Josy's mouth.
"This is Josy Ryser.
I'm pinned down in the laundry room at the back of my husband's home by
a sniper. I've got a five-year-old child and a badly injured woman. "
Josy could hear the panic rising in her voice. She worked to control
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it.
"I think the bullet hit an artery," she said more calmly.
"We need medical and police assistance right away." Josy couldn't hear
the man's reply, but unfortunately, her fear had communicated itself to
Bitsy. The child looked ready to cry. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]