Year One (Chronicles of The One #1)(50)

“Like you helped back there, knocking those assholes on their asses like with your mind or something? You’re one of those, those others? Both of you?”

Lana looked at him, into his shocked eyes. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“Hell, you just saved my life. Unless I’m dying anyway.”

“You’re not dying. I … Max, I feel like I can help.”

Eddie moaned, gritted his teeth. “If you’d get that bottle of Jack—I mean the whiskey—that’d be a start.”

“Good idea. You need to press down on this while I do. Even though it hurts.” She put his hand on the bloody scarf, pressed. “Like that.”

She turned, unwedged the bottle from the floor, unzipped the duffel, dug through until she found a T-shirt. Lifting herself up a little, she pulled out the multi-tool Max had given her, cut through the shirt until she could rip it and make a couple of thick pads.

She opened the Jack Daniel’s bottle, nudged Eddie’s hand and the scarf away.

“Brace yourself.” And she poured the whiskey on the ugly little wound.

He let out a sound that tore at her, but she doused it, then pressed a fresh pad against the wound while Eddie, eyes glassy, fought for breath.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I was looking to drink it.”

She put the bottle in his trembling hand so he could.

“I screamed like a girl.”

“You screamed like a man having whiskey poured on a bullet wound.” She got a hand under him, felt the hole in the coat, the wet. “Press that pad, keep the pressure on.” She pressed the second one to his back. “It went through. The bullet went through. I think that’s good.”

“It ain’t so good when you’re the one it went through. Coming out makes a bigger hole. Pretty sure.”

“We’ll take care of it. Max.”

“I’m looking. They’re not following, so I’m looking.”

She took a breath, looked into Eddie’s eyes again. “I think I can help, help slow the bleeding. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Me, either.” He gripped her hand. “Probably going to hurt.”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s find out.” He closed his eyes.

She didn’t know what stirred in her, but it reached up and out, it quivered to help. She kept one hand gripping his, the other pressed on the exit wound. Let it flow out.

It hurt. She heard the pain, felt it, saw it black and pulsing. She opened herself to whatever rose and stirred and flowed—white and cool against the black and hot.

“Stop.” Eddie gripped her arm now, squeezed, shook. “Stop!”

She shivered back. Whatever flowed and stirred in her stilled.

“Stop,” he said again. “You look as bad as I feel. It’s better. Whatever you did there, it’s better. I don’t feel so shaky, and it hurts—Christ knows—but it’s not as bad.”

“Let me try to—”

“Lana.” Max spoke quietly, but firmly. “You can’t push too hard, too fast. You need to re-gather.” He slowed the car. “There’s a house—not much of one. It looks deserted. We’ll try it.”

He turned in slowly, sat, waited.

“I’m going to go check it out. Lana, you come and get behind the wheel. If there’s trouble, you go. I’ll find you.” He turned to look at her. “I’ll find you.”

She nodded, but when he got out, walked down to the house, she stayed where she was.

“No way we’re leaving him,” Eddie said.

“No, we’re not leaving him.”

“So, ah, hey. You guys like gods or something?”

“No.” Gently, she brushed his hair back from his face. “Witches.”

“Witches? Huh.”

Max jogged back. “Nobody here. Doesn’t look like anybody’s been here for a couple of weeks. It’s a dump, but it’ll do.”

He drove around the back, through the snow until he felt certain the car wouldn’t be seen from the road.

He helped Eddie out and, when his legs buckled, picked him up and carried him inside. Lana’s first thought was the kitchen was a small nightmare of filth, garbage, bugs, and mouse droppings.

They’d deal with it.

The living room wasn’t any better, nor was the bedroom Max turned into.

“Wait, don’t lay him down on that. We have to keep the wound clean.” She stripped off the ratty blanket, the stained sheets. “Just wait.”

She dashed back out, dug out the sheets she’d packed, the towels. Inside, she yanked the sheets over the mattress, spread one of the towels over the bottom sheet.

“We have to get his coat and his shirt off.”

“Help him stand,” Max told her.

Between the three of them, they got him stripped down.

“Okay.” She pressed a folded washcloth to the exit wound as Max laid Eddie down. “The bleeding’s nearly stopped, so that’s good. Maybe there’s some antiseptic or alcohol. We make sure the wounds are clean. I think they need to be closed, but I don’t have enough, Max. I don’t have enough to do that. I can’t find that in me.”