Saint Sloan (Saint Sloan #1)(67)

Mr. Lawrence hurried over and pulled it up on the bank. He rolled it over and stopped.

“What are you doing out here, son?” He gasped as he helped the boy cough up water.

Mr. Lawrence sat him up and helped him clear his lungs. “We need to get you help,” he said and tried to help him up. The first raindrops fell on his face as the thunder started crackling overhead. “Can you move?”

He shook his head.

“Do you know where you are?”

Again, another shake of the head. Another cough.

“Son, you need help before the storm comes in. Come on.” He tried to raise him up again, but that didn’t work. It was like lifting dead weight.

The boy pulled Mr. Lawrence down to him. “He needs help more than me.”

“Who? Who needs help?” Mr. Lawrence shook him. They really had to get out of there before the weather picked up.

“My brother,” he said weakly, trying to stand up. He was bloody. Beaten, obviously. And he had on a soaked, tattered black suit. “He’s been shot.”

“Where?” Mr. Lawrence put his hands under the boy’s arms to help him stand.

“At the Falls. He needs help. The girl. She saw… she saw it.”

“Okay. It’s okay. Calm down. We’ll get them help too. Just tell me your name.”

His breathing became more labored. “Aa-Aaron.” The boy’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed on the ground.