Raw sounds of anguish tore out of me with every movement as I made my way to her.
Lightly, carefully, as though she were made of glass, I held her hand and sobbed. I wouldn't survive this. I didn't want to survive this. There was nothing in the world that I wanted to live for after enduring this.
For the first time in my life, I began to pray. For her life or my death, I didn't know. I would have taken either just then.
I didn't even look up as the paramedics arrived in force. I only noticed the body that had been lying beside hers as it was shifted away. Apparently, the paramedics weren't going to try to help that one, since it was missing a head. Its massive torso was riddled with holes, and I perceived that it had been her father. His death gave me no satisfaction. It wasn't enough, and certainly, he hadn't died in time to spare her.
How had it come to this? I wondered wretchedly.
My vision was blurred and I just couldn't bring myself to focus on anything but that hand. It was limp in mine, but unscathed, and if I looked up, I knew there was a good chance I'd find answers that I wasn't willing to accept. Somehow, uncertainty was something to cling to when the worst-case scenario was so much more likely than the alternative.
A paramedic was crouched on the other side of her, but I couldn't look directly at him, couldn't let myself see what he found as he swiftly checked her vitals.
The paramedic called out loudly. I didn't catch what he said. My mind wasn't processing words just then. I was still focused with a single-minded purpose on that lovely hand. There was no telling how long I crouched there, motionless with dread, trying to prolong the moments, telling myself she would be fine, but filled with a stark desolation that made it hard to even breathe.
The paramedic said something else, and I didn't realize that he was speaking to me until someone nudged me rather impatiently from behind. I blinked at the man, not really seeing him as I tried to hear what he was saying.
"Please move, sir. We need to get her on a stretcher. You're in the way."
I moved automatically, so unused to being told what to do that I obeyed instinctively, knowing that no one would dare give me an order if it wasn't important.
I only shifted back the slightest amount, but a stretcher was being pushed persistently against me until I backed away far enough to give them room to work.
I pushed back with desperation when I realized that they were going to put her on the stretcher.
I won't let them take her away from me, I thought. I'll die before I let them put her in a bag.
Big arms circled me from behind, pulling me back. "Let them work, James," Tristan said gently into my ear. I hadn't even realized that he'd followed us here.
"Sir, every second you delay us could be crucial to her survival," the other paramedic said, clear impatience in his tone.
I let Tristan pull me back as I tried to process those words.
Survival, he'd said, as though she had a chance. They weren't putting her in a bag; they were staunching the flow of blood from the side of her head and moving her.
He'd said survival, I thought again. They weren't taking her away because she was dead. They thought they could help her.
I hovered close, my thoughts becoming slowly more coherent as I began to realize that she wasn't dead, and God willing, she might survive. With desperation, I began to let myself hope, every inch of me trembling.
I gave them room to work, but I hovered as close as possible, desperate to see what they would do, fearing that if I so much as glanced away from her I might lose her.
I was moving around her, trying to get closer to her without getting in the way, and so I saw when the first paramedic shifted her head enough to apply pressure to her wound. I whimpered when I saw the bloody hole in the side of her face. It was up near the spot where her jaw met her ear, or at least I thought that it was. It was hard to tell with all of that blood.
I never took my eyes off her, and what they were doing to help her, but I began to hear the other sounds in the yard as still more paramedics arrived. I heard another man sobbing. It had been going on for a while, but I hadn't really noticed it-I was making so much noise myself.
Javier, I thought, dawning horror making me search him out. He hovered over the fallen form of Stephan. A paramedic was busy staunching the flow of blood from Stephan's chest, prepping him to get on a stretcher, another man helping him. No, I thought, please no. They both had to live.
I followed the stretcher closely as they moved her, and no one dared tell me not to. I watched her chest as she breathed faintly on the long drive to the hospital. It's a miracle, I thought. He put that gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger, and if she survives it, I have witnessed a miracle. I made crazy promises to God on that long drive, promises to give him my soul in exchange for that miracle.