Chapter 60 Part Eighteen‘Family’


    Family


    Richard


    It feels unreal. It can’t possibly be real. The mind rejects such things. This isn’t reality. It is the stuff of


    nightmares.


    The awful sight of James as the bullet impacts. His body jerking and jolting as he takes the shot


    intended for Charlotte. The agony and the shock when he cries out as he falls, unconscious, to lie in a


    pool of his own blood; a pool that spreads and grows, fed by the spurt of red where Corby’s bullet


    speared into his flesh.


    Michael, gasping for breath, his blond hair dark with sweat, and eyes opaque with shock from the


    failure of his desperate attempt to bring Corby down before he could fire the shot.


    And Charlotte, howling in horror and disbelief, on hands and knees, covered in blood, James’ blood, as


    she clutches and scrapes at his body.


    Is he dead?


    No….


    The blood is pumping….


    I have never seen Charlotte in anything like this condition. Always before, no matter how dire the


    situation, she has handled it. More than handled it. She has risen above and been the victor.


    But right now, utterly panic-stricken, she ispletely out of control.


    In the time I have known her she has faced down terror, assault, rape, possible murder charges, and


    never has she backed down. But with the fall of her beloved Master, she has all but lost her sanity.


    Reality clicks back and time moves again.


    Snatching for my phone, I call the emergency services….


    Michael strides across the room. “Charlotte don’t fall apart now! This is not the time.”


    She pays him no heed, shrieking denial, screaming over James, spattering herself in even more of his


    blood where it spurts from the wound in his leg.


    Michael brings his palm across her face, and it’s no love-tap. He ps her, hard, jolting her back to the


    real world. “He’s just taken a bullet for you. An artery’s been cut. If we don’t stop the bleeding, he’s got


    minutes.” She stares at him, the white of her eyes highlighted against her blood-stained face.


    The voice on the end of my phonees through, “Fire, police or medi….?”


    “Medical emergency!” I snap. As I rattle off the details to the operator, Michael continues to calm


    Charlotte. “Through everything that’s happened, you’ve kept your head. Don’t lose it now. Keep


    thinking straight, for him.”


    And before my eyes, she freezes over. Devoid of expression or tone, she says, “What do I have to do?”


    Michael holds her hand against a pressure point on James’ thigh. “Press there, hard, and keep


    pressing.” Then to me, “We need medical help fast.”


    “There’s an air ambnce on its way.…”


    Charlotte, her face sheened with sweat, is taking instruction from Michael, pressing above James’


    wound, slowing the blood flow. All the while I keep talking, first to the operator who answered my call,


    then as I am passed across to the crew on the ambnce.


    Michael checks James’ pulse. I see him swearing under his breath, his eyes opaque with anxiety. He


    swings to me. “Richard. How long for that ambnce?”


    “Five minutes. I’m talking with the medics on board. Talk to me. They’ve got questions. I’ll ry them.”


    “Shoot…”


    “They’re asking what medical training you have?”


    “I’m a first-aider for a fitness centre. I’m not trained for this….”


    Could have fooled me….


    He strips off his shirt, tearing it into rags and making a pad of the fabric. He speaks to Charlotte. “When


    I say, lift your hand. I’ll push this in there, and then press down again hard.”


    “What is it I’m doing?” she asks.


    “Blocking the flow of blood to the wound, from the side nearest his heart. One, two, three… now!”


    She lifts her hand and he pushes the pad into ce. “Press again, now. As hard as you can.”


    Almost before the movement isplete, he is looking around the room, jabbing instructions at


    Elizabeth. “That chair. Yes, that one… bring it over.”


    He lifts James’ feet, cing them on the chair.


    “Almost there,”es a voice over my phone.


    A silence falls on the room, broken only by Charlotte’s sob-ridden words.


    “Don’t let him die….”


    Michael touches her face. “He’s my friend too.”


    At the chop chopping of rotor des, I dash out. The medics exit the ambnce at a run.


    “In here,” I yell.


    The medics make straight for James, one stopping to look at the blood-soaked Charlotte, but she


    simply shakes her head.


    “It’s not her blood,” exins Michael, voice curt.


    One medic fits face-mask and breathing equipment. Another checks pulse and vital signs.


    The third attends to the wound, slicing open the clothing. As he takes a scalpel from his case. Michael


    pulls Charlotte to himself, spinning her and pressing her face into his chest. She struggles and screams


    but he refuses to let her see as the medic slices into James flesh, snapping a clip over the severed


    artery.


    James’ shirt is stripped away, pads fixed to his skin. A monitor beeps quickly but irregrly with his


    heartbeat. Then, as the medics move to lift him on the stretcher, the tone stutters then tlines,


    morphing to a continuous whine


    Charlotte screams again, the white-faced Michael hanging onto her as she wails and struggles.


    One of the medics leans forward over James'' chest, his weight on the heels of his hands as he almost


    bounces the rhythm to try to restart his heart. The line remains t and he tries again, trying to


    massage James heart back to life. Still, it fails.


    Another medic snatches up electrodes, cing them on chest and ribs. The third fiddles with the


    controls of a defibritor unit. There is a rising whine, then a steady tone.


    “I’m clear,” yells the one with the electrodes.


    The others stand back. “I’m clear.”


    “I’m clear.”


    James body flips and jerks. All eyes turn to the monitor, but the line remains t. Again, the medic


    Upstodatee from Novel(D)ra/m/a.O(r)g


    massages the chest.


    “Again.”


    Once more James jerks, but the line remains steadily t.


    “Again.”


    Charlotte has fallen silent, trembling against Michael, her face pressed to his chest.


    “Who’s the next of kin?” asks the medic in charge.


    Michael nces down at Charlotte, then, “I am.”


    “Epinephrine?” asks the medic. “You know what that means?”


    “Yes, adrenaline to kick-start the heart.”


    “It’s risky. What do you want me to do?”


    “Riskier than not having a heart-beat? Do it.”


    Charlotte is sobbing quietly. And so, I now realise is Elizabeth. Like Michael, I hold her close while, as


    one medic administers the drug to James’ uninjured thigh, another continues to massage his chest….


    And with a ping, the trace kicks back into life with a steady pulsing rhythm.


    Charlotte moans and I think her knees give. Michael catches hold of her.


    James is still unconscious, but at least he has a heartbeat.


    “Where are you taking him?”


    “City Central. They have the specialist unit there. Once he’s been treated and stabilised, they’ll decide


    from there.”


    As they stretcher James into the helicopter, Charlottees to life again. “I want toe.”


    “Can she?” asks Michael.


    “I thought you were next-of-kin?”


    “Her too. Do you have room for two in there?”


    “Get in. You have to sit still and quiet.”


    *****