Page 165 of Strays
The EMT gives a sharp nod to his partner, who turns and jogs quickly to the ambulance. He pulls out a collapsible stretcher and wheels it toward us, tires whispering against the gravel.
The older medic gestures toward it. “We’ll do it slow. On your count.”
We move together, carefully shifting her between us. Her head rolls slightly, but Shane catches it. My hands stay on her waist until the last possible second as we lower onto the stretcher. Jay tucks the blanket tight over her legs before letting go.
Her lips part, and she makes a sound, barely audible.
“We’ve got you,” I whisper. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”
Once she and Shane are inside, the EMTs shut the doors. The engine starts, a low rumble in the quiet night, but before it pulls away, a Bronco rolls up from the far end of the lot and stops beside us.
Otto Bielke steps out of the driver’s seat. He walks straight to Jay and hands him the keys. “Go with her,” he says. “We’ll take care of the rest here.”
Jay doesn’t hesitate, just nods and moves.
I glance at Otto and give him a quiet nod of thanks. I climb into the passenger seat, and Jo’s uncles file into the back. The doors shut with soft thuds as Jay guns the engine, and we follow the ambulance close behind.
It takes almost twelve hours for Jo to be fully awake.
The doctors say she was deeply sedated, most likely with a benzodiazepine mixed with another compound they couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, it hit hard and held on.
Her uncles stayed through the night, quiet and present. Then, in the first hours of the morning, they took the Bielkes’ Bronco and drove back to our home in Milstone to grab a change of clothes for her and for us.
When she finally opens her eyes, all three of us exhale in relief.
“I knew you would come for me,” she whispers.
I cup her face. “Of course we did.”
Shane kisses her mouth softly, then her forehead.
Jay leans closer. “We would set the whole world on fire before we let you go, Jo,” he says.
She remembers the beginning clearly enough. The woman who approached her at the courthouse said the bathroom was out of service and offered to show her another one. Jo followed. Then, the man stepped out of a hallway door and pressed a gun into her ribs. He told her to be quiet, said they only wanted to talk, but if she didn’t cooperate, he’d shoot. They forced her into the car. But then, the woman stuck her with a needle, and after that, it’s mostly a blur.
She remembers waking up once, groggy and head pounding, in a lockedroom. She tried the door. Screamed.
“I was scared, but I knew any minute you’d show up to take me back,” she says.
But then another man came in with a gun in hand and the same woman with him. Another needle, and she was gone again. She remembers almost nothing after that. Just a flash of us at the car. Our voices. The way we smelled.
I want to slowly kill every single fucker who touched her — the bitch who stuck needles in her included — but I’m grateful she was out for most of it. She didn’t see the men who brought her die, didn’t see their bodies, didn’t see the blood. She was spared that part.
When her uncles return, Alice and Jayme are with them.
Alice is already crying when she comes in. She rushes straight to Jo’s side and folds her into a hug. They cling to each other, crying together, faces buried in each other’s necks.
We’d been humming to Jo all night, only stopped a couple hours ago, but we start again the second we see her crying. The sound rises from our chests without effort, a lullaby only scent-mates understand.
Jayme stands in front of us and just stare for a while. Then he moves. He hugs Shane first. Shane freezes for a second, then claps him on the back, rough and awkward.
Jayme goes on to hug me. Then Jay.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m really sorry for what you all went through.”
I didn’t think I could be more surprised, but Alice did it. When she untangles from Jo, she hugs us too. Each of us, one by one.
“Thank you,” she sobs. “Thank you for bringing her back.”
