Page 149 of Beyond Protection

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"What color are the walls?"

"White. Boring."

"Books?"

"Too many."

The ambulance slowed. Sirens cut off.

"We're here," Harris said. "Harborview trauma entrance."

The doors opened. Cold air and noise flooded in. More EMTs, a gurney transfer, and medical terminology I didn't understand. Eamon's hand slipped from mine as they moved him.

I tried to follow. Someone blocked my path.

"Sir, you need to wait—"

"I'm not leaving him."

"Sir—"

"He's family." I used Ma's authority. "I'm not leaving him."

The nurse looked at me, calculating.

"Stay out of the way," she said. "Don't touch anything. If someone tells you to leave, you leave."

I followed through doors marked TRAUMA—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. They wheeled Eamon into a bay. Curtainspulled. Voices overlapped—vitals, blood type, coordinating with surgery.

I pressed against the wall. Out of the way but present.

Michael's hand appeared on my shoulder. Blood on his jacket. Snow in his hair.

"You okay?"

"No. You?"

"No." He glanced toward the bay. "They're prepping him for surgery. Checking for vascular damage."

A doctor emerged. Young. Efficient. Scrubs already bloodstained.

"Mr. McCabe?"

"That's me."

"I'm Dr. Randall. We're taking Mr. Price to surgery. The bullet missed major vessels, but we need to explore the wound. He's stable. The next few hours are critical."

"Can I—"

"One minute. We're moving fast."

I pushed through the curtain.

Eamon lay on the gurney, IV lines running, oxygen mask over his face. His eyes were closed.

I took his hand.

His eyes opened. Unfocused but present.

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