#18
Will swayed on his feet, going down into a crouch and signaling his friends to do the same. "Stay down," he ordered. "I don't know who is shooting, or where from. Claude is in the cafe, he's been shot and bleeding out. Leta fainted, at the sight of me, I guess.
Hell if I know who's shooting or at what." Will's voice got faint as he fought for control. "Damm; Ev I'm deputizing you right here and now. Cheryl can you take me to the hospital. Kevin's over there, he fainte......" Will went down for the count.
"Ev, I'm gonna run to the hospital, the only way I know how to reach them in a hurry. Do you need anything thing else?"
"Leave me your rifle, Cheryl; ...becarefull honey." Ev instructed his wife with a solemn look.
Cheryl darted a pattern between the trees on the way to the hospital. As she burst into the waiting room, Hobart had the room empty and was waiting with his gun drawn. Breathlessly she garbled what she needed, stressing that the scene wasn't secure, but that people were in grave condition and needed help now.
"Hobie, you can get to the back of the cafe and go in that way. Will said Claude and Leta are on the floor behind the counter. He's on the corner of the cafe across from the hardware store." In her stress and the confusion, Cheryl couldn't remember the street names; but Hobie understood.
"Will do, Miss Cheryl. You stay here and I'll take care of it," he added confidently; grabbing his trousers, he hitched them up a couple of inches. "Gotta be ready, ya know." he added as he spoke into his shoulder radio.
Cheryl had no illusions. "Hobie, grab me a handful of gauze squares, or towels or something that will stop blood, I've got to go back. Ev is the only one holding down the fort." Cheryl grabbed the bandages and ran out the door.
Streaking from tree to tree, she whistled sharply at Ev to let him know she was on her way back. His hand acknowledged her presence but his attention was focused on an unseen person, and Cheryl watched as he shouldered his rifle and carefully took his shot. The rifle report echoed in the building alley, and there was a prolonged scream in the distance.
"God knows when they'll get here," she advised Ev. "Hobie is in charge, and he's as confused as a June bug in December. What can I do."
"I think I got the shooter, not positive there is only one, but the one I shot is down. I can see him. Check the cafe," he directed Cheryl. "Stay behind the counter, and stay down."
With Ev covering her, Cheryl ran for the cafe back door. Stopping long enough to check the line of sight, she wiggled through the door and into the main room. Leta was stirring, the older woman trying to stand up, and Cheryl yanked her down when Leta wouldn't listen.
"Let me up, I've gotta get my gun," Leta was sputtering and jerking away from Cheryl. "I'll show that punk who's gonna get shot," she raged. "This is my diner, not some shooting gallery."
"Leta," Cheryl growled through her clenched teeth. "If you don't stay down, I'm gonna punch you in the jaw and leave you on this bloody floor."
Claude was alive; he had a faint pulse, and that was about all. Cheryl unwrapped the makeshift compress and applied the almost clean wad of absorbent gauze. Claude was just as repulsive up close as she expected him to be. Swallowing bile as it rose in her throat, she held pressure on the greasy bum's temple.
"Leta if you go to get up, I'm gonna punch you." she warned again. "If you can crawl, move back into the kitchen, but don't stand up!"
"You must think I'm some kinda kid," Leta complained with nasty feeling. "I'm almost 70 years old, and I don't care if I get shot, I'm putting a stop to this."
"I care," Cheryl warned her the third time. "Ev thinks he got the shooter; but there may be more than one."
"All the more reason to have my shootin iron," Leta snapped, as she scooted backwards on her rear into the kitchen.
"Good gracious," Cheryl thought, 'shooting iron, I didn't think anyone actually said that." all the while checking on Claude's life signs. "Leta, are there any blankets here, Claude's in shock."
"No" the muffled voice replied.
Cheryl reached up and jerked a tablecloth down, tucking it around Claude as best she could with one hand.
It was surreal. The cafe was shot in every window, glass was inches deep on the floor. It looked like a bulldozer was beginning demolition, it was so damaged.
A dark shadow crossed the surface of the reflective floor, and Cheryl sucked in her breath. A short shrill blast relieved her instant fear, as Ev pushed open what was left of the front door.
"Get them in here," Cheryl commanded. "He's going fast."
"The crew is with Will," he explained. "I'm afraid triage is done by popularity. Nobody seems to be concerned about Claude."
"Sad but true. I don't think Claude will make it, his pulse keeps dropping," she added unnecessarily. "Did you get the shooter?"
"Yeah," Ev's terse, clipped answer had her looking up, searching his face.
"It was Sarah."