The others stared at Natara and her odd message. No one knew who Molly could be except for Amy, who had let out a squeak when Molly's name had been called. Everyone turned to her for an explanation. "Molly Morgan, she's Maxwell's daughter" she explained "We all thought he was dead. I really hoped she wasn't, it's just so sad. She's only a little girl. How did she get shot?"
"Didn't say" said Natara "But they don't think she's going to make it. Mal was hurt to, but nothing untreatable." There was a long silence, as if they were all in morning for the little unknown girl. "Where are they?" asked Ken eventually. He looked dumbstruck that he had given up on his best friend while he was still alive.
"Mercy Hospital on the border of Nevada, just outside Carson city." answered Natara answered. "That's only a few hours from here" said Ken.
Natara said "Then lets go. There's no way I'm risking anything from not being there again."
Mal wasn't sure how he had gotten to the hospital with Molly, or why he was sitting in the waiting room while she was possibly dying. He did remember an hour earlier, when he had been lead away to get the bullet in his shoulder removed, only to be found it had already been taken out. He had gotten stitches and had it wrapped, the shredded remains if his and Molly's jackets disposed of. He had been told to eat and drink the small packages of food and water bottle they gave him, or they would be putting IV's in his arm. Wanting to be ready should any fate befall Molly, he did as he was told without protest. He sat, feeling completely helpless and separated from her. He took to pacing around the room, demanding answers from anyone who neared them. After many of them were unable to give him an answer, Mal gave up and sat back down. He sat like that for hours, but to him it felt like years. Eventually a tired looking nurse came out, dressed in scrubs. "Malachi Fallon?" she called. Mal sprung up, and she gave him a look if pure disgust at seeing his bloody attire. She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. "You have no idea how luck she is".
"So she's okay?" he said somewhat angrily. He was tired of indirect answers.
"She has a fighting chance now. We removed the bullet lodged in her ribcage and had to fix a small hole in her aorta."
"What are her chances of recovery?" he asked.
She looked like she didn't want to answer this, and gave a wary glance to the floor. "Forty percent." Mal felt his heart drop down, a terrible worrying pain right in his very core. But she was a fighter, like him. And he wouldn't give up on her. "Can I see her?" Mal was barely able to choke out. The nurse solemnly nodded "She's asleep, but yes. Third door to the right." Mal numbly went to the door, knowing his girl was probably going to lose her life, all because of him. For a moment he stood at the door, his hand resting on the handle. Then her entered, knowing weather she would would live or not, he wouldn't let her do it alone.