Author's note: Blood, talking and angst. And more talking.
My sincerest thanks to Anne Ryce for her help in sorting out blood types and emergency field transfusion procedures. Her skill and experience has been abso-bloody-lutely invaluable. This chapter is for her.
"No, Eliot … you can't die … you can't …" Lizzie whispered, keeping up a litany of desperate words as she lifted Eliot's head onto her lap, trying to make him understand that she was with him and that she would not let him die because he was her Eliot … her guardian, her protector and her best friend. But he did not answer her, lost as he was in a world of distant voices and long-dead faces.
Even as Hardison tumbled in a flurry of arms and legs down the veranda steps to drop down beside Lizzie, Sophie stared in horror at Eliot's sudden collapse. She had an armful of baby, and Eliot needed her … and her daughter was a weeping wreck, cradling Eliot's head in her lap, patting his sweat-soaked hair and stroking his bruised and bloodied face.
"Here!" Mei whispered urgently, "Give Jamie to me – I go to Papa Soapy and he will care for them while I get help!"
Sophie took Mei at her word. The young girl managed to hold both babies, and she tripped lightly up the steps and into the house, calling for Soapy and Jo because the cowboy was dying and needed them.
Sophie dropped down in the dust on the other side of Eliot while Hardison checked his best friend's pulse, and he nodded tightly.
"His heart's runnin' like the favourite for the Kentucky Derby," he said, and his eyes fixed on Eliot's wounds, trying to figure out where the culprit was – there was a bleeder somewhere.
Hardison knew enough about injuries, especially after hanging around Eliot for years, to look for the not-so-obvious. Eliot's wounds were mostly superficial, bloody and painful, but most were clotting. Hardison's main worries were the bullet holes in his side, or … he swallowed dryly … maybe Eliot was bleeding internally. Given the running battle he had been involved in and the damage he had taken, there was a serious possibility that Eliot's rib had done something terrible inside the hitter's sturdy body.
He heard the clatter of footsteps as Jo and Mei crowded down the steps even as he gently ran long fingers over Eliot's bloody side. Pulling up what was left of the torn teeshirt, Hardison could see that the older bullet wound had bled. There were fresh stains, and the heavy bandaging was spongy with blood, but it didn't appear to be bleeding right now. Frowning, he slid his hand upwards to the second wound, the tear through the pectoral muscle and the groove along Eliot's side under his arm.
The hacker's face became grim.
"Hey, baby-girl," he said, touching Lizzie's shoulder, "c'mon now … Eliot needs your help. I think I found where he's losin' blood, an' I need you to help your Momma an' I turn him a little. D'you think you can help us do that?"
Lizzie turned reddened, teary eyes to Hardison and stopped her whimpered words of grief. She nodded, even as the hiccupping sobs racked her frame.
"What … what can I do?" she asked softly, her hands still trying to sooth her unconscious guardian as he lay sprawled on the red earth.
Hardison smiled at her, trying to reassure her.
"You jus' tell him what we're doin', okay? That we're gonna stop the bleedin' and get him all patched up."
"But … but he can't hear me – " Lizzie whispered, not daring to hope that Eliot could be whole again.
"He can hear you, Lizzie …" Sophie was urgently checking out Eliot's other side. "Eliot will always hear you, my darling, even though you think he can't." She pulled up Eliot's tee on the other side and checked the nick in his flank. It was bloody, but not life-threatening. "He's seems to be alright this side … mostly," she said as Jo kneeled beside Hardison.
Jo noted the sheen of sweat on Eliot's skin and the thud of his pulse as Lizzie tenderly held his head. Here we go again, she thought. Why does he do this? Why does he always have to put himself in the way of harm? And even as she thought it, she knew why. This was what Eliot did for the people he loved.
"Lizzie, sweetheart," Jo said, all business now, "you have to lay his head flat on the ground." She pulled out the pressure bandage she still carried in her pocket and as Lizzie very carefully slipped Eliot's head from her lap and onto the dusty earth, Hardison and Sophie gently eased Eliot onto his right side, and there it was. Underneath the torn and bloody teeshirt was a small, inconsequential-looking hole in the muscle, through-and-through, and as Eliot was moved dark, venous blood pulsed slightly from both parts of the wound.
"Damn … every time he moved he lost blood … no wonder he's compromised," Jo muttered as she unfolded the bandage and pressed it hard against the wound. "The bullet must've nicked a vein." She looked up at Sophie, Hardison and Mei. "He … he needs to go to hospital."
Sophie leaned over and helped Jo put pressure on the wound, and Lizzie stroked Eliot's cheek, whispering to him in words no-one could hear. But Lizzie knew in her heart that Eliot could hear her, unconscious as he was.
Sophie's dark eyes glistened, but she had to ask Jo one thing.
"Jo … if we call the flying doctors … will he make it to the nearest hospital?"
Jo glanced at Lizzie as the little girl did her best to tell Eliot he was loved and she would take care of him. She shook her head.
"No," she murmured. "The nearest RFDS* base is Alice Springs, and we'd have to get him to Tennant Creek to be picked up – either we could take him or we'd call in the emergency services from the hospital there. It's a 2-hour drive each way, and although they've got acute beds … well, Eliot would never make it, no matter how we got him there." She chewed her lip as she checked the bleeding. It was slowing, but the leak from the nicked vein would begin again if Eliot moved. In two hours he could be dead.
"Can you fix this?" Hardison ground out as he watched Lizzie.
Jo's green eyes widened.
"I … I don't know … he needs oxygen right now, and whole blood … maybe plasma … we have none of those things and I don't even know Eliot's blood type –"
"A-positive," Parker snapped as she joined them, jogging around the side of the house from the barn after putting away the ute. "Eliot's A-positive." She saw the surprise in the faces around her. "What? D'you think Eliot would put an emergency medikit together and not include a list of everyone's blood type?"
Hardison's smile was grim.
"Figures." He touched Lizzie's shoulder once again and the little girl looked up at him, wide-eyed.
"Is he going to be alright, Alec? Grandma Jo? Can you fix him like you did before?" She asked, hope in every word.
Jo swallowed.
"I have to try, don't I? But supplies – I don't have -"
Parker grinned, worried as she was.
"Oxygen bottles and mask coming up, plus we carry five units of FFP in Oggie," she added. "We'd have to defrost it though." She sobered a little. "I don't know how to do any of this … this … blood thing. Eliot's the one who knows."
"Well, babe," Hardison said softly, "when we've got the fool through this little escapade, we need to all damn well learn how to use all of this stuff he's got. Dammit, he's the one who usually uses the medikit the most, so … "
"Missus!" Effie rumbled urgently from the veranda. "The table's cleaned and ready. Let's get the idiot stitched up, hey?"
It took a moment to figure out how they would lift Eliot as gently as possible and keep pressure on the wound, but with Jo and Parker taking the brunt of Eliot's solid weight as he was carried on his side, Hardison with his good arm around Eliot's legs and Mei tending to the wound, they managed it. Lizzie, with a maturity that both worried and impressed her mother, supported Eliot's lolling head while walking backwards up the steps, along the verandah and into the house, talking to him every inch of the way as she studied his pale, sweat-drenched features.
Effie already had cushions ready to go, the kettle and a couple of big pots sitting on the stove heating water and a supply of clean towels to hand. Before Eliot was even settled properly on the old oak table, Lizzie had positioned a cushion under his head and pulled up a stool to sit beside him.
Parker was gone in a moment, tugging Mei with her, and both young women appeared again just as Jo, heart in mouth, began to cut off Eliot's teeshirt so she could deal with the still-bleeding wound.
All Hardison could see of Mei was a pair of legs peeking out from beneath an armful of equipment. Considering the young woman, already in poor condition, had given birth only days earlier, she was bouncing back with alacrity.
Parker dragged in a sturdy rectangular container and with Hardison's help she lifted it onto the nearest kitchen surface. Unclipping the lid, she pulled out a small oxygen tank and quickly fitted a regulator and mask. Mei was busy sorting through the collection of tubes and sterile packs and containers she had brought in and she suddenly let out a squeak of excitement
"Look!" she said, holding up a grey vacuum-sealed package with the words 'FIELD BLOOD TRANSFUSION KIT' stamped on it. "Will this help?"
Jo, peeling back the teeshirt and wincing at the sluggish bleeding still coming from the injury under Eliot's arm, raised an eyebrow. She noticed another, smaller label which read 'TACTICAL MEDICAL MODULE.' How the hell Eliot had got hold of military-issue transfusion kits, she had no idea, but she thanked God for his forethought.
"Perfect!" she said with feeling, "how many are there?"
Mei rummaged in the bag she held. "Four," she said. "Is that enough?"
Jo nodded.
"I think so … it depends if any of you are O-Neg -"
"I am," Effie said quietly as she watched Parker and Lizzie fit the oxygen mask over Eliot's nose and mouth and adjust the regulator. "Universal donor, that's me." She added, and rolled up her sleeve.
Parker seated the oxygen tank on another stool beside Lizzie, and nodded with satisfaction as she heard the sudden hiss of the regulator helping feed the gas to Eliot's depleted system and support his vital organs. Without it, Eliot would become even more seriously compromised.
"Listen, Lizzie," she said, and the little girl regarded Parker intently. "You have to make sure Eliot keeps this mask on, especially if he wakes up. It's really helping him right now, so can I leave you in charge? It should last an hour or so, but we have more, so he'll be okay for a little while."
Lizzie gently pushed a damp curl of Eliot's hair back from the wound alongside his ear and made sure the elasticated band didn't irritate the damaged flesh.
"Will this make him better?" she asked tremulously.
"Indeed it will, young Lizzie," Jo said with a little more confidence now that there was at least a chance she could help Eliot. "He's lost a lot of blood, which carries oxygen which helps his body work properly, so … the mask will do the work his blood usually does, and it will help him feel better," she explained, trying to make it simple for Lizzie to comprehend.
Lizzie's face cleared as she understood, and listening for a moment, she smiled.
"I can hear him breathing," she said, relieved, as she saw the mask fog up as Eliot took the life-giving oxygen into his lungs and thence into his bloodstream.
"You just make sure he keeps doing that then," Jo said as she scrubbed her hands with the medical soap and hot water Effie had provided, and then she slipped on a pair of nitrile gloves. She looked up to see Sophie and Hardison also rolling up their sleeves.
"O-neg?" she asked, relieved.
"Indeed we are," Sophie replied. "Maybe Eliot'll develop a few less-growly traits with some healthy British blood flowing through those punchy veins," she continued affectionately, resting a hand on Eliot's hip.
"Yeah, well," Hardison said, "I reckon he just might get a likin' for gummy frogs, the philistine, an' maybe figure out that there's more'n one way to reboot a computer other than just kickin' it." He shrugged painfully. "Some computer-y genius blood comin' your way, bro," he added, patting Eliot's boot.
"Right … let's see …" Jo said to herself, and unpacked a selection of vacuum-packed sterilised scalpels and forceps … "Parker … we'll need saline … hang the bag higher than Eliot … and open up one of those transfusion packs. Effie … can you pour some water into a bowl and it has to be 45 degrees. I want two bags of FFP defrosting in there, and if you could gently scrunch them about a bit every now and again, that would be great. If we could get some blood and saline in him, it would help no end while I try and sort out this dratted bleed."
Jo was once more the experienced nurse she had been for over thirty years, and she still treated the stockmen for injuries and illness. She had delivered countless babies, and had sat beside people during their last moments, her quiet words and smiles and gentle touches easing their passing. She had done her time in emergency and trauma care, and had even done a stint as a theatre nurse. Now she used all of that experience and skill to try and stop Eliot Spencer from bleeding to death.
"How's he doing, old girl?" a voice came from the kitchen doorway.
Jo glanced up to see Soapy leaning carefully against the door frame, right arm heavily bandaged and supported by a sling. Her husband's dark eyes were shining with desperation and worry.
"He's alive, love, and we're working to keep him that way." Jo gestured at Sophie and pushed her down in a chair. She had Sophie rest her left arm on a cushion on Effie's chopping-board, and then she quickly tightened a constriction band around the grifter's biceps. Within a few seconds she had swabbed the inside of Sophie's elbow, inserted a collection needle and blood began to flow into the sealed bag hung from a cabinet handle near her knee. Gravity and Sophie's beating heart did the rest.
"The babes are asleep. Can I do anything?" Soapy continued, feeling a little useless.
Jo smiled at the love of her life, and then gestured to Hardison and Parker to turn Eliot onto his less damaged side. As they eased him over Lizzie made sure Eliot's oxygen mask didn't shift, and then stroked his cheek, letting him know she was there.
"Sit down, be quiet and behave yourself," Jo said to Soapy and then she winced as blood pulsed from Eliot's wound, soaking the heavy gauze pad she pressed over the injury. "I have to get this damned bleeding stopped," she muttered as Mei handed her another pad as the first quickly became sodden with blood.
"'Liz … 'Lizbeth Grace …" the voice was weak, but it was a very welcome sound as it made its way past the oxygen mask.
Lizzie's gaze widened with delight as a pair of hazy blue eyes tried to focus on her face.
"Eliot! Eliot, you're awake! You're not dying!" She breathed, and she laid a hand on his brow. He didn't seem quite so clammy and pale. "No! No, don't do that!" she cried softly as Eliot lifted a shaky hand to remove the mask. "You can't! It's helping your blood get better!"
Eliot closed his eyes and then opened them again with the greatest of effort.
"Mouth's dry …" he croaked, "thirsty …"
"Wait a sec, nipper … I'll have something for him to drink in a minute …" Effie mumbled, reaching for a glass.
Soapy managed to drag out another stool and sat down right beside Lizzie, and when Effie handed the little girl a cup half-full of iced water complete with straw, he helped her with his good hand to ease Eliot's mask down just for a moment or two as the hitter swallowed a couple of mouthfuls of the water, his Adam's apple working as the cool fluid helped his parched throat.
When he had had enough Effie took the glass, and Lizzie very conscientiously replaced the mask and leaned forward, kissing Eliot's nose as she had done since she was a baby. His eyes crinkled in a tiny Lizzie-smile.
"You have to be still now," she said, so gently that Eliot almost didn't hear her. "Grandma Jo has to stop some bleeding and Mama's going to give you some of her blood so you'll get better. So don't move, Eliot. Promise?"
Eliot gazed at his god-daughter as though she was the only thing anchoring him to this world.
"You … you should go, 'Lizbeth Grace …" he ground out as her dark eyes studied him. He frowned, even as Jo applied lidocaine spray to the wound. She needed to make a small incision to get at the nicked vein and stitch it, and she didn't want Eliot flinching, which could be disastrous. "Go get some rest. I don't need you coddlin' me."
Lizzie stroked Eliot's cheek and frowned back. He was still mad at her, she could tell.
"Actually, right now Lizzie, it would be a good idea." Jo said. "We need access to Eliot's arm and hang saline and the blood bag beside him sweetie, and it's getting a bit cluttered in here. You can come back and see him when we've finished, alright?"
Lizzie stared at Jo and then turned teary eyes to Sophie.
"Mama? Do I have to?" her voice wavered. "Eliot needs me –"
Sophie, watching the bag attached to her arm fill with her life-blood, the blood that would keep Eliot with them, and nodded.
"This time, darling, you have to go. As soon as he's feeling better and we've finished getting fluids into him, you can take care of him, I promise. Soapy … could you …?"
Sophie let the question hang, and Soapy, sore as hell and very tired, stood up and held out his good hand.
"C'mon, Lizzie – let's go and check on the babes and see if Kip's finished feeding his horse. Then we'll find a book to read until you can see Eliot again."
Lizzie, surrounded by adults trying to save her Eliot's life, knew when she was beaten. Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't object. Perhaps Eliot didn't want her there because she had let him down by doing something dumb. She squeezed his hand, but there was no response. His eyes were closed and he looked desperately ill, and she saw out of the corner of her eye Jo swabbing betadine around the bleeding wound.
Parker was busy checking the blood bag volume and then clamping off the line. Within seconds Sophie was disconnected and her arm taped up with a gauze pad, and the blood was ready.
"Okay, Lizzie – scoot!" Parker said, waving the child out of the way. She glanced at Jo. "Wide-ass open, right?" she asked Jo, who nodded.
"Yes please," Jo replied. "We need the blood in Eliot as quickly as possible, so don't worry about the valve – wide-ass open would be perfect!" she continued with a smile. She could hear Eliot's voice echo in Parker's … the words of a man trained in the field to keep his comrades alive.
Mei was busy hanging a bag of saline and Hardison was taking off Eliot's boots, ready to get the hitter stripped down so Jo could clean the rest of him up. Effie was standing by with hot water and a cloth to wash blood and dirt off the man's battered frame.
Her Mama was right, Lizzie thought. She had to go. She was in the way, and if she was in the way she could endanger Eliot. She reached out and took Soapy's hand, and the two of them slipped silently from the kitchen where Eliot lay on the table, hovering somewhere between life and death.
"Righto," Jo said. "Let's do this."
And with Parker and Mei setting up transfusion lines under Jo's direction, Hardison breaking open another field transfusion kit so that he could give his brother some gummy-frog-infused blood and Sophie drinking a restorative tea while keeping an eye on the defrosting plasma, Eliot lay quietly as they all did their best to save his life.
In the end, it took sixty-eight stitches, three units of whole blood and two packs of plasma to at least restore Eliot's abused body to a place where he had a reasonably good chance of surviving the night.
For Lizzie, those couple of hours felt like a lifetime.
Kip joined them after removing Batu's old saddle and giving the gelding a good brush to get rid of dried sweat. He had cooled down enough to have a drink, and then Kip walked him over to the barn and settled the big roan into a stable, giving him hay and a feed. Batu had a good roll in the straw, shook himself and then tucked into the bran mix with gusto.
But Kip wasn't in such a good mood when he found out Eliot had collapsed and was in a bad way. He snuggled, teary-eyed, next to his grandfather on the couch as Soapy, with a weepy Lizzie carefully propping up his shoulder with the remaining cushions, worked his way through a lifetime's collection of photographs in old albums. He had discovered both Lizzie and Kip were fascinated with them. They saw Wapanjara as it was almost a century ago, when it took over two weeks by bullock-cart to bring supplies to the station.
"That's my great, great grandmother," he said, pointing to an old, creased photograph of an austere, bearded man in his Sunday best posing with a tiny, dark woman looking uncomfortable in her corsets and leather boots. Intelligent black eyes peered at the children from the past, and Kip, feeling a little better, ran a small finger over the picture.
"She's Walpiri … like my mum."
"Her name was Lily," Soapy said. "It's not really properly respectful to have a photo of her, but … she's my great-great-gran, and I admire her a lot. She could shear a sheep better than most, and my grandfather said she was the best rider he had ever seen, even when she was in her eighties." He sighed. "I'm lucky to have a picture of them, really," he said softly.
"Why?" Lizzie asked with curiosity.
"Well," Soapy said, trying to make the explanation as easy as possible for the children to understand. "Back then, white people didn't really marry black people, let alone have their photo taken," he said. Keep it simple, he thought. "But they loved each other a lot and they didn't care."
"You and Grandma Jo," Kip said, "you love each other an awful lot!"
"Indeed we do, nipper," Soapy smiled. "An awful, awful lot!"
But Lizzie was confused.
"But … but why weren't they supposed to get married?" she asked.
Soapy realised he had probably backed himself into a corner on this one, but he seized the day and ploughed on.
"Well … back then, white people thought aborigines were not the same as them. Because they lived in the bush and not in houses, they were too different … too difficult to understand … and, to be honest, they didn't make any effort to understand them." Soapy thought trying to explain about genocide and bigotry and child abduction was something he didn't want to get into right now, so he focused on the photograph. "But great-great Grandpa Chester," he pointed at the austere, bearded man in the picture, "he and Lily adored one another. He became a member of the tribe, and they were married for over fifty years."
Lizzie studied the picture carefully. It was then she realised that Soapy's dark, expressive eyes were staring back at her from the image, and it made her smile. If Soapy had great-great-Grandma Lily's black eyes, then she was probably like Soapy, and Lizzie decided she would have liked this pioneering Aboriginal woman who had flouted both races' rules and married the man she loved.
"It's done," said Jo, standing in the living room doorway. She had Eliot's blood on her shirt and she looked very, very tired, but there was a gleam of triumph in her green eyes. "We'll just get him to bed and then you can see him. But listen, children … you can't tire him. He's lost a lot of blood, and he has stitches all over the place, so be very, very careful, okay? And don't keep him talking, even if he wants to."
Lizzie stared at Jo for a moment, then flew off the couch and flung herself at Jo, wrapping arms around the small woman's waist.
"You saved him, Grandma Jo …" she whispered, her face buried in Jo's bloodstained shirt. "You're awesome."
Jo tousled Lizzie's curls, and Kip wriggled off the couch and stumbled with weariness as he joined Lizzie.
"Is Eliot going to be alright?" he asked, knuckling sleepiness from his eyes. "He's not going to –"
"He's badly hurt, but I think, with care, he'll come back to us," Jo said quietly. She was exhausted. "Lizzie, your Mum gave Eliot some of her blood, and she's a bit tired because she gave a little more than she should, so don't give her any grief, you hear me?"
Lizzie peeled herself away from Jo's side and nodded. Her mother was very brave indeed, she decided. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her heart. She heard voices and peered around Jo to see Effie, a gauze pad over the hollow of her elbow, lead the way as Parker and Mei very gently helped a semi-awake Eliot shuffle slowly from the kitchen to his bedroom.
Lizzie let out a soft sob.
Eliot's chest, shoulder and ribs were a mass of bandages, and she could see a taped dressing peeking above the waist of his light sweat pants. Every step was costing him immense pain, and Hardison carried a bag of plasma which was attached by a line to a cannula taped to the back of his hand. He held it as high as he could.
Jo followed Lizzie's gaze and pried herself away from the children.
"Give me ten minutes, Soapy love, and then you can bring the children through … if you feel able. Don't overdo it, you hear me?" she scolded the old pastoralist. Jo had a houseful of damaged people to look after, and she didn't know if she had the strength to do it all.
"I'll be just fine, Jo love, but you need to get some rest. You look a bit bung, to be honest. Can Parker take over for a bit?" Soapy replied, seeing how worn out Jo was.
Jo smiled wearily.
"In a while. I'll just make sure Eliot's resting properly and that his stitches are holding, and then I might take a nap until Charlie and Nate get back."
"We can take care of him, Grandma Jo!" Lizzie said eagerly, but Jo shook her head.
"Not this time, nippers," she replied, and as Lizzie's face dropped she tried to explain the situation. "This isn't just watching over him and taking temps this time, young lady. He's very, very ill and he needs rest more than anything. If he feels as though he has to keep an eye on you two it could make him worse. He's got to make more blood to replace the pints he lost, and he needs complete rest to do that."
Kip and Lizzie exchanged looks.
"So … I could look after Grandpa Soapy and the babies and Lizzie can take care of Eliot?" Kip asked, eyes wide with eagerness.
" … and I could just stay in my chair and help get stuff for Eliot and just make sure he's not moving. Could I do that? If I was really, really quiet?" Lizzie asked desperately.
Jo sighed. She was too tired to battle these two children who were determined to do their bit to take care of their family.
"Okay … okay! I give up!" Jo saw Eliot through the doorway of his bedroom being so very carefully helped into his bed, and Parker suspended the plasma bag from Eliot's coat stand which she had moved beside the bed. Eliot lay back on a mountain of pillows, and Mei fitted a new oxygen mask over his face and attached a fresh bottle.
Effie stumped wearily back to the kitchen, grumbling to herself.
"Kip … go to Effie and ask her to fill some hot water bottles. Then you give two to Grandpa Soapy for his shoulder. Lizzie, you'll need two more for Eliot. He's cold because of the blood loss. Now don't upset Effie – she gave Eliot some blood too, and so did Alec. We're all very tired and we have a long night ahead of us, so try not to get in the way. Effie's going to make up milk for Jamie and Rose, and they'll need feeding and changing." Jo wiped her face with a shaky hand and yawned.
"Righto!" Kip said, and he grabbed Lizzie by her arm and pulled her after him into the kitchen, where Jo heard Effie's rumbling complaints as she put yet more water on to boil.
Soapy patted the couch seat beside him.
"C'mon, old girl … sit down for a minute. You're done in."
Jo saw the concern on Soapy's drawn face, and knew he was very sore and stiff, and other than to patch him up, he had had none of her attention. Guilt suddenly consumed her, and she blinked back tears.
"Oh Soapy … I'm so sorry!" she hiccupped, and dropped down beside him where his good arm held her close, and she could hear the beating of his heart as she laid her head on his chest.
She burst into tears.
Soapy rested his chin on her head, and patted her shoulder.
"No worries, old girl …" he murmured, "it's all over now, and you've brought our boy back to us, and the kids are safe. Just sit there for a bit and get your breath back."
And holding his adored wife close to his heart, Soapy Munro thanked God that his Jo was an abso-bloody-lute wonder.
Lizzie followed Kip into the kitchen and was about to give Effie a hug for letting Eliot have lots of her blood to make him better, when she caught sight of the big kitchen table. She gasped. Effie hadn't had time to clean up the aftermath of dealing with an Eliot Spencer on the point of bleeding to death, and Lizzie's eyes became round with horror as she looked at the mess.
Blood-sodden pads littered the floor and discarded blood-bags and tubing had been dumped in a large plastic bag by the window. But it was the table that shocked her to the core. There was blood everywhere. She knew that Eliot had a dozen or so wounds from tiny nicks to the two bullet wounds in his left side, but she had not quite grasped the physical evidence that constituted blood loss.
That was all Eliot's blood.
"Don't worry, nipper," Effie said as she caught Lizzie's shocked gaze, "we put plenty of the stuff back into him. He's a bit bloody useless right now, but give him time. He'll do alright. Here," she continued, "hot water bottles. He's bloomin' cold. It happens when you lose a lot of blood, so don't worry. Missy'll tell you where he needs 'em. I'll be by in a bit with some hot chocolate. How does that sound?"
Kip had come to stand beside Lizzie, and joined her in gazing at the discarded bandages and red-stained table.
"Crikey!" he said under his breath.
But both children had jobs to do and Effie had babbies to feed so she shooed them out of the kitchen. Kip ran back to the living room to take care of his beloved Grandpa Soapy, and Lizzie headed for Eliot's room.
But just as she reached the open door, she hesitated for a moment. She could hear gentle words of comfort from Mei and Hardison and Parker were discussing who should take the first watch. She wondered if Eliot was awake, and if so, was he still angry with her? She knew she had done an unforgiveable thing. She could have got hurt and Eliot would never have forgiven himself. And had her sudden appearance got Eliot hurt? What if it was her fault that he was so badly injured? Would he ever forgive her?
But he needed the heat right now, she knew, so taking a deep breath she quietly entered the room.
Eliot looked like a ghost. Dreadfully pale under the tan, he lay on his back, eyes closed and breathing the oxygen which has initially saved his life. One arm lay outside the warm blankets, and Lizzie saw the steady drip-drip of the plasma through the valve and into Eliot's system via the cannula.
She handed the hot water bottles to Parker, who smiled at her reassuringly. But then, Parker didn't know what Lizzie had done … that Lizzie had caused all of this damage to her best friend.
She desperately wanted to hold Eliot's hand and make sure he knew she was there taking care of him, but she didn't want to disturb him. Besides, what if he rejected her? What if he didn't want her holding his fingers?
Lizzie didn't think she could cope with that right now. So, she flung herself into the big old chair beside his bed, tucked her knees under her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. She would wait and watch and hope Eliot Spencer lived.
And Eliot, now caught in the nightmares of a disturbed and uneasy sleep, missed his best girl, and for the first time in a long time, he felt utterly alone.
It was past midnight as the two trucks got within twenty miles of the homestead at Albany Mining Company.
Nate studied Khenbish Hadan by the lights of the dashboard as she sat beside him, and saw her gamin face set into grim lines. He wondered what the tiny assassin was thinking. But, Nate thought, she had given her word and Eliot had believed her, so he had to trust the team's hitter. Hadan would do them no harm.
So he concentrated on the dusty dirt road ahead of them and shifted up a gear.
Hadan, clutching her sword and leaning against the window, peered out at the darkness. They would be at the mine soon. She thought through what she had planned next, and nodded imperceptibly. Before she could leave this place she had one more job to do, and she would carry it out once Nate Ford and Charlie Jakkamarra had left. She had a driver she could use, and the two trucks. Yes, she thought. They would do. They would do very well indeed.
And closing her eyes, she settled down to wait.
To be continued …
* RFDS – the wonderful Royal Flying Doctor Service.