"You're okay, Woody. You're gonna be fine." She repeated it again and again in a soothing litany, trying to convince both of them. "You're gonna be fine, do you hear me?"

His face was still set in stunned surprise, and he moaned in pain through clenched teeth. She reached out for his bloodied hand and took it in hers. "Jordan...Jordan...?" he huffed breathlessly.

"No, don't talk. It's okay. Just hang in there. Hang in there. Do you hear me, Woody? Hang in there." Her voice was rising to an almost hysterical crescendo. She stopped and took a deep breath. She couldn't let him see her fear. She spoke again in calm, measured tones. "You're gonna be fine. Just save your strength, okay? Try not to move, okay?"

He nodded at her with panicked eyes.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly and even managed a small, comforting smile. She looked down at his sodden shirt and blinked back tears. He was losing blood rapidly.

Suddenly, he arched his back, and his hand flew to his wounded abdomen. "Jesssusss..." he hissed.

She reached out and pressed a hand against his damp, ashen forehead. His breathing had grown rapid and shallow. It had been a decade since she had worked a trauma, but she knew the bleak reality of what was happening to him.

The bullet had likely perforated his bowel, sending the acidic contents to spill with blinding pain into his abdominal cavity. The greater problem was that the bullet had probably then hit his liver or another organ, causing the massive blood loss.

His pressure was plummeting. If he didn't get help soon...

"You're gonna be fine, Woody. Just hang in there." Her voice shook with fear. "Where the hell is the ambulance?" She called out to no one.

The clerk had somehow managed to make the 911 call, but he now stood behind the counter staring on in mute terror.

Woody's grip on her hand began to loosen.

"Woody! Stay with me, Woody!" He began to shake uncontrollably. He was going into shock.

She summoned her long-dormant trauma skills and looked up at the terrified clerk. "Get me a blanket, a coat, anything! Move!" She yelled. He stood immobile for a moment before finding his feet and running across the store to retrieve a NASCAR beach towel from a display.

Her hands trembled as she unfolded the towel, and he cried out as she tucked it around him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's just a towel, okay? We've got to keep you warm, can you hear me? Woody? Woody!"

His eyes were dull and dilated. He was losing consciousness.

"Woody? Don't do this, Woody! Stay with me! Do you hear me? Stay with me!"

She froze for a moment. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

CPR.

She leaned over and prepared to breathe for him.

You can do this, Jordan. You can do this.

Then, a noise. She strained to hear. Sirens.

Thank God...

Her body heaved with one relieved sob. She quickly blotted her face with her blood-soaked forearm as the EMTs and police officers streamed into the store.

There was a swirl of uniforms, people, voices. More sirens.

She rose and stood numbly to the side as paramedics called out vital signs, administered oxygen.

She was aware that the clerk was talking to one of the officers and blubbering hysterically for his mother. There was another officer in front of her then, speaking words she couldn't hear.

"...Ma'am?"

She turned her head and looked at him with empty eyes. "Wuh...?"

"Is this your husband?" he asked with professional detachment.

She watched as they lifted him onto the gurney. "No, I..." Her voice trailed off. She shook herself out of her dazed stupor and took Woody's hand briefly as they wheeled him by. "Woody, I'm right behind you. Do you hear me? I'll be right there."

She turned to the officer. "Where are they taking him? Tell me where they're taking him."

"County Memorial. A mile or so down the road."

She watched the ambulance speed off with a scream of sirens. "He'll be all right, won't he? He'll be all right."

She looked up at the officer. His eyes darted quickly away.

She began to search the floor frantically for her purse. "I've got to go...I've got to go..." she mumbled. She finally saw the strap sticking out from under the saturated beach towel. She stared at it grimly for a moment.

"Come on, ma'am. I'll drive you."

She nodded slowly and let the officer take her arm as he led her toward the police car. She turned her head as they passed through the door so she would not see in her reflection that the bottom of her dress was soaked through with Woody's blood.