They're whispering, you're out of time
~Rise, Katy Perry
For the second time that night, Lem thought Evan was dead.
The way she'd toppled off of Cassim's back, the way she laid on the ground, could only ever be accidental. Slipped from the saddle like a marionette with its strings cut, sprawled across the ground like a child's dropped doll.
Danny-Lee had gone from his mind as he'd bolted to her side—the man could have freed himself and bolted away for all he'd noticed—dropping to his knees. Even in the dark, he could make out the dirt turning black around her and, thank god, the wheezing rasping of her breathing. Lem reached out, feared hurting her further, pulled his hand back and found it bloodied, his stomach churning.
'She needs a doctor.'
And she did. Desperately. He could tell that even without being able to see her clearly. But he couldn't risk it, Hixon would surely have put any doctors nearby on alert, and getting them both arrested wouldn't do her any good. He feared moving her, feared worsening her wounds, didn't know if there was anything wrong inside of her, but leaving her here on the ground wouldn't help her either.
The greater of two evils and all that, so he slipped an arm under her shoulder, another under her knees, picked her up as carefully as he could but still she groaned, tensing, and he apologized over and over as he carried her over to Rowan—he'd rather they both ride Cassim, he was much larger and sturdier than the Walker, but Cassim despised him and would sooner kick him clear to Saint Denis, and besides he'd have to untie and move Danny-Lee and he was in a hurry—carefully pulling her up in front of him as he mounted the mare, whistling for Cassim and praying the gelding would listen.
For once, it did, trotting up to him, and he slammed the butt of the rifle on the mare's saddle against the struggling Danny-Lee's head hard enough that he went limp, before grabbing the horse's reins and tying them to Rowan's saddlehorn, not wanting to worry about the man or the horse, already having Evan to fuss over. He wrapped his arm around her, blanched when he felt something shift, adjusted his grip, before grabbing the mare's reins and kicking her into a trot, wanting to gallop but not wanting to take Cassim by alarm and break Rowan's neck. Only once Cassim was moving at their side did he kick her into a gallop, sprinting for home, praying to a god he didn't believe in and taking what solace he could in the rise and fall of her chest against his arm.
Their shack was in the Grizzlies, though, so far from Lemoyne, that he feared it would be long stopped when he made it home.