Raylan's ears ring with the sound of the explosion. Smoke fills his lungs and there's a stabbing pain in his right side when he takes a breath. He closes his eyes against the stinging, and then forces them open, squinting through the haze. Judge Walker is against the back wall of the elevator bay. The man's eyes are closed, but his hands are moving, reaching for the handkerchief in his pocket and holding it over his mouth.
Convinced that the judge is alright, Raylan starts inching toward the hall. The movement is painful and he winces, holding a hand to his side. He figures at least one rib is broken. Pressing his back against the wall, he uses the support to slide up, gun in hand. He eases out into the hallway.
Through the smoke he sees Joanna is closest, spread out in the hall face down, unmoving. Sharp pain hits him with every breath. Stealing himself he moves toward her. Alarms are going off, and before he gets very far, a contingent of Miami cops, FBI agents, and firemen are coming toward him.
He slips out his badge to identify himself. "There were six of us," he tells the fireman. He coughs and agony shoots through his chest. "I've got Judge Walker here," he chokes out. "And this is his assistant but I don't know where the others are. Is she alright?" Another coughing fit leaves him gasping for every painful breath.
The fireman eases Raylan back down to the floor just outside the elevator bay and slaps an oxygen mask on his face. Breathing is easier. It still hurts like hell, but it's easier. He watches as a paramedic checks for Joanna's pulse. The woman gives a nod to the fireman and he in turn, gives Raylan thumbs up.
Judge Chapman is not as lucky. The judge is laying face-up and Raylan can see the purple shirt is stained with blood. The paramedic gives a shake of her head, moving on to the next figure on the floor. The judge's secretary moans. She has a piece of shrapnel lodged in her shoulder, most likely glass from on of the blown out windows to the stairwell. Ashley is non-responsive. The medic looks at the mangled pile that was Dennis Cabrizzio and his attorney and steps over it. There's no need to check for a pulse. The bailiff is dead, too.
Walker scoots closer to Raylan. "Saved my life," he says. "Thank you. What about Joanna?"
Raylan's eyes are still on the medic, now moving back toward them.
He lifts the oxygen mask from his face. "She's alive," he tells the judge. Two more medics come from the other direction hauling a stretcher. Joanna is loaded on, limp but breathing.
Nausea hits Raylan, a combination of the smoke and the pain from his side. He fights it for several seconds, pulls off the mask just in time and vomits into one of the potted plants by the elevator. It hurts even worse than breathing. He must've groaned because instantly a different medic is at his side.
"Does it hurt to breathe?" A stethoscope is pressed to his chest.
Raylan nods. "Yeah."
"I've got broken ribs here, at least three," the medic called. "And a possible collapsed lung." He shines a penlight in Raylan's eyes. "Concussion, too."
The first medic comes back, pushing a gurney through the debris.
"I can walk," Raylan protests.
"Sorry, no one's walking out of here." He helps Raylan to his feet. Dizzy, he leans on both medics as they scoot him onto the gurney. It's a relief to lay back and close his eyes.
Outside there are news crews and cameras everywhere. Reporters rush toward the gurney, but the medics continue pushing past them toward the waiting ambulance.
The reporters yell out their questions anyway.
"Is Danny Cabrizzio dead?"
"Was it a bomb?"
"Was Cabrizzio the target? Had he made a deal to testify?"
"Who's responsible? Was it the Reyes Cartel or the Cubans?"
"That's enough," Sutter appears, holding up a hand. "This man is a Deputy U.S. Marshal. He can't answer your questions. There'll be a press conference at the front of the courthouse in ten minutes," he says. He leans over the gurney. "You alright, man?"
Raylan manages a nod.
"Dan's gonna be there at the hospital. Judge Walker's okay and that's all you need to worry about. We'll debrief you later."
"Sir, we have to go," the medic pushes past Sutter. The back door of the ambulance opens and they collapse the gurney and shove it inside. The female medic climbs in with Raylan and shuts the door behind her.
"No siren," he murmurs, putting a hand to his head.
"You got it." She smiles and slides a needle into his arm for the I.V.
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
Willa jumps up and down in time to the music, shaking her head. Her hair bounces over her shoulders and the bottom of her yellow sundress swirls around her.
"Look at her!" Gayle laughs, pointing her cell phone camera at Willa as she dances around the table.
Winona smiles watching her daughter and brings the bottle of beer to her lips. Empty plates and beer bottles clutter the table. After another day spent on the beach, swimming and playing in the sand, they all took naps then came to The Flying Fish for a late supper. They pigged out on sweet gulf shrimp, crispy calamari, conch fritters, and chicken fingers with french fries(Willa).
An island band started playing while they were eating, mostly a mix of Beach Boys and Buffett. When some people began to dance, Willa scooted off her chair and joined them, much to the delight of her aunt and other diners. It's past her bedtime, but with a two-hour nap under her belt, she shows no sign of winding down.
Still watching Willa, Winona slips her cell phone from her pocket. She's texted Raylan twice while they've been here and he hasn't responded. He should be home by now. She tries again. You ought to see your daughter right now. She's the life of the party. Sure that will get a response, she sits back and waits, one eye on the screen. Nothing. Maybe he has the sound off. Maybe she should try calling.
She leans over to Gayle. "I'm going to grab another beer from the bar and give Raylan a call. Do you want anything?"
"Sure," Gayle says. "Bring me one, too."
Winona raises an eyebrow. Her sister isn't much of a beer drinker.
Gayle shrugs and gives her a grin. "I'm on vacation."
She pushes her chair out and stands, holding out a hand to Willa who shrieks in delight at someone to dance with. Winona leaves them on the dance floor and weaves her way through the tables to the bar. As she waits to get the bartender's attention, her eyes are drawn to the television perched above the bar. There's no television at the cottage, and she's appreciated the break, especially for Willa.
The breaking news ticker running at the bottom of the screen reads Four killed, seven injured in Miami courthouse explosion. She sucks in a breath and tries to keep her mind from racing. It could be anything. It might not affect Raylan at all. Maybe there was a gas leak. They haven't heard any news since they got here and now she feels hopelessly uninformed. Anxious, her fingers fumble with her phone, hoping the contact number she needs is still in here. Finding it, she heaves a sigh of relief and hits send.
The phone goes straight to voice mail. "Dan," she says. "This is Winona. I just heard about the explosion. I can't reach Raylan. Is he all right? Please give me a call." She pauses and adds "Thanks." before hanging up.
She signals the bartender, ordering Gayle's beer and one for herself and makes her way back to the table, setting down the beers. The band is taking a break, so Willa is back in her seat, playing a game on her aunt's phone.
Gayle looks up as Winona sits down. "What's wrong?"
Winona casts a cautious glance at Willa, but she's absorbed in her game. Still, she turns her head and lowers her voice before telling Gayle about the news report.
"So now I have to sit here and worry and wait for Dan to call. Shit!"
"Mama!" Willa cries looking up from her game. "You said a bad word."
"Sorry, sweetie." She waits to see if Willa, usually so tuned into her moods, will say anything else, but the little girl turns her attention back to the phone.
"This is what I hate about his job," she says quietly. "The waiting and the worrying."
"I know." Gayle takes Winona's phone and pulls up the website of a local Miami news station. "There's nothing about a U.S. Marshal being one of the victims," she says. "That crooked cop you were telling me about?"
Winona nods. "Denny Cabrizzio."
"Yeah, it says here that he and his lawyer are dead. No mention of who the others are." She glances up at her sister. "I'm sure Raylan is fine. He's probably just caught up in all this and can't get away to call you."
Winona nods. She ought to know how to deal with this uncertainty by now. It's been a part of her life for almost twenty years, since the night she met Raylan Givens. There was a brief respite for the six years she was married to Gary, but if she's honest, it's never really gone away. She takes a deep breath.
"Do you want to go back to Miami?" Gayle asks. "If we leave now..."
"If we leave now we'll get arrested for DUI," Winona points out. She doesn't really want to leave. It's good to have time with Gayle and she's not ready for that to end. What she really wants is for her phone to ring, but it lays on the table, silent, mocking her.