Hallowed Ground by Lori G. Armstrong Read Free Book Online Page B

whispered in my head.

    “Hang on,” I pleaded. “You’re doing fine. Just hold out a little bit longer until the cavalry arrives.”

    The chittery caw of a crow answered, chastising me.

    A hysterical giggle escaped.

    “Although, being Native American and all, you might not appreciate the term cavalry .”

    Donovan didn’t laugh.

    “The emergency crew in this county makes those guys on Third Watch and ER look like slackers,” I added.

    Off in the distance I heard the wails of sirens: ambulance, patrol car, and fire truck.

    “See? I told you they’d come, o ye of little faith. They’ll have you fixed up in no time.” I sniffed, wiping my running nose on my bare shoulder. “But I hope you weren’t fond of this T-shirt, my friend, ’cause the sucker is toast.”

    I knew I was babbling; yet I couldn’t seem to stop.

    The sirens got closer, loud enough I couldn’t hear myself think. Loud enough to drown out the grateful sobs bursting from my mouth.

    Gentle hands pulled me away from Donovan’s body. I stumbled backward, brushing the grill. I yelped and staggered into the picnic table. Someone shoved my head between my knees before everything went black.

    “Collins, wake up.”

    I opened my eyes to the cloudless sapphire sky spread out above me. Then Sheriff Richards’
    ugly face moved over mine, destroying the beautiful view.

    “Hey,” he said. “Lost you there for a minute. You okay?”

    A sharp stick poked my back. I turned my head, got a mouthful of dust for my trouble. Great. I was lying on the dirt, among the pinecones, rocks, and weeds.

    But not in a pool of my own blood.

    Coughing, I sat up, accepting a paw-sized hand from the sheriff. “What happened to me?”

    “Damndest thing. You stood, then toppled to the ground like a ragdoll. Afraid you’d gone into shock.” When I wobbled, he firmed his grip. “Easy, girl. Come on. Sit over here.”

    My butt connected with the wooden bench of the picnic table hard enough my teeth clacked together.

    “I’m assuming the blood on you isn’t yours?”

    I looked down. My jeans had dark, sticky splotches in odd places. My once-white tank top was now a mix of red splatters and smears. Blood and dirt were caked on my hands. “No. It’s not mine.”

    “Had me worried there for a second. Thought I might have to call another ambulance.” He hunkered in front of me, his single black eyebrow scrunched above his eyes in a manner I took for worry. “You sure you’re okay?”

    I didn’t answer. Minor aches, pains, scrapes, and bruises aside, I’d fared far better than Donovan.
    My gaze swept the area.

    The sheriff noticed my panicked look. “I’ve got three guys trying to track the shooter.”

    Glancing over the sheriff’s shoulder at the ambulance, I watched as the EMT shut the back door.
    He raced to the passenger’s side of the cab, jumped in, and they sped off, sirens blaring.

    “Donovan?” I asked.

    “Alive. Just barely.”

    “Where they taking him?”

    “Sturgis. They’ve already called the medivac chopper from Rapid City. It’ll meet them there with a trauma unit.”

    At least they hadn’t spent time arguing about getting him to the Indian Health Service hospital at Sioux San in Rapid City, standard operating procedure when dealing with most Native American injury situations in our county.

    “Need anything? Water?”

    I nodded. “And my cigarettes.”

    He snorted a bull-like sound of disgust, but grabbed the pack and my lighter anyway, dropping them in my lap.

    Someone shouted his name and he ambled off.

    I lit up. My gut pitched at the blood crusted on my palms and under my nails. Eyes closed, I inhaled and let the nicotine work its magic.

    Deputy John brought me a blanket. And a cylinder of handi-wipes. After convincing him I wasn’t about to go into shock, he told me to stay put and assured me Sheriff Richards would return soon.

    Right. I knew a stock response. Heck, I’d even used it. I might be here