Deep Shadows (40 page)

“We've had a slew of refugees from Croghan.”

“Refugees?” His mom motioned for Frank to come inside.

“They started showing up a couple hours after the shooting stopped.”

“And we just let them in?” Carter asked. “No one thought that it might be a trick of some sort?”

“Most were women and children, hands raised and carrying little but the clothes on their backs. There were some men, but we checked them for weapons and then allowed them through the barricade.”

“Where are they going to stay?” His mom sat down on the edge of the couch. She looked ready to jump into action.

“Local churches have joined together to find shelter for everyone, but they could use all the help they can get.”

“I'll go to the park,” Carter said.

“And I'll stop by after I'm done at Green Acres.”

Thirty minutes later, Carter walked up to the makeshift processing center that had been set up at the city park. He was a little surprised to see all of the Brainiacs already working—Zane and Lila were handing out teddy bears to the small kids. Carter had no idea where so many stuffed bears had come from, but there seemed to be a lot of them. Quincy, Cooper, and Annabelle each carried a plastic bin that must have been full of snacks. They walked through the groups of people, stopping so folks could
choose something from the bin. There were other kids as well, from his youth group and his high school. A few nodded hello when they saw him.

Someone had also set up a first aid area. Carter saw Dr. Bhatti using his stethoscope on an older man.

Residents of Croghan filled the park. They were homeless now, and the thought struck Carter deep in his stomach. How would it feel to have no home? No place to keep your stuff? No stuff to keep?

Carter saw Kaitlyn and her mom handing out bottles of water, and Jason was helping an old man and woman up into the back of a truck. Because he hadn't been assigned a task, Carter jogged over to him.

“Where are they going?”

“Different places. There's no single location big enough to handle all of these people.”

As he and Jason walked into the shade, they both looked out at the people scattered around the park. There had to be a couple hundred, at least.

“What are we going to do with them all?”

“They have two options.” Jason hopped onto a waist-high wall that bordered the creek that ran through town. Carter joined him.

“They can go to the FEMA camp.”

“We have FEMA camps?”

“No, but someone sent word to the mayor that one has been set up in Hamilton.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Skirmishes all over, I guess. A transport from Fort Hood is supposed to stop by this afternoon to take anyone who wants to go.”

“Hamilton isn't much bigger than us.”

“Smaller actually.”

“So why is the FEMA camp there?”

Jason shrugged. He hollered out to Kaitlyn, who was slowly turning in a circle. When she saw them, she waved, a smile spreading across her face.

“I think she digs you, dude.”

Carter didn't say anything, but his mind darted back to the kiss they'd shared the night before.

“The Drop has turned you into a babe magnet.”

Carter chuckled. “One girl does not make me a babe magnet.”

“Do you want more than one?”

“No. Of course not.”

“A satisfied babe magnet. The Drop takes away some things, but it gives others.”

Carter opened his mouth to argue with that, but he stopped when Kaitlyn walked up and offered them both a bottle of water.

“I haven't actually done anything yet,” Carter said.

“That's all right. I heard about last night. Sounds like you earned a bottle of water.”

She'd heard about last night?

Carter wanted to ask how she'd spent the evening—if she'd been at a barricade or huddled in her home. Instead he took the bottle of water, said thanks, and tried to ignore the way Jason was grinning at the two of them.

He sat on the wall, Jason on his right and Kaitlyn on his left, and the scene in front of him crystallized, as if he was viewing it on video. A tale about two communities locked in battle. There would be awesome music playing in the background as the camera panned out and each week's episode ended—with the required cliff-hanger, of course. It was a story straight out of Hollywood, and it was their life.

But they were together, and they were helping each other. Maybe everything was going to be all right.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when Max's truck skidded into the park. He was honking the horn as he headed straight for the first aid tent.

Carter, Jason, and Kaitlyn started running toward Max, as if there was something they could do. But Max didn't need three teenagers. He jumped out of the cab of the truck, and his next words carried across the now-silent crowd.

“I have Luis Castillo in here. He can't breathe.”

S
IXTY
-S
EVEN

M
ax was afraid to move their fire chief. Luis Castillo was inside the truck, leaning against the door, his skin a sickly gray, and as far as Max could tell, he wasn't breathing.

“Give me some space,” Bhatti grumbled, pushing through the crowd and climbing in the driver's side of the truck.

“Max, help me lay him down on the ground.”

Two other men stepped forward. When Max opened the passenger door, they gently caught Castillo and lowered him to the ground.

“My medical bag is in the tent.” Bhatti quickly tilted Castillo's head back and checked to see if his airway was clear. Confirming that it was, he formed a fist with his right hand and thumped Castillo in the middle of the chest. He checked the man's wrist for a pulse, shook his head, and performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

As he moved back down to Castillo's chest, he said, “Tell me what happened.”

“I was going out to the city limit—on the south side, to see if there were more folks from Croghan to pick up. Castillo wanted to ride along.”

Bhatti had placed the heel of his left hand over Castillo's chest. The heel of his right hand went over his left, and he began compressions. He was pushing down harder than Max would have attempted, and the compressions were quick. It was something that Max had done with a dummy in a first aid class, but he'd never actually performed CPR on a person.

“And then?”

“He grabbed his left arm, couldn't catch his breath, and he started sweating.”

“Classic signs.” Bhatti's voice was calm, but each syllable came out in short bursts to the rhythm of his compressions so it sounded like he said “Class. Ic. Signs.”

He'd been counting under his breath as Max talked. When he reached thirty, he stopped, gave Castillo two more breaths, and started compressions again. The doctor was already winded, though he'd only been working on Castillo a couple of minutes at the most. “How long ago?”

“Since he stopped breathing? I turned around when he grabbed his arm and grunted. He passed out as I pulled into the park. Maybe a minute before you started, two at the most.”

“Do you feel comfortable taking over the compressions?”

“Yes.”

“Get ready.”

Max placed his hands one over the other. He was squatting on the left side of Castillo's body, while Bhatti was on the right. The doctor glanced up at him. “On three. One, two—”

As soon as Bhatti removed his hands, Max was pumping. Pain shot through his left arm, and he remembered his wound from the night before.

“Thirty compressions, after which I will give him two resuscitations. Harder and faster, my friend. Elbows straight and align your shoulders over your hands. You're doing a good job. Performing CPR is an arduous task.”

Max was completely focused on Castillo now, aware that the man's life was literally in his hands. At the edge of his vision, he could see Bhatti pawing through his medical bag. He opened a bottle of baby aspirin, and set it next to the bag.

“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.”

“Stop.” After he administered two breaths, he said, “Again.”

Max's arms were beginning to tremble. Sweat poured down his face. As he counted, he prayed, “Please, Lord. Please, Lord. Please, Lord.” The words fell like a melody to the rhythm of his compressions.

Bhatti waited until he again reached thirty, gave Castillo two more breaths, and said, “Switch.”

After resuming compressions, the doctor said, “Check for a pulse, please.”

Max placed two fingertips on Castillo's wrist.

Someone had asked the crowd to step back, but Max was aware that they were watching. Hundreds of people stood by—and it was completely quiet as they all watched, as Castillo's life hung in the balance.

“Nothing.”

“Try the carotid artery, side of the neck.”

He studied Castillo's face as he focused on the artery, willing there to be a beat, praying that God would save this good man. “Yes! He has a pulse. It's very light, but yes.”

“Good.” Bhatti's face was red from the exertion.

Suddenly Castillo began to cough.

Bhatti rolled him on his side, grabbed the baby aspirin, and stuck one under Castillo's tongue. “I need you to chew this, Mr. Castillo. Can you hear me? Chew and swallow. That's very good.”

When Bhatti looked up at him and smiled, perhaps the first time Max had ever seen the man smile, he knew they'd done it. They'd saved Luis Castillo's life.

Thirty minutes later, the paramedics had loaded Castillo into the ambulance.

“Want us to check your arm?” One of the men asked, nodding toward Max's left shoulder. The wound had reopened and blood once more stained his shirt.

“No, I'm good. I'll get someone here to rewrap it.”

The paramedic nodded and hopped into the ambulance. A blip of the siren and they were pulling out of the park, headed toward the hospital.

“Is he going to make it?” Max asked.

“Possibly. If he rests, continues with the aspirin, and eventually gets the surgery or medication that he needs.”

“And if he doesn't get the surgery or the medication?”

“That is out of our hands.”

Max looked around them. Everyone had gone back to what they were doing before. Even Carter and his friends had walked away to help load refugees in a truck. There was a line of people at the first aid tent, waiting patiently on the doctor. He thought about what Shelby had said, about seeing Bhatti bury something in the backyard.

The man had a past he didn't want to talk about. Something he desperately did not want discovered. But that could probably be said of many
people. What mattered, it seemed to Max, was how you dealt with the present. The past? It could be forgotten, or forgiven, or even buried. But the present was with you. It colored everything from how people interacted with you to whether you could sleep at night.

Max walked with Bhatti over to the tent. “What kind of injuries are you seeing?”

“A lot of heat exhaustion. Some cuts and bruises. Only one bullet wound so far.”

Max had the distinct impression that he was about to say something comparing Abney to a third-world country. Their eyes met, though, and Bhatti only smiled and said, “Nice work today, Max. You helped to save a man's life.”

“As did you.”

“Feels good, doesn't it?”

“Yes. Yes, it does.”

“If you pray, I suggest you get on your knees tonight and thank him for Mr. Castillo's strength, for his life which you brought back from the final journey.”

It seemed a strange thing for the doctor to say. It occurred to Max that he hadn't really spoken to Dr. Bhatti about matters of faith. They'd been completely caught up with the necessities of this life—food and water and shelter and medicine.

But without faith, those other things were meaningless. Bhatti seemed to realize that, and in Max's mind, that raised the doctor even higher in his esteem.

“And now you should have your arm rewrapped.”

He did as the doctor suggested. When the first aid worker was done, Max thanked her, waved at Carter, and climbed back into his truck to drive out to the checkpoint one last time.

S
IXTY
-E
IGHT

T
hat evening, Shelby walked back from the Market empty-handed.

Carter had heard they'd found one of the trucks. It was supposed to arrive with extra supplies, and she'd wanted to be one of the first in line. She'd told herself she might actually be first because no one else knew about it yet. Carter only knew because Henry Graves had managed to get word to him, telling him to be at work at six p.m. But when they'd arrived, Henry had curtly informed them that no supplies were coming.