High Country Nocturne

Chapter Forty-five

“You don’t get out that easy.”

I spoke the words as I searched her thoroughly. Her knife and backup gun went in my waistband. She stared at me, half disoriented, half furious, but she was in no condition to argue.

I carried her back across the river, across the road to the A-frame, looking like the bride and groom from hell. She was too traumatized to do a saddleback carry. Fortunately, she was light.

Peralta was crouched behind a tree with the carbine.

“You son of a bitch.” He saw what I had done. “Now every civilian and reporter is going to think we can shoot the gun out of a bad guy’s hand and never employ lethal force.”

“Shut up and wrap what’s left of her hand,” I commanded. “She’s lost a lot of blood already.”

Surprisingly, he complied.

She was barely conscious. Her black clothing was white with snowflakes. Her right hand looked like a piece of meatloaf. I pushed her to him and ran into the cabin.

It was as I had left it. Mann was on the floor with the tipped-over chair, still securely handcuffed, staring with hate. Cartwright was lying face down in an expanding pool of red.

I carefully rolled him to his side, then onto his back.

“Tried to warn you,” he gasped. His breathing was coming short and shallow.

“Don’t talk.”

He squinted at me as he always did and licked his lips.

“I served…”

“Don’t talk,” I said. “Save your strength. We’re going to get you to a hospital.”

He gave a quick shake of the head. “Too late.”

I undid his coat and shirt. Both were wet with blood. The exit wound looked eight inches in diameter and had shattered his breastbone.

“My grandbaby…I did this for her. I was sending almost all my paycheck but it wasn’t enough. You tell her I served…”

“You can tell her yourself,” I said. “Help’s on the way.”

“No,” he said. “Not this time. I was shot bad in ’Nam. They evac’d me. Hot zone. Medic got shot through the head. It’s a fucked up world.”

“Ed, stop talking. Focus on your breathing.”

I took his hand and he tried to pull it back. Then he clasped mine, hard. His grip was painful. He stared at me and struggled to get the words out.

“I served…with honor.”

Then his eyes were staring at nothing.

I pounded the floor with my fist and cursed. My eyes were wet but it was only the melted snowflakes. I whispered, “Yes, you did.”