The Keeper Ch. 20-22

He chatted with the girl as he worked. Quinn was well practiced at "doc speak" designed to reassure the patient. When wounded, even the most hardened marines regress to a five-year-old with a cut knee wanting a daddy or mommy to take care of it.

She moaned as he moved her leg to get a look at the wound.

"Miss Julie, the good news was the wound is on the outside of your calf, away from that pesky femoral artery. I'm going to fix you up until the ambulance can get you to a doctor. Your dress, however, might be a lost cause. You're going to have to ask that saloon-keeper over at the Long Branch to buy you a new one."

The round must have either tumbled or ricocheted because the hole was large and spurting bright red blood, so one of the smaller arteries that run on the outside was impacted.

Corpsmen and medics hate and fear pain in their patients. Normal people never consciously cause pain in the performance of their job--corpsmen do. The wound needed to be plugged. A tourniquet by itself wouldn't do the job. And plugging the hole was going to be a special level of hellish pain for this little girl.

"This is going to hurt like a bastard sweetie," Quinn said. "But it will help with the bleeding. I'll be as quick as I can."

She shrieked as he stuffed gauze into the wound hole. Thanking God that the round hadn't tumbled worse, Quinn was wishing he had scored some Celox Granules from the Nun to use instead of gauze. He cursed, he needed to be better prepared than this. She was suffering because he was careless about stocking his bag.

He tore open an Israeli battle dressing, slapped it on the wound, swiftly threaded it through the attached cleat to put pressure on the wound, and wrapped it securely around her leg.

After a moment's thought, he made a quick decision. He had no idea how far away the ambulance was, and since an artery was severely impacted, he grabbed a soft T tourniquet and wrapped it on her leg above the wound. It doesn't take long for a bleeder to become fatal.

"What time is it, give me the exact time please," he called to the girls watching behind him.

'It's 2:37."

Quinn used the black sharpie out of the bag to write the time the tourniquet was applied on her thigh along with his name and phone number, in case any of the doctors had questions.

He noticed a small cooler next to one of the watchers, motioned for him to hand it over, and pushed it under her leg to elevate it.

He stripped off the latex gloves and gently brushed Julie's hair out of her eyes.

Then with a deep breath, he mentally reached back and called to his one healing rune and let the healing heat uncoil through his left hand and trickle into her. The troll women had stubbornly insisted he learn to activate the rune, and after week after frustrating week, he had finally learned the trick of it--sort of. He couldn't heal with it, but its magic worked wonders on shock and wound pain. As he watched, she sighed. Her eyes fluttered and her brow smoothed as soothing warmth flowed down into her core.

Quinn kept stroking her hair and waited for the ambulance to arrive.

When it came, he stood back as the ambulance crew went to work on her. They got her wrapped up and on a gurney.

"Nice work," one of them said. He noticed Quinn's unit one bag. "Sixty-eight whiskey?" (Army Medic)

"Nah, green-side corpsman, just like the Army, only with real skills." Quinn grinned at him. If he were ex-military, they'd gone to the same schools at Fort Sam Houston, but it didn't hurt to remind those guys where the real class lies.

The medic looked startled, then grinned back and scratched his nose with his middle finger.

"Fucking Squid," he said over his shoulder to his partner. He looked back at Quinn. "The hospital's close by in Arlington and a medivac helicopter down to Seattle if she needs it."

"Thanks, guys take good care of her," Quinn brushed her hair back from her face one last time as they got her loaded into the ambulance.

"Mommy, that man has green leaves and vines all over his back," a little boy chirped behind him as he put the unit one bag back in the truck.

Quinn looked around and found the crowd silently staring at him. His gut clenched. The Look shone out of their eyes. It was the Look that populated most of his nightmares. The pathetically grateful look they all seemed to adopt.

He locked the bag in his pickup and walked quickly to the hotel to escape, only to be stopped by a voice behind him.

"Nice work. Want to tell me what happened here?"

He turned. A tiny silver-haired woman stared up at him, a notebook in her hand. Another Guardian.

"My name is Ida Blackstone. I won't take much of your time."

"Okay, I forgot to retrieve my sweatshirt. Let me go up to my room and get cleaned up and dressed. I'll be back right quick."

***

Ida Blackstone was standing outside talking to Henry as Quinn came out. She motioned for him to follow her as she walked out to the scene of the mock gunfight.

"Okay, why don't you tell me what happened."

"I was sitting on the tailgate of my truck eating popcorn. Across the street, there were fifty people. Mostly, tourists, I'd guess. Among them, three men were pretty drunk, the shooter's friends from the Friendly Tavern. Four men in the crowd were carrying. They had shoulder holsters under their jackets. I watched them for a bit but figured they were harmless posers. You and six other guardians were mixed in with the crowd pretending to blend in. All of you guys were busy watching me."

"On my side, there were seventy-three people, mostly families. Probably families who were staying at the hotel. Julie, the saloon girl, and her two friends were standing in the back of the crowd talking to a teenage kid with pimples who was selling popcorn."

She gave him a wide-eyed look.

"Hey, I'm all about tactical awareness. Something your confederates need some training in. The caster was disguised as Amerindian. Maybe five foot six, hundred fifteen pounds soaking wet. She was wearing a red and gold serape and a slouch hat that shaded her face. She had an ornate turquoise necklace draped around her neck. She held it when she cast her spell. Odd, don't you think, that you all had a Hag in your midst and didn't spot her? She was powerful. It was at least a tenth order spell, noisy."

"It surprised us," she said sourly, "but I'm beginning to see why someone would want to shoot you. I'm tempted myself. What do you know about compulsion spells?"

"A little bit, but I have no talent in that direction."

"You were taking care of Julie pretty quick."

"I did some tours with the Marines in Afghanistan. I am well trained. I saw her get hit and fall. After that, everything else was just auto-pilot."

She looked at him silently, waiting to see if he had anything else. So, he obliged.

"What happened with the shooter? He was pale and sweating, obviously trying to fight it. Is he okay.?"

"John Kelly? Well, it's all still under investigation. He ended up in the hospital. He had a heart attack. He swears he checked his pistol. Anyway, that's all I need from you."

She turned to walk away, then turned back to him.

"I'd keep my eyes open if I were you. Somebody is trying awfully hard to kill you. You did good work today," she said reluctantly. "Glad you were there for her."

Wow, hell just froze over.