a firm kiss on her full lips. She was still standing there wide-eyed, lips slightly parted, when he carefully slipped between the willow branches to the edge of the cut. Using the strong roots hanging out of the sheer wall, he lowered himself the twenty or so feet to the bottom of the narrow chasm.
Deacon’s lanky six-and-a-half-foot frame lay in a crumpled heap on a sandbar at the edge of the creek. His right leg lay beneath him, twisted awkwardly. Deacon’s normally fair skin was almost bluish in the shadowed light, and his hands were covered in shallow cuts and scratches. However, he’d managed to raise himself up on one elbow, which was a good sign.
“Looks like you get the klutz of the year award.” Logan knelt down beside his friend and checked his pulse. A bit fast, but steady. “What happened?” He looked into Deacon’s eyes and wished he had a flashlight to check his response, but at least Deacon’s pupils were both the same size. Dilated, but that was to be expected, considering the pain he must be in.
Logan actually felt Deacon’s pain. His leg ached so badly he could barely stand it. He consciously tried to block it so he’d be able to function. This was just too weird.
Deacon slowly shook his head. “Walking along the trail watching some neat birds,” he said. His voice was thready, his pain a living, breathing entity from his toes to his head and Logan felt all of it. Deacon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opened them slowly. “The ground disappeared out from under me. I slid feet first until my foot got caught in some roots. Heard my leg snap. Banged my head.”
“Bet that ruined your day. Did you black out?” Logan parted Deacon’s dark hair looking for injuries. There was a big knot in the middle of his forehead, but the skin wasn’t broken. He touched it lightly. Deacon jerked away.
“Ouch. No, I didn’t black out. Son of a bitch! That hurt.”
Logan laughed. “Well, at least we know you’re conscious and lucid. Just hold on. Good thing you landed on a sandbar and not in a pile of rocks.” Logan sensed before he saw Jazzy. He turned and saw her peeking through the branches at the edge of the ravine above them. “Can you find your way back?” he asked. “I think he’s got a broken leg. We’ll need Mik and AJ to get him out of here.”
Jazzy’s sympathy washed over him in a warm wave. Her hand covered her mouth. “Oh, Deacon. I’m so sorry.” She scrambled to her feet. “I’m outta here. I’ll be back asap.”
Logan heard the rustle in the branches as she raced back through the willows. He turned his attention back to his friend. “Can you move your fingers? Toes…well, obviously not the toes on your right leg.” He did a quick check, but didn’t see any other obvious injury. “I’m going to have to splint your leg before we can move you. If you want, I’ll do it before the others get here so you can yell all you want. It’s gonna hurt like a sonofabitch.”
Deacon nodded. “Might as well. Damn.”
“I need some thick branches, a board, something as straight as I can find. I’ll be right back.” Logan headed about fifteen yards upstream to a logjam he’d spotted. Deacon’s pain followed him. He dug around in the pile for a few minutes before he found a length of weathered board. It was about six inches wide and looked like it might have come from an old cabin or fence. Once he hammered a sharp rock against one end, the board split cleanly along the grain into two three foot sections.
Deacon lay back in the sand with his eyes closed. “You don’t happen to have any water with you, do you?”
“Yeah. It’s your lucky day.” Logan handed him the small bottle he’d stuck into his pocket earlier.
“Funny. You’re real funny, Logan.”
Logan helped him raise his head. “Drink it slowly.” Deacon took a long swallow that almost drained the bottle.
“Let’s get you straightened out.” Logan lifted Deacon’s wide shoulders and lined his upper torso up with his good leg. Deacon cried out and bit his lip. The other leg was still twisted painfully beneath him.
“I hate to do this to you, buddy, but we can’t move you without a splint, and I can’t splint it twisted this way. Here…” He pulled his leather belt out of his pants, folded it in two and handed it to Deacon. “Bite on this.”
Deacon tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a groan. “You sound like a damn cowboy doctor. Gonna cauterize something with a hot branding iron?”
Logan laughed, but he stared at Deacon’s twisted leg and wondered whether or not the fracture had broken the skin. He grabbed his folding knife out of the side pocket of his jeans. “I’m going to cut the pant leg open so I can see your injury better. I’ll use our belts to tie the splint.”
“Just do it, man. Don’t talk about it.”
“Right.” Logan scooted down and unlaced Deacon’s heavy boot. Even though he was really careful slipping it off, Deacon moaned in pain from the slight movement of his leg.
Logan imagined he heard the sound of bone grating against bone. Then he realized it wasn’t his imagination. He had heard it. Nervous sweat poured off his face and down his back. He always hated this part of emergency care. Sometimes you caused more pain, no matter how hard you tried to avoid it.
He finally got the boot off. Then he sliced the denim lengthwise, cutting through the thick hem, up through bloodied fabric to a point just above Deacon’s knee. When he glanced at Deacon, he had to look away. Agony spilled out of him and it was harder to block when Logan looked directly at him.
But he had to look. Had to keep tabs on his patient, and right now it appeared that Deacon was going into shock. Where the hell were Mik and AJ?
Finally Logan finished cutting through the denim, slicing around Deacon’s leg above his knee and lifting the blood-soaked fabric away from his injured leg. Jagged bone protruded from a two-inch gash below his knee. “Shit, man. You’ve got an open, compound fracture. You might need surgery, maybe a pin or a plate to hold it together.”
“That’s gonna screw with my shifting, right, Logan?”
His voice sounded much weaker. Luckily, the bleeding appeared to have stopped, but he needed medical care fast.
“Shifting is the last thing we need to worry about. Bite down on that leather.” Before Deacon had a chance to worry about what was to come, Logan grabbed his ankle and slowly pulled his leg straight, twisting the bone into place as he tugged. Deacon screamed as the jagged end of bone slipped beneath the tear in his skin.
Then he passed out.
Logan groaned and shuddered with the excruciating pain Deacon broadcast. His hands froze around his buddy’s ankle, but the pain lessened as soon as unconsciousness overtook Deacon’s mind. Logan breathed a sigh of relief as the bone seemed to slip into position. “Thank goodness you can’t feel this, buddy,” he whispered. “Thank goodness I can’t feel it, either.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив
