to her. “What?”
“Your pain?”
“Seven?”
“There’s no wrong answer. Just be honest and it will all work out.”
Honest? Was she kidding?
“That bad, huh?” she said.
“What?”
“The pain. You made a face like someone shoved a lemon in your mouth.”
“Yeah, I guess it hurts,” he said, concerned that she was able to read him so easily.
“Well, it’ll probably get worse before it gets better. We’re going to have to lift you out of here and carry you down the trail to an ambulance.”
“No hospital.” He’d be an easy target for sure. But for whom?
“Sorry, Blue Eyes, but a gunshot wound warrants a trip to the E.R., and probably a meet-and-greet from the local police.”
“But—”
“Save your strength.”
She placed her hand against his chest again, this time gently patting him in a rhythm that soothed him into a state of relaxation. His eyes drifted shut.
* * *
Pain speared down his arm to his fingertips.
“Ah, God,” he breathed.
But God couldn’t help him, not after everything he’d done.
“Take it easy,” a woman’s stern voice said. “You’re hurting him.”
It was the blonde from before. What was her name again?
He opened his eyes. Struggled to focus. But everything seemed to bounce around him. The sky, the trees, the blonde beauty.
“Hey, Blue Eyes,” she said. “We’re almost there.”
He wanted to reach out but his arms were bound to a board of some kind. He must have looked panicked because she slid her hand into his and squeezed.
“We had to secure you to the litter so you’d remain as still as possible. We don’t want you losing any more blood than necessary. Okay?” She smiled.
“Okay,” he thought he said. Closed his eyes. Listened to the conversation around him.
“Why can’t they send a helo?” the woman said.
“No place to land up here. The ambulance is waiting,” a male voice answered.
“I’m afraid he’s losing too much blood.”
“His vitals are good.”
“Will they—”
“Bree, take a breath. He’s alive. You’re alive. All is well.”
* * *
Something pinched his arm. He opened his eyes. “What, ouch.”
“Hello, Mr. Smith,” a young female paramedic said. “I’ll call you Mr. Smith because we couldn’t find any identification and it seems more dignified than calling you Mr. Blue Eyes.” She sneered at the cute blonde woman standing on the other side of him.
Her name, he desperately needed to remember the blonde’s name.
“Are you allergic to any medications?” the paramedic asked.
“I don’t...think so.”
“Can you tell me what day it is?”
His gazed drifted past her to the lush forest in the distance. They were outside, surrounded by green. How did he get here again?
“Sir?”
He glanced at the paramedic, a twenty-something brunette with a tattoo of a butterfly on her neck. “It’s daytime.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
He glanced at the blonde beauty. She offered an encouraging smile. It didn’t help.
“How about your name?” the paramedic said.
“I told you he doesn’t remember,” the blonde said with an edge to her voice.
“Sir, do you know where you are?” the paramedic tried again.
“Mountains,” he gasped, hating the sound of his voice. Weak. Defeated.
“What city or state?” she asked, administering something into his IV.
“I... Washington?”
The blonde beauty offered a bright smile. He could look at those green eyes, that joyful smile all day long.
“Do you remember the trailhead or mountain you went climbing this morning?”
He glanced at the blonde. She started to mouth something.
“Bree!” the EMT scolded. “No cheating.”
“Sorry.” Bree put up her hands.
Bree, that’s right. A charming name.
“Okay, let’s get you into the ambulance.” The paramedic nodded at someone behind him. The stretcher shifted slightly, then he was lifted up into the ambulance.
“Bree,” he said, panicked. He reached out hoping to touch her again, feel her calming presence.
“It’s okay. I’ll meet you at the hospital,” she said.
He may not make it to the hospital. He didn’t know the brunette with the butterfly tattoo. He didn’t trust her.
“Bree.” He struggled to sit up.
“Easy there, Mr. Smith. You don’t want to pull out your IV.”
“Bree,” he croaked, desperate, trying to roll off the stretcher.
Suddenly she was beside him, holding his hand.
“Right there is fine,” the paramedic ordered Bree, then said to the driver, “Okay, Roscoe, let’s go.”
He turned his head to the left, needing to see Bree, look into her green eyes. Green like the forest. Her image started to blur again. He was losing focus, losing consciousness.
“I can’t... Bree...”
He closed his eyes, but felt her squeeze his hand.
“What’s happening to him?” she asked.
“It’s probably the
