“It’s something to think about.” She cleared her throat. “I just can’t let myself relax until we know Finn’s okay.”
“All right.” He sighed. “If you’re that worried, let’s go back and see if Vince has an idea of where we should look. Maybe your oracle senses are tingling.”
“Hey.” She tugged the bottom of his shirt. “Maybe after we find Finn, you can take me to that café you mentioned. You did say we’d get breakfast in a place that requires shoes.”
“I did say that.” He crouched down for her to climb onto his back. “I would never go back on my word.”
Reaching the ground, Conner helped her out of the harness. With every step, she found herself unhindered by the fact that she was still shoeless. Her mind and body pulled closer toward an alignment with her spirit. The little lumps and imperfections in the ground didn’t offend the soles of her feet as they had only a short while ago. The elements around her reached out, filling her a calm grace as she moved faster and faster through the trees.
She remembered the sting of the little branches that clawed her face and clothes not too long ago, the same types of branches that now offered a gentle touch against her skin in passing. The smile faded from her lips when they reached the edge of the clearing. She covered her mouth with both hands, stepping over the red spatters staining the dirt. Her eyes followed the trail of drips leading out from the woods. The tan duffel bag on the porch, her tan duffel bag, bore smeared crimson handprints.
“I left that in the tent at the campsite.” The color drained from Jillian’s face as rushed to the open door of the cabin.
“Fuck!” Finn screamed, writhing shirtless on the kitchen table, blood ran off the edge onto the floor as Vincent pressed a sopping red dishtowel to Finn’s abdomen.
“Where the hell have you been?” Vincent snapped. “Conner, get my med-kit!”
Conner rushed into Vincent’s bedroom.
“What happened?” Jillian put her hand on Finn’s cheek to find him in a cold sweat.
“It’s no big deal.” Finn grimaced as he grabbed Vincent’s arm. “Can you ease off, man? That fucking hurts!”
“Listen.” Vincent grabbed Finn’s jaw with his free hand and forced him to look him in the eye. “If we don’t keep firm pressure on this, you’re going to bleed out. So, I need you to stop moving and breathe through this. Tell me, you understand.”
“I understand.” Finn clenched his teeth.
“Good.” Vincent looked up as Conner came out of his room with the med-kit. “I need more clean towels, water, and cayenne tablets.”
Jillian grabbed a basin from the shelf and ran out to the hand-well, pumping the handle until the bowl was full. She walked in just in time to see Vincent toss the bloody rag aside, revealing a circular wound about the size of a nickel just below Finn’s ribs. Vincent wasted no time replacing a clean cloth over the wound.
“You went back to the campsite for my clothes, didn’t you?” A knot formed in her throat, and his brown eyes suddenly seemed more concerned with her feelings than his injury.
“I thought you might stay longer if you had your clothes.” He glanced away. “The Ted guy was gone. I got the bag, no problem. I was on my way back when… I don’t really know.”
“Some of these hunters are as old as Noah’s Ark,” Vincent grumbled. “The color of the bag moving through the trees probably looked like a deer.”
“Didn’t your grandma have healing powers?” Conner came up from the cellar. With a small bottle in his hand. “Maybe Jillian can…”
“It took my grandmother years of studying under another oracle before she was able to heal, and even then, she couldn’t heal a fucking gunshot.” Vincent’s face dripped with sweat. “Give him the tablets. Any time someone was losing a lot of blood, the first thing she’d do was give them a spoonful of cayenne powder.”
“Grandma Vince was hardcore.” Conner grimaced as he gave Finn the tablets. “Just a dry spoonful of cayenne in your mouth? Sounds worse than getting shot.”
“Agree to disagree.” Finn groaned.
“This was over a decade ago. We couldn’t order a tablet filling machine online, Conner.” Vincent huffed. “We worked with what we had. And her name was Mikiullah, but we all called her Gran-Miki.”
The anguish on Vincent’s face was as plain as day. This was the first time Jillian really saw Vincent’s stoic outer shell start to crack. For years, it was only him and Finn out here, and she reckoned he was the closest thing to a son that Vincent ever had. There was no mistaking the pain in his eyes. There was love there.
“Did you see what kind of gun it was?” Conner looked at Finn, who shook his head no.
The cayenne seemed to do the trick because, over the next several gut-wrenching minutes, the bleeding finally seemed to slow.
“Should you try to take out the bullet?” Jillian frowned.
“I can’t risk starting up that bleeding again.” Vincent shook his head. “Look at him; he’s barely hanging on.”
“So, what now?” She held Finn’s hand.
“I’ll give him some antibiotics to keep him from going septic. There’s a feed store in Iowa I go to every year to restock my supply. I keep having to drive farther and farther to find places that will sell it without a vet’s prescription.”
“You guys use antibiotics made for pets?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Livestock, actually. It’s not any different than what the doctors would give him at a hospital. You calculate the dosage by weight.”
“Will that save him?” She picked up the cloth on his forehead and dipped it into the basin, wringing it out.
“I have no idea how extensive the
