Her vision blurred but across Main Street she saw the wavering image of the doctor walk through the ER doors, his white coat draped over one arm, some kind of satchel or briefcase in his other hand. Dr. Buckner. That was his name. He had said people called him Buck. She liked that name. He opened the back door of a white SUV and tossed the coat and case inside. A large black SUV pulled into the lot, hesitated a beat, and then swung into the empty space next to the doctor’s vehicle. Two men got out and approached. One, the taller one, waved a gun and herded Buck into the rear of the vehicle. The two men climbed in and the SUV spun onto Main, heading into downtown.
She watched the entire ordeal unfold through a haze. Not the ground mist, the fog in her brain. She needed to do something. Tell someone.
The drug curtain settled over her. She slouched on the bench and rode the wave.
Move, Marla. Get up. Walk into the ER.
Her eyes closed and she melted into a world of black tar.
CHAPTER 10
6 1/2 HOURS EARLIER
Buck knelt in the rear cargo area of the SUV as the driver rolled down Main Street into town. His mind raced as he tried to sort out what was happening. Other than the obvious. He had been abducted at gunpoint. The driver, the taller of the men, had a hard face. Buck knew the type. They often ended up in the ER with a gunshot wound, a product of the world they inhabited. The guy in the shotgun seat sat twisted his way, a gun in his right hand, aimed at Buck’s chest.
“What’s your name?” the driver shot over his shoulder.
“Buck.”
“Okay, Dr. Buck, let’s have your cell phone.”
“Why?”
“Gee, let me guess? Give me the fucking phone.”
Even in the dark, the rearview mirror reflected the threat in the man’s eyes. He was lean, yet muscular, his dark hair slicked back into a ponytail.
Buck removed his cell from his scrub shirt pocket and passed it to the driver. He handed it to the guy riding shotgun. Buck heard it thud to the floorboard and then the crunching of glass and the twisting of metal. The guy picked up the mangled phone, mumbled something that sounded like, “That ought to take care of that.” He lowered the window and tossed it out.
“What’s this about?” Buck asked.
“My brother needs help,” the driver said. “Now do some of that doctor shit.”
Buck turned toward the injured man. “Let me take a look.”
“I got shot, Doc.” The young man grunted as he rolled to his back and lifted his shirt. In the darkness, the blood that covered his abdomen looked more black than red.
“Hard to see much in the dark,” Buck said. “Can we have some light back here?”
“Hold on a sec.”
They continued through town and a couple of minutes later Main Street became Highway 57, a winding two-lane road that led west. After a half mile, the driver slowed, whipped onto a dark gravel road. The SUV gyrated over the uneven surface. The man laying beside Buck groaned with each bump. The vehicle crunched to a stop and the interior light popped on.
Now Buck could see the entry wound. A small hole in the mid-left side of his abdomen. Buck reached around the man’s back but felt no exit wound.
“The bullet’s still inside,” Buck said.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” the driver said. “How bad is it?”
Buck did a mental inventory of the possibilities. Spleen? Probably a little low for that. Obviously not the aorta or the vena cave. The wound was too lateral for that—not to mention, if that were the case, the man would be long dead by now. Most likely bowel, maybe kidney. But it could be anything. Bullets do odd things inside a human body. They can bounce and ricochet and tumble around in almost any direction. Especially if they strike bones. Buck had seen gunshots to the chest where the bullet ended up near the bladder. Or some that entered the abdomen and found their way into the chest. Anything and everything was possible.
He began his examination, pressing on the man’s abdomen. He winced and withdrew.
“I know it hurts,” Buck said, “but I need to see what’s going on.”
The man nodded and gritted his teeth.
“What’s your name?” Buck asked.
“Dennie.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” the driver snarled.
“You ain’t the one shot.”
Buck ignored the brotherly feud. “Hold on, Dennie. This will be a little uncomfortable.”
His abdomen was soft and not swollen badly, which was a good sign. At least it wasn’t filled with blood. Not yet, anyway. Buck knew that the fact the man was alive, actually awake and not in shock, was a good sign. Meant the bleeding was slow at worst and might even have ceased.
“How long ago did this happen?” Buck asked.
“Maybe an hour,” the driver said.
Buck sighed. “Odds are there’s damage to one or more of the internal organs. Maybe the kidney, probably the bowel.” He looked at the driver. “He needs surgery. He needs a hospital.”
“I told you, Dalton,” Dennie said. “You got to take me to the ER.”
Okay. Dennie and Dalton. Two names down.
“Listen to him,” Buck said. “He’s right.”
“Dennie ain’t exactly thinking clearly right now.”
“He
