neighborhood residents raising the alarm, and he knew that whatever was coming was bad news.
The cute little pygmy goats bleated and tugged at the rope. They knew it was bad news as well.
Linus felt something tugging at him that he thought he’d long ago banished.
“Of course today’s the day my conscience decides to come back from its lengthy vacation,” he said, rising from the bench with a wobble.
He descended the wooden ladder and stumbled over to the goats.
“All right, guys, let’s go.”
Linus unclipped their leashes and walked over to them, his world starting to swim a bit. “All right, little one, you first,” he said, taking the nearest kid and zipping it into his jacket.
“You next,” he said, picking the second goat up. The gas cloud was on them then, and Linus struggled and held his breath as he made his way back to the ladder. He placed one of the goats in the bucket and started hauling it slowly upward. His eyes burned, but after a moment of working the pulley, the goat was safely in the treehouse.
Linus lost his breath and inhaled a cloud of chlorine gas that seared his lungs and sent him into a horrible coughing fit.
One foothold at a time, Linus scaled the treehouse, inching above the deadly cloud. He collapsed onto the bench for a second time, coughing, tears streaming from his face. The tiny goat rested on his chest, licked Linus’ nose, and melted his heart.
…
Pain. Flashes of white-hot pain, and snatches of conversation.
“…to the clinic now!”
“…hit to the head, need to be evaluated…”
“…possible damage to leg, hip, lower back.”
“…keep him strapped down. When he comes to we don’t want him damaging himself further..”
John’s eyes fluttered open, and his wife smiled down at him, concern paining her face. He realized he was being carried, each step bringing a fresh bout of pain. She rested a hand on his forehead. “John, stay with me, sweetie. We’re going to patch you up, and it’s going to hurt. I need you to be strong for me. Okay?”
John tried to talk, but his body wasn’t cooperating. All he managed to produce was a low grunt.
Talia turned to Pritchet and Charlie, the men carrying the stretcher. “Set him gently on the table, and Charlie? Grab those shears for me, please.”
Charlie grabbed the surgical shears and watched as Talia started at the cuff of her husband’s jeans and began to cut them off. There was a hitch in her breath when she saw the lacerations from the cord that had caught him around the thigh. A deep purple-black bruise had begun to form. She checked her watch and wrote something down.
Thirty minutes. He’d been up there thirty minutes.
“Breathing’s steady. Lungs seem clear. Being stuck in the air like that probably saved his life.” Talia let out a ragged breath. “Small mercies. Thank you, Lord.”
The two men brought in supplies for an IV drip, and Talia got it started.
She examined her husband closely, looking for signs of broken bones. When they’d found him after the cloud had passed, his leg had been hanging at an odd angle. Talia probed her fingers into the tissue of his hip, and she felt that it was dislocated. She’d handle that in a moment. The head injury worried her more. Without any diagnostic equipment, it was tough to tell what the extent of the damage would be. He would definitely need stitches, though.
Grabbing a squirt bottle from the shelf, she began to clean the wound, and then she grabbed a pre-packaged suture kit and got started. Four stitches. Not too bad. She placed the needle into a pan. They’d disinfect it later for repeat use. No sense in wasting valuable tools at this stage in the game. There was no telling when they would be able to resupply.
“Boys, we’re going to need to set his hip back into place. This is probably best done now. John, it’s going to hurt quite a bit. Hang in there.” She turned to the other two men. “I’m not strong enough to do it alone. Will
The cute little pygmy goats bleated and tugged at the rope. They knew it was bad news as well.
Linus felt something tugging at him that he thought he’d long ago banished.
“Of course today’s the day my conscience decides to come back from its lengthy vacation,” he said, rising from the bench with a wobble.
He descended the wooden ladder and stumbled over to the goats.
“All right, guys, let’s go.”
Linus unclipped their leashes and walked over to them, his world starting to swim a bit. “All right, little one, you first,” he said, taking the nearest kid and zipping it into his jacket.
“You next,” he said, picking the second goat up. The gas cloud was on them then, and Linus struggled and held his breath as he made his way back to the ladder. He placed one of the goats in the bucket and started hauling it slowly upward. His eyes burned, but after a moment of working the pulley, the goat was safely in the treehouse.
Linus lost his breath and inhaled a cloud of chlorine gas that seared his lungs and sent him into a horrible coughing fit.
One foothold at a time, Linus scaled the treehouse, inching above the deadly cloud. He collapsed onto the bench for a second time, coughing, tears streaming from his face. The tiny goat rested on his chest, licked Linus’ nose, and melted his heart.
…
Pain. Flashes of white-hot pain, and snatches of conversation.
“…to the clinic now!”
“…hit to the head, need to be evaluated…”
“…possible damage to leg, hip, lower back.”
“…keep him strapped down. When he comes to we don’t want him damaging himself further..”
John’s eyes fluttered open, and his wife smiled down at him, concern paining her face. He realized he was being carried, each step bringing a fresh bout of pain. She rested a hand on his forehead. “John, stay with me, sweetie. We’re going to patch you up, and it’s going to hurt. I need you to be strong for me. Okay?”
John tried to talk, but his body wasn’t cooperating. All he managed to produce was a low grunt.
Talia turned to Pritchet and Charlie, the men carrying the stretcher. “Set him gently on the table, and Charlie? Grab those shears for me, please.”
Charlie grabbed the surgical shears and watched as Talia started at the cuff of her husband’s jeans and began to cut them off. There was a hitch in her breath when she saw the lacerations from the cord that had caught him around the thigh. A deep purple-black bruise had begun to form. She checked her watch and wrote something down.
Thirty minutes. He’d been up there thirty minutes.
“Breathing’s steady. Lungs seem clear. Being stuck in the air like that probably saved his life.” Talia let out a ragged breath. “Small mercies. Thank you, Lord.”
The two men brought in supplies for an IV drip, and Talia got it started.
She examined her husband closely, looking for signs of broken bones. When they’d found him after the cloud had passed, his leg had been hanging at an odd angle. Talia probed her fingers into the tissue of his hip, and she felt that it was dislocated. She’d handle that in a moment. The head injury worried her more. Without any diagnostic equipment, it was tough to tell what the extent of the damage would be. He would definitely need stitches, though.
Grabbing a squirt bottle from the shelf, she began to clean the wound, and then she grabbed a pre-packaged suture kit and got started. Four stitches. Not too bad. She placed the needle into a pan. They’d disinfect it later for repeat use. No sense in wasting valuable tools at this stage in the game. There was no telling when they would be able to resupply.
“Boys, we’re going to need to set his hip back into place. This is probably best done now. John, it’s going to hurt quite a bit. Hang in there.” She turned to the other two men. “I’m not strong enough to do it alone. Will
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