Half a Dozen...Lies: Book 2

Chapter 17...

Extremely unedited, hehe.  xxx

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17

Back at the house, Mary was living up to her hard task driver image, ordering grown men around like a general to his troupes. The Doctor was on his was, along with the Sheriff, who had cursed like a trooper when he heard what had happened.  The kitchen had been cleared of chairs and any potential trip hazards. Someone had being ordered to go get their first aid kit from the rec room while another stood boiling water for cleaning and some one else had gone to get clean towels and a pillow.  Her eight man dinning room table had been cover in a plastic sheet, which Mary had sterilised herself as people hustled around her, getting everything the way she had ordered it. The final bowl of boiling water had just been filled as George and Jack carried in a tall, heavily built man, Dylan they had called him, who lay slumped, out cold, between the two men.  Jon Matthew was close on their heels as they carried him into the kitchen, pulling off his jacket as he moved around them and handing it to Mary, who was waiting just inside the door.

“There’s clean water in the sink, first aid is on the counter and I’ve had water boiled for sterilising,” she state, throwing his jacket on the hallway table as she followed in after him.

“Good!”  Jon’s tone was precise but polite with a air of quiet confidence set in his features.  “Set him down carefully on the table.  I’m going to need three of you to stay behind,  Mrs Doyle if you would assist me please…”

“Of course.”  Mary answered immediately rushing over to wash her hands next to him as they laid Dylan down on the table.

“…The rest of you need to leave.”  Jon added drying his hands on a towel.  Immediately bodies disappeared from sight, leaving only George, Mary, Jon, Jack and a young man name Beau as Jon turned away from the sink to look over Dylan.  Beau slipped the pillow beneath Dylan’s head and took up a position by his left shoulder, just as George and Jack each stood at one of his feet.

“Mrs Doyle, I need scissors.”  Slapping a pair into Jon’s hand, Mary watched as the African American giant of a man, they had all come to love over the years, who could lift the tail end of a tracker himself, with the grace of a butterfly, gently cut away the blood stained clothes that covered bullet wound and removed the shirt that was stuck against the poor mans pale and clammy torso.  With a flick of his wrist he tossed the bloody remains into a waiting bucket behind him and had Mary pressing a towel to the wound.

After that Jon worked in silence, only speaking when absolutely necessary.  Out of the corner of her eye Mary saw a ghostly white Hanna being ushered into the house by Rip, who disappeared upstairs with her, only to rushed back out 5 minutes later.  There was no sign of Sam and the doctor finally turned up thirty minutes later  Jon had managed to get the bullet out and slow the bleeding.

"Good work, son.  I'll take it from here."  The Doctor said smoothly, stepping in as Jon stepped aside.  Dylan had woken briefly as Jon had gone in for the bullet and had thrashed around, giving all four men a run for their money but he had slipped back into unconsciousness a few minutes after the bullet was remove and aside from a black eye and a few bruises no one was worse for wear.  A few deep breaths later  George had let the other men get back to help with the ditched truck.

Mary fluttered around the kitchen, cleaning up as best she could, her mind still running on high alert, as she past the stairs off the kitchen she heard the muffled sobs floating down from the bathroom upstairs.  "Oh dear Lord, Hanna!"  Mary swiftly made for the stairs, rushing into the bathroom where Hanna sat curled up in a ball next to the bathtub.  "Sweetie, come here.  Everything is going to be alright," she cooed, crouching down and pulling the weeping girl into her arms.  "I got you, sweetheart."