“What do we have here?” Dr. Moder asked, dropping her massive medical bag next to me as she kneeled down. She sounded a lot calmer than I felt. I guess she’d seen a lot worse from us over the years. I just don’t remember feeling this frantic when Cooper got his head stuck in a stair railing.
Up and down the street, I could hear doors opening, my family coming out of their houses to see what the ruckus was. For a second, I considered sending them into the woods to look for the shooter. But that could result in more werewolves with gunshot wounds. Or a hunter with wet pants.
“Does anyone know who was running with Samson today?” I yelled. A few of my relatives shook their heads. “Everybody go inside!” I barked. “Do a head count. Figure out who’s not here. Don’t come out until I come to you.”
Immediately, doors snapped shut, although I could still see a few of my aunts silhouetted against their windows.
After slipping on a latex glove, Dr. Moder probed the wound with her fingertip while I cringed. She pulled out a huge bottle of hydrogen peroxide and poured it into the wound. She pulled out a plastic-wrapped scalpel and forceps.
“I think the bullet probably missed his organs, but I need to open him up to make sure.”
I made an embarrassing squeaking noise. “You’re going to do this right here? On my front porch?”
Dr. Moder’s teeth were on edge as she said, “The bullet’s pretty deep. If I wait any longer, to give him anesthesia or get him to a sterile room, the wound will heal over, and I’ll have to open him up again to get it out. He stands less chance of infection and will heal faster if I get it now. Trust me, your cousin Wayne’s been shot by enough grumpy locals that I would know. Just try not to breathe too much on him.”
I gritted my teeth, blowing a breath out through my nostrils. I handed her the scalpel, which she used to widen the wound, dipping the forceps past the bloody ring of tissue and rooting around.
OK, I could handle a lot, but this was pretty gross. I tried to think of it as a game of Operation. And the only consequence of Dr. Moder screwing up would be a buzzing sound and Samson’s nose lighting up red.
Samson’s hand twitched as Dr. Moder’s instrument gripped the bullet. I threaded my fingers through his, willing the tears gathering at the corners of my eyes not to fall. How could this have happened? Other than my dad and Cousin Wayne, no one in the pack had been shot in years. We’d learned to shy away from any signs of hunters.
At this point, I didn’t care if it was just some dumb-ass tourist who wanted a scary trophy for his den. I wanted to rip him limb from limb. But Samson needed me here now. And I was doing well not to phase on the spot and start howling like a lunatic.
Dr. Moder pulled the bullet free, and I blew out a breath. The little hole in his skin was closing, pink and healthy and shiny, as Dr. Moder poured more antiseptic over it. Samson groaned.
“Let’s get him to the clinic,” Dr. Moder said. “Maybe call a few of the bigger cousins, ’cause it will take all of them to cart his heavy butt. And we’re going to need anyone with his blood type to come down to the clinic and donate. He’s lost a lot of blood. Come on, Maggie, let go of him and get moving.”
I shot an incredulous look at her. She put a light hand on my shoulder and shook me gently. “It’s OK, Mags. He’s going to be fine. You can let go of his hand.”
I looked down at our joined, stained hands, and gripped tighter.
Dr. Moder frowned. “Or . . . maybe not.”
THE NEXT FEW hours were among the longest of my life. I did a head count and was ridiculously grateful to find everyone accounted for, except for Clay, who had stayed late at the garage where he worked. I questioned my relatives. I called Nick, who didn’t understand my sudden need to check up on him while he was working from his place in Grundy. And even more confused when I told him to stay there until I came for him.
As I walked into the clinic, I felt as if I was moving through molasses. I felt helpless. I didn’t know what to do. And I hated it. No wonder Cooper ran from the responsibilities of running the pack. This feeling sucked.
“Sam?” I called softly. I poked my head into the sole treatment room at the clinic. Shirtless and swathed in gauze, Samson was propped against a pile of pillows, with a full gallon of Mom’s chicken noodle soup and a full pan of Mo’s triple chocolate brownies in front of him.
“I think you scared everybody pretty good,” I said.
“I’ll say,” he said, chewing happily. “There’s two more batches of brownies in the office. Mo was panic-baking. She and Cooper are going to stay the night. Cooper was, er, a little nervous.”
Some small voice in the back of my head balked at the idea of having Cooper and his family here. He’d brought them right into our mess. If there was still someone out there with their sights trained on the pack, Mo and the baby were in the crosshairs now. But of course, if I tried to send them away, Mo would just swing at me with some heavy piece of kitchen equipment. I made a mental note to search the clinic for tranquilizer darts.
“I’m really glad you’re OK,” I told him, pinning his eyes with my own. I wanted him to understand that I was having a rare moment of absolute seriousness. And of course, he responded by grinning at me through the chocolate like a toddler.
“That said.” I paused and then smacked the back of his head.
“Ow!” he yelped.
“What the hell were you thinking running alone? After I specifically told every member of the pack to use the buddy system,” I demanded. “No one had any idea you were out or where you were. What if you hadn’t made it back home? You could have bled out, in the woods, alone. Leaving behind the biggest fucking corpse the bears had ever seen. It took pints from me, Cooper, and Mom to get you up and going again. Pops tried to donate, and it took four of the uncles to keep him from sticking the needle in his own arm.”
“Maggie—” Samson started, before I smacked him again. “Ow!”
I crossed my arms over my chest to prevent further smacking. “Sorry, go ahead.”
“I got restless,” he admitted. “Clay is my running partner. And he said he couldn’t make it out today because he was working late. Sometimes you just have to phase and go, you know? I was just running along the edge of the valley. I heard a weird popping noise, then another, and wham, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.”