The kids were behind her. If the shooter fired, if the bullet went through Iris, and then Maggie was moving. 74 years old, diabetic, arthritic. A woman who'd spent 47 years healing bullet wounds, not stopping them. She lunged off the picnic table bench throwing herself toward Iris with a speed that defied physics and age and common sense.
Her small body covered the distance in three running steps. The gunmen fired. The 9 mm round, 124 grains of lead and copper jacket, left the barrel at 1,150 ft per second. It traveled 15 ft in 0.013 seconds. In that impossible sliver of time, Maggie's body positioned itself between the bullet and Iris.
The round struck her upper left chest, 2 in below the clavicle. Entry wound clean, no exit. The bullet tore through muscle, grazed the pericardium of her heart, collapsed her left lung, and lodged against her T4 vertebra. The impact drove her backward. Her head struck the edge of a concrete planter as she fell.
Compound trauma. Penetrating chest wound plus severe concussion plus shock. She hit the ground and didn't move. The world went silent. Or maybe Cole went deaf.
He couldn't hear the screaming anymore. Couldn't hear the engines as the sedans peeled out tires, smoking gunmen jumping back in and fleeing before the police arrived. He could only see Maggie on the ground. Blood spreading dark and fast across her sweater. Iris kneeling beside her, hands already moving to apply pressure to the wound, her nursing training overriding her terror.
Cole ran, covered the distance in seconds that felt like years. Dropped to his knees in Maggie's blood. "Maggie? Maggie, stay with me. " Her eyes opened, unfocused. Pupils unequal sign of head trauma.
Blood bubbled at her lips when she tried to breathe, punctured lung forcing blood into airways. "Don't talk. Ambulance is coming. " She tried anyway. The words came out wet, broken. "Iris, she Okay. " Cole looked up.
Iris was there, blood covered but whole. "She's fine. You saved her. You saved my daughter. " Doc Strauss pushed through the crowd, his medical bag already open. He took one look at Maggie and his face went gray.
"Gunshot wound left chest. Bullet lodged, no exit. Pneumothorax, listen. " He put his ear to her chest. Decreased breath sounds left side. Lung collapsed.
Head trauma, unequal pupils. She's going into shock. He pulled out bandages, started packing the wound. His hands moved with practiced precision, but Cole could see the fear in his eyes. This wasn't a good wound.
This was the kind of wound people died from. Iris leaned over Maggie, gripping her hand. "Ba Maggie, stay with us, please. Chau needs you. " Maggie's eyes found Iris. Focused for just a moment.
The faintest smile touched her lips. "Con gai," she whispered. "My daughter. " Then her eyes rolled back and she went limp. "She's unresponsive," Doc barked. "Pulse thready.
BP's crashing. Where the hell is that ambulance? " As if summoned by his desperation, sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. Portland Fire had a 4-minute response time to this district. They'd make it in three. Cole held Maggie's hand.
It was so small. How had someone so small carried him through the valley of death 33 years ago? How had this tiny woman just taken a bullet meant for his daughter? "Don't you dare," he whispered. "Don't you dare die.
Not like this. Not after everything. You don't get to save my life and then my daughter's life and then just die in a park. That's not how this ends. " The ambulance screamed into the park, paramedics jumping out before it fully stopped. They saw the blood, the wound, the veteran kneeling in a pool of red holding an old woman's hand, and they moved with the particular urgency reserved for the worst cases.
"Sir, we need room to work. " Cole didn't let go. "Sir, please. Let us help her. " Iris touched his shoulder. "Dad, let them do their job. " He released Maggie's hand, stood, watched them work. Oxygen mask, pressure bandages, IV lines threading into her arms.
Watched them load her onto a backboard with a neck collar because the head trauma was severe enough that spinal injury was possible. The lead paramedic, a woman maybe 40 with kind eyes and capable hands, looked at Doc. You medical? Retired physician. Gunshot wound to left chest, lodged bullet, collapsed lung, severe head trauma from fall.
She's 74, diabetic, hypertensive. She's critical. We're taking her to St. Mary's trauma. OR is standing by.
They loaded Maggie into the ambulance. Cole moved to climb in. Sir, are you family? I'm her family. The paramedic looked at him.
This big man covered in an old woman's blood, his eyes wild with fear and fury, and nodded. Get in, but stay out of our way. Iris appeared at his elbow. Dad, I'll follow with Garrett. Go.
Stay with her. He kissed his daughter's forehead, tasted salt and fear, and climbed into the ambulance. The doors slammed shut. Sirens wailed. The world outside became a blur of lights and speed.