Buying the Virgin novel Chapter 130

BETH

Michael, still running, throws himself bodily at Corby, in a desperate bid to take him down, to prevent the inevitable.

James and Charlotte both turn, see Corby. Charlotte’s eyes widen at the gunman as the pair turn, looking for cover. But, framed against the blank wall at the end of the room, there is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

James, almost calmly, seizes hold of Charlotte, swings and turns, places his body between her and Corby.

As Michael tackles the gunman, bringing him down, the gun fires. Corby’s aim has been knocked, and he fires low, but the bullet smashes into James and, crying out, agony on his face, he falls….

There is the hammer of bullets from all directions, and Corby drops, his body jerking and jumping, as one round after another punches into him from police weapons. Lying still, blood pools around him.

Charlotte is on her knees by James, tears streaming, shrieking denial, screaming as, her hands covered in blood, she scrabbles at him. But unconscious, he lies there, unmoving, blood spurting.

It’s a scene from a nightmare….

Corby fallen, lying in an expanding pool of blood, dead, under a hail of police bullets. Police in every quarter fired at him, bringing him down, jerking and jumping as he fell, but too late….

Michael, blond hair plastered to his skull, chest heaving, eyes wide in shock; not having been able to move fast enough to prevent Corby’s shot ….

My husband, Richard, yelling down his phone for urgent assistance….

James, protecting Charlotte with his body, deliberately taking the bullet meant for her, lying unconscious on the ground, brought down by the single round Corby managed to fire. And his blood; so much blood, spurting, even through the small bullet-hole in his clothes, to a pulse-beat from his thigh.

And Charlotte…. dropped to her knees, besides James, her clothes soaked in his blood, more blood splashed over her face, weeping and shrieking denial, scrabbling at him in utter, hysterical panic.

And now, Michael is there. “Charlotte, don’t fall apart now! This is not the time.”

She keeps screaming, tears streaming, drawing trails through her blood-spattered cheeks.

Michael slaps her, hard, across the face. “He’s just taken a bullet for you,” he says, his voice cold. “An artery’s been cut. If we don’t stop the bleeding, he’s got minutes. Through everything that’s happened, you’ve kept your head. Don’t lose it now. Keep thinking straight, for him.”

As though a curtain draws over her face, she calms, her breathing rapid, her stare, blank.

Face immobile, voice empty of expression, “What do I have to do?”

He takes her hand, pressing it against James’ thigh. “Press there, hard, and keep pressing.” He turns to Richard. “We need medical help fast.”

My husband, phone still pressed to his ear, nods. “There’s an air ambulance on its way.…”

“He’s cold,” says Charlotte, touching James’ face with her free hand. “Clammy almost.”

Michael nods. “Shock,” he mutters, checking James’ pulse. “His heart’s racing…. and his breathing…. Jeez….” He swings back to my husband. “Richard, how long for that ambulance?”

“Five minutes. I’m talking with the medics on board. Talk to me. They’ve got questions. I’ll relay them.”

“Shoot…”

“They’re asking what medical training you have?”

“I’m a first-aider for a fitness centre. I’m not trained for this….”

The two keep talking, Michael tersely answering questions between instructions to Charlotte and others.

Charlotte, normally pale, is white, her own breathing rapid and shallow. Michael strips off his shirt, ripping it apart, folding the shreds and passing a pad of fabric to Charlotte. “When I say, lift your hand. I’ll push this in there, and then press down again hard.”

She nods. “What is it I’m doing?”

“Blocking the flow of blood to the wound, from the side nearest his heart. One, two, three… now!”

She lifts her hand and he pushes the pad into place. “Press again, now. As hard as you can.”

Michael scans the room. “That chair. Yes, that one… bring it over.” I fetch the chair, and Michael lifts the unconscious James’ feet up onto the seat….

“Two minutes,” says Richard.

A tension-ridden silence falls, the blood-ridden Charlotte staring at Michael. Her tears have dried, but her voice is weeping. “Don’t let him die….”

His eyes meet hers. “He’s my friend too.”

And…. at last…. the sound of rotor blades outside.

Richard charges out, to guide in the medics. Two immediately attend James. One tries to fuss over Charlotte, but she brushes him off irritably.

“It’s not her blood,” explains Michael, voice curt.