He moved before he could think, pushing his hands down to her shoulders and tackling her to the ground of the clinic as the gentle clink of breaking glass accompanied the crack of ignition. He felt her under him, a confusing melange of instincts, turning on the splitting of a single second as the context of the moment evolved.
He held her still, her squirming beneath him further muddying his reaction to what had sounded, and looked down into her face for a single, clear, time-stopping moment. “Hush,” he instructed.
And she did.
He watched her as he quickly ran his hands down her sides, feeling for injury. Feeling more than he accounted for, one way or another.
“You’re bleeding,” she whispered. “Not me.”
“I’m not,” he protested, looking down at himself, shocked to see a blossom of blood just under his left arm, a streak soaking through his jacket. He released a hiss of annoyance, shaking his head slightly, and listened again to see if more shots were coming.
“Stay here,” he said, searching her face for assent before he climbed off.
She gave a short, jerking nod and stayed on the floor as he lifted himself up, bunching up the fabric against his ribs as he inched toward the door.
He pulled his lips tight and whistled through his teeth, pressing his body tight against the thickest part of the wall, trying to see through the two windows nearest to him, though one was now glinting oddly through the little hole that had been made in it.
After a moment, one of the patrolmen whistled back. His footsteps drew closer and rapped against the door, which Roland then wrenched open, pulling back and allowing both men to come inside, sweaty and panting.
“Just a warning shot,” the first immediately blurted out. “Scared them off.”
“A warning shot,” Roland repeated sharply. “Into the clinic? You could have shot a patient. You could have killed someone.”
“I shot into the air,” the other man said, ragged and proffering his gun, which was still sizzling at the muzzle. “There was a ricochet on the scaffolding for that new staircase. One-in-a-thousand chance.”
“One in a thousand can still kill someone!” Roland snarled. “You are dismissed. Leave.”
“But, sir,” he protested.
“Live rounds were never approved,” he snapped, taking a step forward. “I did not even know you had a pistol. Even if you had shot a student, can you imagine the hell you would have rained down on this place? If you had harmed some pampered prince with a Cambridge diploma and a bag full of cow guts?!”
The patrolman looked suddenly a decade younger than he had when he came in through the door, wide-eyed and stammering. The pistol sagged at his side, his face gone white.
“You could have been hanged,” Roland whispered. “For that ricochet. For that one-in-a-thousand mishap, but only if it had hit someone important. Lucky for you, it only hit me.”
Both patrolmen stared. For a moment, no one moved.
“I changed my mind,” said Roland. “Stay. Finish your shift. You will not err again.”
“I won’t,” said the lad. “I won’t, sir.”
“No,” he agreed, snatching the pistol from his hand and slamming it on a nearby sideboard. “You won’t. Get back out there.”
They snapped to straight posture, nodding with gratitude through their ashen faces and sweaty brows, and scrambled back out into the night.
Roland kicked the door shut behind them, shaking his head in disgust.
“Roland,” Mae said, bringing his attention back around to where she was still sitting on the floor, her yellow skirts spread out around her like a buttercup. “It probablydidscare them off. Maybe for good.”
He tilted his head to the side, allowing that this was a fair point. “Perhaps. But he still shot me.”
“Oh my God,” she said, slapping her hands to the ground and shoving herself up to her feet in a tangled scramble of yellow skirts. “Oh my God! Let me see. Sit down! Take the jacket off. Oh my God!”
He looked down at it, dropping the crumpled and bloody fabric from his fist and smoothing it to get an idea of the damage done. It was clear, even without removing his jacket, that he hadn’t been actually punctured by the bullet. His clothes were slashed where it had flown against his ribs.
“Just a graze,” he said, blinking down at the way the blood had started to seep out again, marveling at how he could not feel it.
“Oh my God!” she shouted again, suddenly directly in front of him and gripping him by the collar. “Sitdown!”
