“Looking for you. He ran out onto the stage, into the gunshots.” The horror of the words he’d just spoken hit him hard. I was here; his father was not.
“Listen to me.” I grasped his shirt and pulled him close. “I need you to lead this group out the exit doors in the back. Find someplace safe for them. Jess won’t be happy. Tell her I’ll be right back.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Find your dad.”
He nodded, in no position to resist.
I backed away from the door, pushing Jess through the opening and, as she was swallowed up by the others escaping, she grabbed for my hand. I didn’t take it.
“No. No, Quinn.”
“I’m coming after I get everyone in. Go.”
Her objections could be heard even after Grace and Elliott and a flood of other bodies pushed her forward. I prayed Evan was doing his job and dragging her away. More people crammed through the door on the side of the stage, hopefully on their way out of the stadium and headed toward safety. But me? I walked away from that.
I didn’t know what it was or why I had to go back, but I just did. Instinctively, I knew he’d been shot, that he needed help, that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let him die. The only positive to searching for Tucker was I knew exactly where he’d gone. To the stage, looking for me. And that was where I found him, bleeding out from a bullet wound to the leg. He’d managed to drag himself behind one of the amps and had carved out a nice little hiding spot for himself. Resourceful Tucker had already fashioned a tourniquet out of his belt by the time I arrived.
And I eyed another favorite accessory of his. “Good god, Tucker, tell me that’s not your handkerchief?”
He’d tied it around the wound, stemming the flow of blood.
“As it turns out, I have everything I need to survive a gunshot wound except an extra leg to walk on.” His eyes settled on my chest and his face twisted. “Oh, dammit, Quinn. What are you doing here? You’ve got to get to an ambulance. I’ll be fine. Go.”
“I’m going now. With you,” I said, scanning the stage. “Do you know what happened to the guys?”
“Mike and Matty ducked out of the right side of the stage where I was standing. I didn’t see Brandon, but I assume he went left. I saw you go down and was trying to get to you, but then this happened.” Tucker grabbed my arm. “Did you see Evan?”
“Yes. Under the stage. He’s fine.”
Tucker exhaled, relieved. “That’s where I told him to go.”
“Yeah, well, he saved a lot of people opening that door under the stage. He has Jess and Grace.”
“Smart kid, that one.”
“He is. You did a good job with him, Tucker.”
“Considering.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that but didn’t have time to ponder. Even though the shooting had stopped several minutes ago, the situation still seemed unstable, like it could explode at any moment. With great effort, I wrapped my arm around Tucker and lifted him up onto his one good foot and together we hobbled backstage—where no one was left but us.
We made it out the back exits only to be met with chaos: eighteen thousand concertgoers trying to escape. Cops were already there, moving people away from the arena, but it was still too early in the disaster to have triage stations set up or safe areas to huddle. You just had to keep moving and hope you survived.
We were moving for a good ten minutes when we heard a familiar voice.
“Tucker!” Evan called out, breathless and red-faced. Clearly he’d been running around the backlot searching for us. His eyes zeroed in on his father’s leg before he walked up to Tucker and threw an arm around him, hugging him tight.
“Jess? Grace?” I asked.
“Both fine, but dude, you’ve got some groveling to do. Jess isnothappy with you… at all. Maybe chocolates might help. She thought you were following right behind. It took everything I had to keep her and Grace from going back.”
I nodded, and the motion set my head swirling. I stumbled.
“Evan, help me get him to the curb.”
“No. I want to get to Jess. I’m good. Let’s go.”
