Without Mercy - Lisa Jackson [57]
“Shut up, Tobias!” Ayres’s eyes flashed angrily. “Trent did the right thing. This boy needs to get to a hospital, fast.”
Lynch argued, “But there’s a protocol.”
“Screw protocol!” The nurse’s face was beet red with fury. “This kid’s got a broken ulna and radius, a helluva head injury, and God only knows what else inside!” She shook her head in disgust. “Let’s not have a student die on us if we can help it. Especially while we’re discussing protocol.”
Lynch cupped his chin in one hand and closed his eyes in surrender. “Fine.”
Disgusted, Ayres turned to Trent. “We need to get him warmed up and stabilized until the medevac copter gets here. We need a backboard and oxygen from the clinic. Yes, it would be easier on him to bring those things here. Oh, and I can start an IV line.”
“We could drive him to the nearest hospital,” Lynch suggested, beginning to understand the severity of the situation.
“Two hours away? With a head wound?” Again she pinned Trent in her stare. “You’re sure they’re sending a helicopter?”
“I told them it was necessary. No other quick way in here.”
“Those flights get grounded in foul weather, and there’s already some snow falling, a storm predicted.” Flannagan strode to the windows where the first streaks of gray light penetrated the night sky.
Ayres took charge. “Then phone again.” She sent a killing glare up at Lynch. “Better yet, since you’re the director, you handle it. You call nine-one-one.” She reached into her first-aid kit as Lynch, no longer arguing, found the phone. “If they’re on their way, we’ll get him on a board and stretcher and wheel him over to the helipad.” She pointed to Flannagan. “What the hell are you waiting for? I need that backboard, blankets, and oxygen. STAT!”
“You got ’em!” Flannagan was out the door as fast as he’d swept in.
Lynch was already dialing 911. Within seconds he was connected. “This is Reverend Tobias Lynch,” he said solemnly. “I’m calling to check on the status of a life flight to Blue Rock Academy.”
The reverend sounded cooler than he looked, Trent thought as he watched Ayres place a tourniquet around Drew’s arm and swab it, searching for a vein to start an IV line. At least Ayres seemed to know her job.
“Yes, I’ll hold,” Lynch said as the door opened again.
This time Jacob McAllister strode in. His face was set and hard, all the boyish charm he usually radiated cut off.
“What happened?” he said, dropping to a knee at Prescott’s side.
“They’re on their way?” Ayres asked without looking up from the procedure, not giving the young preacher an answer.
“The dispatcher says it’s in progress.” Lynch cringed when he dared to look down at the boy, who was still hanging on, his skin pallid.
“How did this happen?” McAllister demanded.
“We don’t know,” Trent said.
Lynch was shaking his head. “Why would he be here alone? And naked?”
Trent scowled as he thought. “Was he alone? I wouldn’t bet on it.” He met the questions in McAllister’s eyes.
“Oh, dear God, there could be others,” Lynch whispered, running a shaking hand over his neatly combed hair, mussing it, no doubt his thoughts on the reputation of the school.
Creeeaaak!
The unworldly sound again. Like a ghost moaning.
Trent felt a whisper of dread crawl up his spine.
“What’s that?” Lynch stepped back, squinting up toward the opening to the hayloft.
A knot in his gut, Trent was already on the first rung of the ladder.
Was someone else in the loft?
Injured?
Oh, hell.
He climbed, his boots ringing through the stable, one of the horses letting out a worried neigh. The minute he hoisted himself into the upper story, he knew something was wrong. He looked down. Yeah, obviously Drew had fallen through the opening around the ladder; blood showed on the rough edge of the board where the kid had hit his head when falling through. And there was more—evidence of someone being dragged through the scattered straw.
What the hell had gone on here?
Who had Drew met? Or had the kid walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to see?
He stepped closer to the stacked