The Sound of Their Presence

Chapter Thirty Three: Not My Blood

Shane's POV:

    "What the h*ll happened to you?!" I exclaim when Cheyenne has to drag herself out of the elevator, drenched in blood. The once snow white robe that loosely fits her form is covered in patches of deep red. Where the blood spots aren't as highy concentrated, the fabric is pinkish.

    "Help- help me . . ." she trails off. I grab Cheyenne under the arms and pull her to her feet. When she automatically collapses back to the polished white floor again, spattering blood over the large tiles, I pull her back up. I carry her to her room, one of my arms under Cheyenne's neck, the other under legs, so that I cradle her.

    "Keys?" I ask as gently as possible.

     "Top of the door frame," I should have known.

     I lower her to her thick quilts, and grab the first aid kit from under  the bathroom sink in her hotel room. 

    "Where are you hurt?" I press. When Cheyenne's hands flail to the middle of her back, I know the location. I roll her over, so she is face down in the hotel pillows, backside up. I pull the top half of her robe down, so the all that is revealed of her body is her injury. 

     A silver arrow head sticks out of her shredded flesh, about an inch and a half to the left of her spinal cord. The shaft must of broken off, and I know that not only will I have to remove the arrowhead from her back, but massive splinters.

    I have neither the resources, medication for pain and infection, or time for the procedures required for her injuries. I suppose ice would have to suffice. I go for my pen knife, a pair of tweezers, and a needle laced with dental floss, which was my version of stitches when there was a lack of materials.

    Time for work-

    "It isn't all my blood!" Cheyenne musters.

    "What do you mean?"

     "Hunters- Miranda is dead. VIncent-"

     "Ok, we will worry about them later. For the moment, you need somthing to bite down on. We can't have you screaming-"