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Ryan grabbed Tommy with Alex’s help and they pulled his dead weight off Henry’s back, who stumbled away from them.

“The table, Joey,” Alex said sharply.

Without further direction, Joey holstered his gun and swept his arm across the poker table, sending chips, cards, and crystal glasses crashing to the floor.

The two men laid their brother out on the table. The sight of him in the lamplight made Ryan bite down on hisknuckles until they bled. Alex hissed and swore savagely under his breath.

Tommy was white as a sheet. Black blood soaked his pant leg, blooming from a gory, sticky wound on his thigh. He was wet with sweat, his fair hair dark with it and sticking to his forehead.

For one single, horrible instant, Ryan was back on the battlefield in France. But they’d survived. They’d both survived. A man didn’t survive the War to End All Wars just to come home and be gunned down on his own land, in his own city.

“Lindsay!” Ryan yelled as loud as he could.

But Lindsay was already coming, limping as fast as he could, the tap of his cane rattling up and down Ryan’s spine.

“Tommy.” Ryan leaned forward and began to slap Tommy’s cheeks lightly. He bent down until his face was nearly touching Tommy’s lips. Small breaths touched his cheek, which made his heart ache with hope.

“He’s alive.” Ryan stepped back as Lindsay approached.

“Oh God,” Lindsay said, smothering a groan. He dropped his cane and leaned against the table, checking Tommy’s pulse, his temperature, examining the wound. All the while his face grew whiter and whiter until his freckles were standing out in brilliant relief.

“What happened?” he asked in a shaking voice.

“A-Ambush,” Henry said behind them. Shaking like a leaf. Henry was the youngest of their crew, only nineteen years old.

“Ambush?” Ryan forced himself to relax his jaw after realizing he was grinding his teeth. “Ambushed by who?”

“I– I don’t know.” Henry took off his hat and wiped his forearm across his forehead. “There was a woman– She got out of the car. And then there was a– a sh-shotgun blast. They got Tommy in the leg.”

“The woman fire the shotgun?” Ryan said, eyebrows drawing together.

“N-No.” Henry shook his head and wiped his hands on his trousers. “No, th-this guy leaned out of the back window of the car.”

“They get you too?” Ryan said, nodding to the blood that had turned sticky down the side of Henry’s face.

“Think I’m alright,” said Henry, teeth clacking together. “I caught some of the spray on my scalp, I think, but that’s all. But Tommy, he’s not so good. He– He screamed. I got him in the car. Sandy ran away, I don’t know why. And Tommy– He just got quieter and quieter– I just didn’t know what to do!”

Ryan’s stomach clenched until he thought he would be sick. He looked at Lindsay, willing with all of his might for Lindsay to work a miracle like he’d done so many times, stitching bullet wounds and scraping shrapnel while the world imploded around them.

“How is he Linds?” Ryan said in a voice that was rising with fear, though he tried to keep himself calm. “He’s going to be alright, yes?”

Lindsay licked his lips then rolled them together. Shook his head and let his chin drop against his chest. When helooked up again at Ryan and then at Alex his eyes were glittering with tears. He said in a cracking voice, “No. He’s lost too much blood. His artery– They hit the artery in his leg.”

“Linds.” Ryan grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. “Linds you have to do something! You– They trained you, you know what to do for bullet wounds!”

“Ryan,” Lindsay said softly.

“No.” Ryan grabbed him by the front of the shirt. “So help me God, I’ll bust your other leg if you don’t do something!”

Hands came onto his arms. Henry and Joey pulling him away. Ryan struggled against them, rage and terror choking the air from his lungs.

“Ryan,” Lindsay said louder, more firmly, “he’s going now. Stop wasting your time–”

“I’m not wasting my time!” But nonetheless, he stopped fighting Henry and Joey. They let his arms go cautiously and he went to Tommy and took his hand, which Ryan noticed for the first time was blue. His lips, too, were blue. He was gasping for breath, each one coming further and further apart.

Ryan’s own breath was caught in his chest, each coming out in a shuddering, tangled mess. Something thick and sharp was stuck in his throat, making it almost impossible to swallow. Everything in the room dimmed around him–the light, the sound, even the sensation of holding Tommy’s hand that was frighteningly cold.

“Are you sure, Pony?” Alex asked in a voice that trembled with his effort to control himself.

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