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I started the day with a prayer that help would arrive before nightfall, but by noon I was getting a little frantic about Tom's condition. He wasn't waking up much at all. He didn't want to eat or drink anything. When he stirred, I gave him pain meds if they were due but, otherwise, I let him rest. It worried me that he was sleeping almost continuously. That seemed like a bad sign to me, but there was nothing I could think of to do about it. It was still snowing, but it seemed to have slowed down. That could just be wishful thinking on my part.
I filled pages of the journal with everything I could remember about the observation location and what I saw there before the shooting started. Details about finding the gun took up another page.
There was a detailed to-do list for setting up Cryptid Coffee inside Hairy's. There was a detailed supply order, as well as ideas for a grand opening celebration. Once I exhausted that topic, I moved on to the museum. I liked Chance's idea of putting it downtown on Main Street, but I had no idea what rents were like in Wilkins' Gap. Checking that out was one item on my to-do list.
The fleece Tom had been wearing when he was shot was now minus half a sleeve, but the wound seemed to be stabilized. Tom didn't run a fever, but he slept. I was glad that he wasn't in so much pain that it kept him awake, but I was starting to worry about him.
I kept eating and drinking regularly. I had to keep my strength up to take care of Tom. Though I had nothing but time to think, I couldn't come up with any explanation that tied up everything that happened in a nice neat package. There were too many unanswered questions. Was Tom's shooting deliberate or accidental? If someone was shooting at us, had they followed us? If so why? We're Jim and Chance in danger. Fudge. Maybe that's why the radio wasn't working. Now I had to worry that something might have happened to them too. We're the people shooting at us after the location of the BFFam? If they were, they didn't need to shoot us. Once they found the location, they could have returned at any point.
Then there was the whole situation with the gun we found. Was it the gun that shot Tom? If it was, where was its owner? Who broke the gun and why? Why was it setting by a tree? Did someone leave it there and forget it?
Too many questions and no answers that made sense to me.
I was exhausted, so I had to spend more time on my feet to keep from falling asleep. When my alarm sounded at 9:00 PM, I pulled out the radio and tried again to reach Chance, this time the connection was a lot better.
"Chance, can you hear me?"
"I hear you, City Girl. What's going on?"
"Tom's been shot. He's alive, but he needs medical care. The bullet’s lodged in his right shoulder. He's sleeping almost all the time. and I don't know..." I broke down in sobs. "I'm sorry, I just need help. OK."
"I'm here, Everly," Chance said, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I realized he was standing there in front of me.
"You're real, right? I'm not hallucinating or dreaming or anything."
"Well, I'm glad to know you dream about me, City Girl. But we're really here."
I looked over his shoulder and saw Jim walking into camp. They were both wearing strange looking snowshoes. I stood up and hugged Chance as tight as I could and then hugged Jim too. "I can't believe you're really here. I'll tell you everything but check on Tom first. I'm getting really worried about him. He slept pretty much all day."
Chance dropped his pack and unfastened his snowshoes before crawling into the tent. Jim dropped his pack and came to put his arm around me.
"How are you?"
"Better now that you guys are here? Do you know if SAR's on the way? I think Tom needs to get to a hospital soon."
"Chance will fill you in. Can I do anything for you, while he checks on Tom?"
"This is good," I said, pulling his arm around my shoulders.