The door, which Dandy had not closed all the way in his haste to depart, slid open with a snick, and Jim stepped inside. He stayed where he was, immobile except for his eyes, which were surveying and cataloging the scene.

His peripheral vision picked up movement, and he crouched and whirled, one hand on his weapon.

It was Dan O'Brian, pulling himself painfully to his feet, looking bloody, bruised, confused, and dazed.

"Dan!" Jim said incredulously. "What the hell?"

And then a second sound made them both jump. One of the bodies on the floor moved, groaned, whimpered. Jim leapt forward, hurdling the piles of pulled-out books and pushing the overturned table in an effort to reach Ruthe Bauman. Landing next to her, he pressed two fingers against her throat. "Son of a bitch!"

"What's the matter, Jim?" Dandy said from the porch.

"Ruthe's still alive!"

"She can't be!"

"Didn't you check for life signs?"

"I—" Dandy was at a loss. "I didn't even go in after I opened the door. I saw them both lying there covered in blood and Dan standing over them. I thought they were dead. Jesus, Jim, I'm—"

"Never mind that now. Back the truck around!"

He checked Dina's body just to be sure. No pulse, no breath sounds. She was dead, a graceless heap of brittle bone and sagging flesh, her thinning white hair disarranged from its usual neat roll. Her jaw was slack, her mouth a little open. He pulled out his radio, but of course he was out of range. He cursed Dandy for not checking for signs of life more thoroughly, for losing so much precious time in getting Ruthe to help. He cursed himself, too, steadily and out loud, for not bringing the Bell Jet Ranger on this trip.

"Jim?"

"Shut up, Dan."

"Jim, I don't have to say I didn't have anything to do with this."

Jim agonized over whether to move Ruthe, who was on her side, unconscious, colorless, and clammy and who was bleeding from several wounds, including a continuous horrific gash across her breasts.

"Jim?"

"Shut up, Dan. Now." There was no blood coming from her mouth or her nose, so he took the chance and rolled her onto her back to bind her wounds as best he could with dish towels from the kitchen.

"The truck's backed around," Dandy said from the door. He looked like he was going to puke.

"Not in here," Jim said, pointing outside, and Dandy went gladly.

"You'll need something to carry her out on." Dan's voice was steadier, and when Jim looked at him, he seemed back on balance. "Kitchen table?"

It was on its side and one of the legs was broken off. Dan broke off the other three and he and Jim carefully maneuvered a cocooned Ruthe to the top of it. It was a small table, thankfully, but all the same, Jim skinned a knuckle getting it through the door. The stairs were a blasphemous negotiation, but they got the table and Ruthe into the back of the Explorer by putting the backseat down. Jim packed in everything he could find, pillows, bolsters, the cushions from the chairs and couch, anything to keep Ruthe from rolling with the motion of the vehicle. He piled the blankets high and checked her pulse again. Still fast and thready. Her skin hadn't warmed; and she still felt clammy.