Escort the girls

You can’t send these girls off on their own. Three of them were drunk not so long ago, and no one is at her best. Karen is hurt badly.

You bend to pick up the gun on the ground. You’ve seen shotguns like this in movies.

“Can you use this?” you ask Roxy.

“Guess I’ll have to,” she says, taking it from you and racking it.

“Get them downstairs. Carry her if you have to. I have to get Lisey’s keys, and I’ll bring the car to the door.”

“OK. Watch yourself,” she says.

“Yeah. Lisey! Help them,” you order, pointing at the others. “Are your keys in your room?”

“Yes. OK. Oh my god,” Lisey says, her eyes widening.

You push past her and head down the hallway with Sissy’s revolver in your hand.

The keys are exactly where you expect to find them: on Lisey’s desk beside her purse. Lisey’s car is a big station wagon. You figure that you might need the extra room for a wounded person.

There isn’t time to get dressed. You grab the keys and head back out, cautiously looking in either direction before taking the nearest staircase down. You turn on lights as you go. The attacker might be injured from the bash you gave her, and she has no weapon now. She’s probably already long gone, but your nerves are shot. You are terrified.

You rush out the front door into the cold, looking around into the dark. The rustling of the trees in the night hits differently now as you rush to Lisey’s wagon and unlock the doors, climbing in and starting the engine. The headlights pierce the black as you turn it around and bring it to the house. You put it in park and leave it running, climbing out and leaving the door open to jog up the stairs and into the foyer.

The others are helping Karen down, not quite carrying her, but every time Karen moves, she whimpers pitifully. She looks horribly pale. Jesus.

You rush in to help. It’s not easy getting her out the door and into the car, half-laid across the backseat with Kris and Lisey holding her.

Roxy jumps into the passenger seat beside you. The doors slam shut.

CCL House glows in the dark. The front door stands open. You don’t care.

You slam the wagon into gear and floor it, sliding out onto the driveway. You have to make a choice. Gurlberg has no hospital. You have to go to the next town to reach an ER. That’ll take more than twenty minutes, even driving fast.

Or you can take her to Gurlberg Police Department. The dispatcher there can call the local doctor, and he can rush over. That will be faster, but without knowing the severity of the wound, you worry that your small town doctor might not be able to stabilize Karen.

But you’re approaching the end of the driveway. Left will take you into town, and right will take you toward the highway to the next town.

Get Karen to the hospital that’s more than twenty minutes away?

Or take her to the police station that’s only five minutes away?