To move them.
"Off my property."
Nadine stood there.
Gus sagged against her.
"Please, Mr. Sloan."
"I said move."
She refused.
Sloan grabbed her shoulder.
He shoved.
Nadine lost her balance.
Gus fell with her.
They hit the gravel.
The tourniquet shifted.
Blood began flowing again.
Nadine immediately crawled toward Gus.
She retightened the belt.
Her hands were shaking.
But they worked.
Sloan stood above them.
"Off my land."
Nadine looked up.
Something inside her had changed.
She was too tired to be afraid.
She was too angry to cry.
She looked at him.
"His name is Gus."
Sloan said nothing.
Nadine's voice became strangely calm.
"And you're going to be sorry you did this."
Then she stood.
She got Gus upright.
And she left.
The Second Mile
The second mile was the one Nadine would never be able to explain.
Her body had already given everything it had.
Her arms no longer felt like arms.
Her legs were numb.
Her shoulders screamed.
But she kept moving.
Ten steps.
Stop.
Listen for Gus's breathing.
Get up.
Ten more.
Stop.
Again.
At some point, Nadine began singing.
It was an old song her mother used to sing while washing dishes.
Nadine wouldn't remember the name later.
She wasn't singing for Gus.
She was singing for herself.
The rhythm gave her feet something to follow.
The sun disappeared behind the ridge.
The temperature dropped.
Gus began shivering.
Nadine remembered that the Red Cross instructor had said shivering could be dangerous.
She took off her coat.
She wrapped it around him.
Then she continued in her shirt sleeves.
Halfway through the second mile, she saw something beside an old stone wall.
A garden cart.
Rusty.
One flat tire.
Probably abandoned for years.
Nadine almost cried with relief.
She dragged it into the road.
Getting Gus into it was another battle.
But finally he was inside.
His boots hung over the side.
The cart groaned beneath his weight.
The flat tire barely turned.
Nadine grabbed the handles.
She pushed.
The cart moved.
Slowly.
Crookedly.
But it moved.
Nadine cried as she pushed.
There was nobody there to see.
She cried and pushed.
The sky went completely black.
She pushed.
The road climbed.
She pushed.
Then, finally, a light appeared ahead.
Baudry's Country Store.
One gas pump.
One old payphone.
One screen door.
Nadine pushed the cart through the entrance.
A woman behind the counter looked up.
Nadine could barely speak.
"Call 911."
She pointed toward Gus.
"He's dying."
She swallowed.
"His name is Gus."
Then Nadine collapsed onto the wooden floor beside him.
Twenty Minutes
The ambulance arrived.
Paramedics rushed inside.
They worked on Gus immediately.
Nadine sat against the wall, shaking uncontrollably.
Blood covered her hands.
Her forearms were scratched.
Her coat was wrapped around a stranger.
She was exhausted beyond words.
Later, one of the paramedics told her the truth.
Gus Carras had perhaps twenty minutes left when she found him.
Maybe less.
If Nadine had walked toward the highway to find a signal, he probably wouldn't have survived.
She had not saved him with sophisticated equipment.
She had not saved him with money.
She had not saved him with strength.
She had simply refused to leave him where he had fallen.
She had given him two miles.
And those two miles had been enough.
What Nadine didn't know was that Gus Carras was not an ordinary stranger.
The club knew him as Diesel.