Battle Ground (The Dresden Files #17) - Jim Butcher Page 0,86

at him, to take the gun out of his hand—but I didn’t.

I looked at my arm. I told it to rise. It ignored me. I couldn’t tell what was going on behind the cloud of static flooding my nervous system. Christ, that was the shoulder I’d dislocated, again. Without being able to sense the pain of the injury, I hadn’t noticed.

“Rudolph!” Murphy said, her voice cracking with authority. “We’re trying to help you. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, man, at least take your finger off the trigger.”

Rudolph swung the weapon back to Murphy and began to shriek in a high-pitched voice, pushing the gun forward for emphasis. “I don’t need you to—”

The gun went off.

The emptied rocket launcher fell to the street with a metallic clatter, splattered with scarlet.

Murphy dropped like a stone.

Chapter

Twenty-two

Rudolph stood there, shocked at the sudden noise. He stared at the gun. Then at Murphy. “What? What?”

“Medic!” I screamed, rushing forward. “Medic! Medic!”

Murphy lay on the street behind her motorcycle. One knee had bent so that she was lying on her lower leg. The emptied rocket launcher was still rocking where it fell.

I knelt over her. Her eyes were open wide as she stared up.

The fire of the Eye flared again, briefly turned the world scarlet.

I didn’t care.

I ripped her jacket and shirt open.

The bullet had gone into her neck, a quarter of an inch above her Kevlar vest. It hadn’t gone straight through. It had begun tumbling when it hit and had come out under and behind her left ear, leaving a trail of ravaged flesh in its wake. Blood came out as from a fountain.

“Karrin,” I said. “Oh God.”

I ripped the duster off, tore my shirt in my haste to get it off over my head, wrapped it into a pad, and put pressure on the gaping wound. As long as I didn’t try to move it at the shoulder, my injured arm functioned a little. I could use both hands. “Medic!”

There was so much blood. It soaked my shirt through.

I heard footsteps running toward us.

“Karrin, I’m here,” I said. “Help is coming. Hang on.”

She coughed blood.

“Harry,” she said.

Her lips went red with blood when she said my name.

Her voice was ragged.

“I’m here,” I said. It was hard to see her. The world had gone blurry. “I’m here.”

The blood was making a pool around her golden hair.

The running footsteps came to a sudden stop.

Murphy made a couple of gurgling, choking sounds.

I looked up to see Waldo Butters standing ten feet away, staring at Murphy.

His face said everything.

“No,” I said. “No, no, no, Karrin? Come on, Karrin.”

She looked up at me for a second, and the corners of her eyes wrinkled as she smiled weakly. Her face had gone grey. Her lips were blue. “Not from you. I like Murph from you.”

“Okay,” I said. I could barely choke the words. “Murph.”

She reached across her chest and weakly touched my hand with hers.

“Harry,” she said. “I lov—”

Her eyes were on mine, and I couldn’t look away. I felt the soulgaze begin.

And I saw the flame of a candle go out.

Her eyes emptied. Just emptied, like the windows of an abandoned house. One moment, her body had been gasping for breath, straining, her face full of pain and confusion.

Then . . .

It was just an empty house.

“No,” I said. “No, no, no.”

I bent over her. Airway, breathing, circulation. I opened her mouth, tried to make sure it was clear. But it was pooled with blood.

I couldn’t see her then. Was weeping. I bent over her anyway, breathed into her mouth.

“Harry,” Butters said. His voice creaked.

I breathed in five deep breaths, tasted blood. “Keep the pressure!”

Butters knelt down, his body moving on autopilot, his face stunned. He put his hands over the pad, and I did compressions.

On an empty house.

I leaned down to breathe for Murphy again. Then more compressions.

“Harry,” Butters said. “Harry.”

Five breaths. Compressions. It was hard work. In a couple of minutes I felt dizzy as hell.

“Harry, you can’t,” Butters said. “You can’t.”

“Come on!” I screamed. “Murph, come on!”

I breathed for her again.

I broke her rib on the next compression.

But it didn’t matter.

It was nothing but an empty house.

I felt Butters put his hands on my wrists. He drew them gently away. “Harry,” he said, his voice thick. “Harry, even if she’d been on a table when it happened . . .”

I didn’t look away from her face. From her eyes.

I’d been too afraid to soulgaze Murph. Everyone who had done that with me had seen something that