“My room.”
They made it to the third floor without any further conversation as Mama Porter was too out of breath to talk and Tucker was too scared. Maryn hadn’t awakened through the cold ride back to the house, all the screaming from Mama Porter, or Tuck carrying her up here.
“Wait!” Mama forced out. “Don’t set her down yet.”
She ran into his bathroom and returned with a stack of clean sheets. Yanking down the bedspread and comforter she spread out several sheets. “We’ll be able to remove them as they get…” Her face paled as she gazed at Maryn. “Soiled.”
Tucker nodded and gently laid Maryn on her right side. Her back and left side were raked with long rips from the bears claws. The jacket and shirt were dug into the wounds and blood was everywhere. Luckily there were no gashes on her right or her abdomen. His fingers went to her neck. Her pulse was there, but too slow and faint for his liking. She had to be half-frozen too. He grabbed one of the clean sheets and pressed against her lower back to stop the bleeding.
“Is there time to get her to the hospital?” Mama Porter asked.
The closest hospital was Rexburg, which was a better medical choice than West Yellowstone, but almost a two hour drive in decent weather. “Snow’s too thick. We can’t risk getting stuck or taking too long to get her help. She might… bleed out. I think it’s safer to let Brax doctor her. He’s good at stitching.” As long as she didn’t have any internal injuries. Curse living in such a remote location and curse this snow. There was no way an ambulance or life flight would be getting through.
Mama Porter nodded. “She must be freezing. We’ve got to get her out of those clothes.” She darted a glance at him. “You can’t help, it will be unseemly.”
Tucker rolled his eyes. “I think an emergency situation negates social propriety, Mama.” He tucked the sheet around her waist, bent down and gently removed Maryn’s high-heeled boots, and then peeled off her wet socks. Her feet were white and felt like ice blocks. Tuck rubbed her feet while they waited for Braxton, relieved when some color returned to her toes. Hopefully she wouldn’t lose them.
Mama Porter laid a blanket over Maryn then held both of Maryn’s small hands between her own, muttering a prayer over and over, “Please help her Lord, please help her.” Tucker echoed the prayer in his head. This was all his fault. He’d never forgiven himself for killing innocents years ago in Afghanistan. What would he do if he’d driven this woman from his house and caused injuries that wouldn’t heal? What if they lost her? He rubbed her feet harder and muttered a prayer. Not for himself, but for Maryn.
Braxton stormed into the room with Johnson right behind him.
“Any response?” Tuck asked, hoping yet not hopeful.
Johnson shook his head. “I can’t get through. Not sure life flight would go out in this anyway.”
Tucker nodded, grateful they had Braxton’s expertise and were stocked with medical supplies.
“Get me some warm, wet cloths,” Brax said to Johnson. “Mama, warm a few blankets in the dryer.”
Johnson ran to the bathroom and Mama hurried downstairs. Braxton rolled the blanket off Maryn’s upper body and tucked it around her legs then pulled the sheet off and tossed it to the side. Grabbing some scissors, he started cutting Maryn’s jacket and shirt. It was awful to watch as a lot of the fabric was dug into her cuts and didn’t come out with Braxton’s gentle tugs.
Tucker held her body steady on her side. Braxton cut through the front of her clothing and pulled it open then tugged off the material that would come free. “Okay, roll her onto her stomach now, carefully.”
They held her like a china doll and placed her on her stomach. Mama returned and placed the warmed blankets over her legs then turned Maryn’s head to the side and stroked her cheek. Thankfully, Maryn was still unconscious. Well, maybe that wasn’t a good thing. She needed to come around again for him to be grateful for her comatose state at the moment.
Johnson brought warm, wet hand towels and all the men took a different section of Maryn’s back, soaking the jacket, blood, and bits of dirt and fur until they could gently pull the fabric out of the gashes. Tuck counted eight spots where the skin had been ripped open. The bleeding had slowed so there was something to be grateful for. Finally, the last piece of material was free and they were able to remove her jacket and shirt.
Johnson helped Braxton set up a suture station. They both snapped on gloves. Braxton irrigated the split flesh while Mama Porter held onto Maryn’s cheek with one hand and her cold fingers with the other. Tucker felt so helpless as he continued to rub warmth back into her feet. He made sure the blankets were secure around her wet jeans, thinking they should take them off, but it wouldn’t be worth jarring her right now. She looked so pale. He cursed the storm, the bear, and himself. If only they could’ve gotten ahold of the EMTs. A glance out the window showed nothing but driving white snow and all of their attempts to reach the sheriff earlier had failed. He exhaled and prayed.
“What do you think?” Johnson asked quietly.
Braxton examined each cut and washed them with a wet cloth and more saline. “There’s no deep damage and they’re clean. I can stitch them as well as anyone could. She’s lost a lot of blood and it would be crazy to transport her right now. If she makes it through the night, she’ll survive once she gets some antibiotics.”
Johnson held the first tear together and Braxton pierced Maryn’s flesh with the needle. She jumped and moaned. Tucker hated to think of her in pain, but was glad to see some reaction.
“Hold her!” Braxton commanded. He went back to his supplies and filled a syringe.
“What is that?” Tucker asked.
“Morphine.” He gave Tucker a grim smile. “Don’t ask where I got it.” He shoved it into Maryn’s arm and depressed the plunger all the way. She shifted again, but didn’t jump. “It’s all I’ve got for pain though, wish I had a local. You and Mama are going to have to hold her tight.”
They both nodded. Mama Porter held onto Maryn’s delicate shoulders. Tucker laid across her rear and grasped her waist between his hands, determined to hold her steady so Braxton could do what he needed to do. Braxton started stitching again with Johnson holding the wounds closed and also helping to make sure Maryn didn’t move. She cried out a few times and tried to squirm away from the needle, but they held her steady. Tucker couldn’t stand to watch as the needle worked in and out of her smooth skin. He found that pathetic with all the awful things he’d seen in his life, but this woman had already carved a spot of tenderness out of him.
There were six gashes that needed stitching and it was painfully slow. Finally, Braxton declared it was done. He cleaned off the remaining blood, put Steri-strips on the two smaller cuts, and covered each gash with a large bandage. They left Maryn on her stomach as that seemed the easiest spot for now. Braxton evaluated her fingers and toes. “I don’t think she’ll have any damage. Mama, can you bring some warm socks and another blanket? We’ll cover her up and let her rest.”
The morphine must’ve taken full effect because Maryn didn’t respond as they put warm socks on her hands and feet. Braxton covered her up with a sheet and another warm blanket.
“Now we just pray she wakes up in the morning and someone can get through with some antibiotics so she doesn’t get infected,” Braxton muttered.