“We’re okay!” Cate veiled. “Move back, we’re coming down!” Without thinking, she was on her feet with her hand clutching the back of Maureen’s shirt, lifting her up and pushing her forward at the same time, terror giving her a strength she hadn’t known she possessed. She all but shoved Maureen at Perry, who of course hadn’t moved back, and he staggered and nearly went down but was saved by the press of people behind him, all of whom had been rushing upstairs with him. Cate hurled herself through the doorway and down several steps, where she crouched to make certain her head was below ground level. She was shaking wildly, her nerves shattered by how close that had been.

“Cate wouldn’t let me go in the living room,” Maureen sobbed on her husband’s chest. “She saved my life, she tackled me. I don’t know how she knew, but she did—”

Cate didn’t know either. She sat on the step and buried her face in her cupped hands, trembling so violently her teeth chattered. She couldn’t seem to stop, even when someone—Sherry, she thought—wrapped a blanket around her and gently but determinedly urged her off the stairs and settled her on a cushion on the basement floor.

Her mind went a little fuzzy after that, worn out by shock and fatigue. She listened to the hum of conversation around her without really hearing it, she watched the blue flame of the kerosene heater, she waited for the old-fashioned camp percolator they’d placed on top of the heater to start boiling and making coffee, and she waited for Cal. He should have been back already, she thought, switching her gaze to the door and willing it to open.

At least an hour later—she thought it had to be an hour, unless something had gone seriously wrong with the progression of time—the outside door finally opened and a trio of people staggered in. She saw a head of shaggy, dark blond hair, a face pinched and blue with cold; she saw Mr. Creed, his arms thrown around Cal’s and Neenah’s shoulders—

Cate threw her blanket off and leaped forward, joining all the others who reached out to stop the three from hitting the floor. There was a confusion of exclamations and questions as Mr. Creed’s weight was taken from Cal and Neenah and he was lowered to some cushions; then Cal swayed and stumbled and Cate found herself desperately gripping him, wedging her shoulder into his armpit and trying to hold him up.

“Joshua’s shot,” Neenah gasped, sinking to her knees and sucking in huge gulps of air. “And Cal’s freezing; he’s been in the water.”

“Let’s get him out of these wet clothes,” said Walter, easing Cal away from Cate. Living where they did, they all knew how to treat hypothermia. Within seconds someone was holding up a blanket in front of Cal while he managed, with aid, to strip out of his freezing wet clothes. He was roughly dried, to which he made no protest; then a warmed blanket was wrapped around him and he was seated beside the heater. At some point the percolator had started perking, so Cate put some sugar in one of the polystyrene cups and poured coffee over it. The coffee was still a little weak, but it was hot and it was coffee, and it would have to do.

Cal was shaking convulsively, his teeth chattering; there was no way he could hold the cup. Cate sat beside him and carefully held the cup to his lips, hoping she wouldn’t spill the coffee and scald him. He managed a sip and made a face at the sweetness of the brew.

“I know? you don’t like sugar in your coffee,” she said softly. “Drink it anyway.”

He couldn’t manage much in the way of a response because his entire body was engaged in battling the cold, but he dipped his chin in a nod and took another sip. She set the cup aside and stood behind him, rubbing his back and shoulders and arms as vigorously as she could without completely dislodging the blanket.

His hair was wet, and the night had turned so cold ice crystals had begun to form on his head. She warmed a towel over the heater; then used it to rub his head until his hair was merely damp. By the time that was accomplished the shudders had subsided a bit, though occasionally a violent shiver would rattle his bones and teeth. She gave him more of the coffee; he reached to hold the cup himself and she let him.

“How are your feet?” she asked.

“I don’t know?, I can’t feel them.” His voice was flat, utterly drained. The savage shaking his body had given him in an effort to get warm had completed his exhaustion. He swayed where he sat, his eyelids heavy.

Cate moved to sit at his feet, and then folded the blanket back. Taking one cold foot in her hands, she rubbed and chafed and blew on his toes, then repeated the effort with his other foot. When they were no longer white with cold, she wrapped them in a warm towel. “You need to lie down,” she told him.

With bleary effort he shook his head, and looked toward where Neenah was taking care of Mr. Creed. “I need to see what I can do for Josh.”

“You can’t do anything right now, considering the shape venire in.”

“Yeah, I can. Get me another cup of coffee—black this time—and something to wear, and I’ll be good to go in five minutes.” His pale eyes flickered up at her and she read the steely determination in them.

He really did need to sleep, but in an instant of unspoken communication she knew he wouldn’t until he’d done what he thought he needed to do. The fastest way to get him to lie down, then, was to help him.

“One cup of coffee, coming up.” She poured more coffee, and as she did she looked around the basement at her neighbors and friends. They had been alarmed, disoriented, but ahead)’ they were settling down to take care of business. Some were arranging cushions and pillows and distributing blankets, some were taking inventory of the number of weapons and amount of ammunition they had, Milly Earl was getting some food organized, and Neenah was overseeing Mr. Creed’s care. They had cut away his pants and covered him with a blanket except for his injured leg, which was propped on a pillow. Neenah had carefully washed the wound but seemed at a loss for what to do next.

Cate went to Maureen and mentioned Cal’s need for clothes. The jeans Maureen unearthed from a box were too big in the waist, but they would do. Perry made an upstairs raid—on his hands and knees, in the dark—and returned with clean underwear and socks, and a thermal-knit pullover shirt. Cal pulled on the underwear tinder the cover of the blanket, then threw it off to finish dressing as fast as he could.

Cate didn’t let herself stare at his mostly naked body, though she couldn’t resist one look, during which she noticed that all her carefully placed butterfly bandages were gone and the two cuts were oozing blood again. Sherry noticed her looking, and leaned close to whisper, “That’s a man.’”

“Yes.” Cate murmured in agreement, “he is that.”

When Cal finished dressing, he moved slowly to where Mr. Creed was lying, and asked for his first-aid box. Cate braced herself, told her suddenly queasy stomach to take a hike, and went to help him.

“‘What can I do?” she asked, going down on her knees beside him.

“I’m not sure yet. Let me see what the damage is.”

Neenah moved to Mr. Creed’s head, her lace white as Cal studied the two wounds and carefully prodded the bone beneath. Creed bit off a curse, his back arching, and Neenah reached for his hand. His big fingers closed around hers with a force that made her wince.

“I think the bone’s cracked,” Cal said, “but I don’t feel any displacement. I have to look for any bullet fragments—”

“The hell you do,” Creed snapped.

“—or an infection could cost him his leg,” Cal finished.

“Fu—” Creed darted a look from Neenah to Cate and clamped his jaw shut.

“You’re tough, you can stand it,” Cal said with a remarkable lack of sympathy. Then he glanced at Cate. “I need more light, a lot more.”