The ride from the burning chapel to the underground clinic passed in a blur because Knox lay across the back of the truck while Bones pressed towels against the knife wound and every bump in the road drew another strained breath from him while I refused to let go of his hand.
The underground doctor had treated Devil's Hollow for years and his clinic sat hidden beneath an abandoned machine shop where nobody asked questions and nobody called an ambulance.
The truck barely stopped before the doctor and two assistants rushed outside carrying a stretcher.
"Move." The doctor said and Bones and I carefully lifted Knox onto it.
The doctor cut away the blood soaked shirt while walking.
"How long since he was stabbed?" The doctor asked.
"About twenty minutes." I said.
"Any loss of consciousne
