I look around and realize I am the only one that’s left to help Joy. 

“Hold on, Joy!” I run to the wheel. “I’m coming for you!” 

She’d taught me to drive the damn thing, but I never had a lot of practice. My hands are shaking. My granddaughter can lose her life!

In spite of the trembling and the fear I feel inside, I am able to bring the warship right under Joy. 

I go to her and reach out with my hands. “Here you go, here you go,” I grab her and lower her to the deck. “Oh my god!” 

Her leg is full of blood. My hands are full of blood. How much has she lost? 

“All right. All right,” I make her lie down. 

She is breathing hard, trying not to cry out and not to cry. “Why is the arrow still in me?” she says through gritted teeth. “I don’t love the arrow!”

“That’s, uh, a matter for another time.” I take off my shirt. “How much pain are you in?” 

“Nine out of ten,” she says, still not crying. 

“Okay. Then it’s not really going to matter that this will also hurt.” I put the shirt around her leg and tie it hard to create a tourniquet. 

“Sssss!” she says. 

“It’s going to help you. It’s going to make sure you don’t lose all your blood. Now you have to keep the leg up even if it hurts.” I hold it up as she lies on the back. 

“Ow, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” she says. 

I’m not enough. We need a doctor. And even if the other dreamers were here, none of us are doctors. 

Joy needs help!

(To be continued…)

—Told by Grampa Walt