Free Wonderland Creek by Lynn Austin

waving grass or the hazy sky or—” I stopped, unable to remember the story our third grade teacher had told us about how the town got its name. But why in the world did she need an explanation at a time like this? Why were we even having this conversation? Mack could be dying. What kind of a town had no doctor and no policemen—especially if people were in the habit of shooting each other first thing in the morning?
    “Please . . . can’t we do something for him?” I begged. “He’s bleeding!”
    “Don’t I know it,” she said, holding up her bloody hand. “Hole goes clear through him. But I suppose that’s better than having to dig around inside him and try and find the bullet.”
    I felt faint again. I closed my eyes. My heart had never pounded this hard in my life, even when I’d set our kitchen on fire.
    “Deep breaths, girl. Take deep breaths.” How could she be so calm?
    When the dizziness passed, I opened my eyes in time to see Lillie lift the bloodied cloth and look at the hole on her side of him.
    “Blood’s starting to clot,” she said. “Better keep holding tight, though, just to be sure.” I quickly closed my eyes again.
    Eventually, Lillie told me I could let go and she would hold the compresses on both wounds for a moment. “Run upstairs and pull a sheet off my bed to use for bandages.”
    I did as I was told, except that I gave her a sheet from my bed, figuring it was cleaner. I was relieved to see that Mack had regained consciousness and was talking to Lillie in a breathy voice when I returned.
    “Some crazy fool tried to kill me . . .”
    “They just might get their wish, honey. You ain’t outta the woods yet.”
    “Let them think they killed me, Lillie . . . Safer that way.”
    Lillie pondered his words for a moment before saying, “You might be right. If they come back to finish you off, you’re a sitting duck. Or a laying-down duck, I should say.” She gave a cackling laugh, then looked up at me. I held the bedsheets in my shaking, bloody hands. “You know how to rip bandages, girl?” I shook my head. I had trained to be a schoolteacher and a librarian, not a nurse. “Take over this job, then, and I’ll rip.” I knelt down and pressed the blood-soaked underwear against Mack’s wounds while Lillie tore up the sheets.
    “Listen, Lillie . . .” Mack breathed. “Have my funeral. Let them think they killed me.”
    “How am I gonna fake a funeral all by myself, honey? I’ll be needing a casket and everything.”
    He tilted his chin, gesturing to me. “She can help us.”
    “That girl? She ain’t much use to nobody, far as I can tell.”
    Mack’s eyes met mine. “Will you help me?”
    I couldn’t reply. I felt like I’d been pushed onto the stage in the middle of a very bad play and didn’t know any of my lines. I would have run for the hills if I knew which hill to run to. And if someone out there wasn’t shooting at people.
    “Please, Miss Ripley?” I was surprised that Mack remembered my name. All I could do was stammer.
    “But I-I-I . . .”
    “Killer could come back and shoot all three of us,” Lillie said matter-of-factly. “You want that?”
    I shook my head. I had to be dreaming. I had eaten a baked bean sandwich yesterday. I had indigestion. This was a nightmare, that’s all. I looked around and tried to draw comfort from my surroundings. I was in a library, for heaven’s sake, my familiar world of books and overdue notices and card catalogues. People didn’t get shot in libraries. Who would want to kill a librarian? We were nice people. Harmless people. This was a dream. A very bad dream. But until I woke up, I would be wise to play along with these crazy people and do whatever they said.
    “W-what do you want me to do?”
    Lillie and Mack exchanged looks. “Go upstairs and fetch Mack’s rifle,” she said.
    “I don’t know how to shoot a gun!”
    “Nobody’s asking you to shoot it, girl, just go get it.” I knew where the