“Hold this.” Oakley took her hand and placed it over the cloth. “Press hard.”
The driver groaned as she applied pressure and she snatched her fingers away.
Oakley grabbed her hands and stacked them on top of each other over the cloth, pressing down. “It’s going to hurt him, but we need to stop the bleeding. Press hard.” He searched her eyes and nodded, asking if she understood.
Up to that moment he’d been kind of goofy—the kind of guy who didn’t take things too seriously. Now he was all business, which only drove home how serious the situation was.
“Okay,” she whispered. Trying to remember her high school biology, she hoped the bullet hadn’t hit anything vital. Studying hieroglyphics and dead languages had not prepared her for this.
Grabbing Jorge’s pants, Oakley bent the driver’s knees so his feet were on the seat and tilted his legs so they rested against the back of the seat.
“This first aid kit sucks,” he said. “Did either of you bring your IFAK?”
She glanced over her shoulder at Shane and Ghost, sucking in a breath when she caught a glimpse of the butt of a rifle in the crook of Ghost’s arm. They hit a bump and she fell to the side, hitting the arm rest.
“Nope,” Shane said from the driver’s seat.
“Walk in the woods, remember?” Ghost asked.
Kinley righted herself and reapplied pressure over the wound.
“Right,” Oakley muttered, then looked at her. “I don’t suppose you have an IFAK?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Individual First Aid Kit. Has all the basics for combat wounds.” He looked down at whatever he had on the seat next to him. “All this kit has is Band-Aids and gauze.”
“Do the best you can. I think we’re ten to fifteen minutes from Carmelita,” Shane said. “Hopefully they have at least a clinic and can get him back to Flores quickly.”
“Do you have anything plastic?” Oakley asked. “Like a sandwich bag.”
“I have the bag my apple was in.” What did he need with a sandwich bag?
Oakley put his hands over hers. “Let go.”
She pulled her hands from the wound as he took over applying pressure.
“Let me have the bag,” he said.
She dug through her pack and pulled out the bag with the core.
“Switch back,” he said.
She handed him the bag and watched while he dumped the apple core out. “Lift your hands.” He removed the bandages and placed the plastic square over the chest wound, taping the sides down with Band-Aids.
“That will have to do for now.” He replaced the bloody bandage. “Keep applying pressure.”
“I don’t understand how this could happen,” Kinley said. “This is one of the most used tourist routes in the country.”
“It can happen anywhere,” Ghost said. “Desperate people do desperate things.”
Maybe, but she still didn’t understand what had made them desperate enough to try to hold up a tourist group. The van was clearly marked with the company’s logo. She’d heard of tourists being kidnapped for ransom in countries like Colombia and Venezuela, but nothing like that had come up when she’d been researching this trip.
The van slowed almost to a full stop before taking a sharp left and speeding up again. Glancing out the window, she glimpsed wooden fences and corrugated tin roofs bordering the road. The van slowed again as the buildings got closer together.
“There,” Ghost said.
Kinley jerked as the van veered to the left and stopped suddenly. Both front doors opened, followed quickly by the side door. Ghost jumped out and rushed into the building they’d parked in front of.
