Her throat closed. “No. No… no… nonono…”
The surgeon fumbled with gloves, hands trembling so badly, he dropped the first pair.
Crew Chief Jackson pushed past him. “Move, you’re in the way.”
Chandler was right behind him, ripping open trauma kits. “Nurse, I need suction and O-neg now!”
The young surgeon sputtered, “You… you can’t… This is my?—”
“DO SOMETHING OR MOVE!” Chandler snarled.
The surgeon stepped back, white as a ghost.
Shannon staggered toward the cot, but Ford caught her arm. “Don’t,” he choked. “You can’t be in the line. Shannon, listen?—”
“THAT’S DANTE!” she screamed. “LET ME GO!”
The heart monitor spiked. Then stuttered.
Keating snapped, “Charging pads!”
A nurse slapped them onto Dante’s slick chest after trying to dry it. The ones from the helicopter had slid off.
Shannon’s entire world narrowed to the sound of the monitor.
The green surgeon whispered, horrified, “Oh God… oh God… he’s coding. Someone take the line…someone.”
Ford’s hands tightened around her waist as she lurched forward. “SHANNON, STOP,” he rasped. “We’ve got him; let Chandler work.”
She punched at his chest, blind with terror. “LET ME GO! DANTE!”
He held on, his voice breaking. “If you go in there now, you’ll make it worse.”
Inside the chaos, Chandler vaulted over a supply crate like a man possessed. “Starting compressions!” He dropped his hands to Dante’s sternum and began pushing hard, counting under his breath.
Keating shoved meds into the nurse’s hands. “Push epi now!”
The surgeon finally staggered back, hands shaking too badly to be of any help.
Ford grabbed a satellite radio off a tray near the entrance. He barked into it, “This is Ford Cox at Forward Surgical Two—repeat—Ford Cox—Chase Security asset down, critical code blue. I need every available resource en route NOW. We need trauma backup, blood, antibiotics, everything you can move. Surgeon on site is incapacitated. Do you copy?!”
“Team en route from London. ETA five hours.”
Shannon’s breath came in broken bursts. Her vision blurred. Her whole body trembled.
From inside the tent, she heard, “Clear!” A jolt. “Clear again!” Another jolt.
Shannon pressed her forehead into Ford’s chest, sobbing into the dust and fabric. “Please… God… please…”
Chandler kept compressions. Harder. Faster. “Come on, brother. Come on. COME ON.”
Ford’s voice cracked against her hair. “They’re not giving up. Shannon, they’re not giving up.”
The monitor noise flickered. Skipped. Then, faintly, a beat. Then another. “WE HAVE A PULSE!” Chandler shouted. “Squeeze more blood and fluid in.”
Shannon sagged against Ford, knees buckling. The air inside the tent felt too thin and too hot. Sweat dripped from the canvas ceiling, landing on the dirt floor in uneven plinks.
She hovered at the edge of the room, one hand pressed over her mouth. Dante’s heartbeat was a faint blip on the portable monitor, the line trembling every few seconds like it might quit again.
