“But I can help!” He whines. “I know their weak spots. I’ve—”
“Move!” Someone yells from outside.
Bang!
An explosion rocks the place, and we’re knocked to the ground.
My ears are ringing as I blink through the daze and dust in the air.
I can’t hear shit. Everything is sort of blurry. I think I have shell-shock…
Perfect.
As time catches back up, I blink hard and heavy over the stupor of what was obviously a grenade going off literal feet from where I was standing. Fortunately, the armory is intact, and no one inside is injured.
But those outside…I wouldn’t bet on it.
Grabbing Felix, I hold his face, checking him over while he nods and says, “I’m fine,” though I can barely hear him.
Vague murmurs slowly coming into auditory focus. Mainly, Velle shouting for everyone inside to take cover as he goes for the door. He and Rook wrench it open, and now it’sseriouslyfucking bedlam.
Peters and Jasper are dragging people inside, hauling two men over to me. And like a reflex, aninstinctI don’t even control, I kick into immediate action. Sucking in a breath, I get my patients secured on gurneys and check their wounds.
I don’t know these people, nor do I recognize their faces, so I’m guessing they’re prisoners. One of them isn’t in terrible shape. It seems like he’s just unconscious from the blast, some visible marks in his skin from shrapnel I’ll need to get out.
The other guy, though…
I gulp, reminding myself ofwhoandwhereI am.
Don’t show emotion. Never show it. Ever.
That’s what they want. It’s how they win.
“Grab those towels,” I command Trevel, who’s serving as my assistant.
My tone is calm, voice steady. On the outside, I’m determined.
But inside, I’m at the brink.
His arm is missing. Blown clean off his body. And the wound is bleeding.A lot, and fast.
“Keep pressure on this.” Covering Trevel’s hands with mine, I show him what to do. “Hard. Do not move your hands until I tell you.”
He nods fast, eyes wide, pupils blown. I imagine I look about the same right now.
“What can we do??” Hancock asks frantically. “Cauterize it, or—”
“No, that’d damage the nerves. He could die,” I say firmly while grabbing supplies to create a tourniquet. “We just have to slow the bleeding and keep it from getting infected.”
I dump a shitload of alcohol on the towels Trevel’s holding and the patient screams.
“It’s okay, shh,” Hancock attempts to comfort the guy.
“What’s his name?” I ask.
“B-benson,” Hancock sniffs. “Luke Benson.”
“Luke, you’re gonna be alright, you hear me?” I speak to him, checking his eyes. “Just hang in there. Stay with us.”
