Everything feels fuzzy.
Too bright.
Too loud.
“I think…” I whisper weakly, my tongue thick in my mouth, “…I think I might…”
The sentence never finishes.
The last thing I see is Max’s face tightening with concern.
Then the darkness rushes in and swallows me whole.
***PATCH***
What a mess.
Blood soaks the tile floor of the bunker’s med room, smeared footprints and crimson handprints marking the chaos of the last hour. The air smells like iron, antiseptic, and panic. Way toomany people are packed into a space that’s meant for maybe three.
“How’s your side, Doc?” Max asks from across the room.
I grunt instead of answering.
My side is fine. I wasn’t lying when I said it was a graze. Whatever sniper was aiming at us tonight either rushed the shot or just sucked at his job.
Lucky for me.
Not so lucky for Abby.
“Crusher’s outside with Maverick’s cousins,” Max continues. “They think the coast is clear, but I’d rather keep everyone down here until we do a full sweep.”
“Did they get the shooters?” I ask, tossing another wad of blood-soaked gauze into the trash bin.
“They did,” he growls. “Neither one of them’s talking. We got ’em tied up nice and pretty for when Bones gets back. He can usually carve out some answers.”
I nod once.
Bones has… methods.
“Are they on their way?” I ask.
“Yeah. Just talked to Spike. They’re landing in about an hour. Apparently, they watched the whole thing happen from New York.”
That gets my attention, and I raise a brow in question.
Max just shakes his head.
“Spike said he’d explain when he gets here.”
My gaze drops back to Abby.
She’s pale as hell, skin clammy, her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. I’ve got pressure packed into both sides of her thigh where the bullet passed through, but the bleeding only slowed…not stopped.
“How’s Abby?” Max asks quietly.
I exhale slowly.
“We need to get her to a hospital.”
