The man in the hoodie’s jaw tightens. “Do what she says.”
The gunman yanks cabinets open and dumps what he finds onto the counter. A towel. A hunting knife. A flashlight. A sewing kit. A plastic container with a few wrapped bandages, medical tape, tweezers, and antiseptic wipes inside.
It isn’t enough.
It has to be.
The man in the hoodie stays near the wounded man, pressing one hand down over the blood because I point there and tell him to.
I wash my hands in the sink with cold water and a sliver of soap that smells like mildew. My fingers tremble, but they still know what to do.
The wounded man blinks up at me, face gray and wet with sweat. “You a doctor?”
“Nurse.”
His mouth twists. “Good enough?”
“Tonight you better hope so.”
A rasping laugh leaves him, then turns into a groan.
I cut his shirt open with the hunting knife and press a folded towel hard against the wound. He jerks and curses.
“I know,” I say. “I know it hurts. Keep breathing.”
“Feels like fire.”
“That means you’re alive enough to complain.”
The man in the hoodie shifts beside the table, gripping the edge like he needs something solid to hold on to.
“Deke,” the wounded man grits out. “Quit standing there looking stupid and hold the damn light.”
The man in the hoodie’s jaw flexes, but he grabs the flashlight and angles the weak beam over the wound.
Deke.
I do not mean to keep the name. My brain keeps it anyway.
I clean around the wound with the antiseptic wipes. I pack it as best I can. I keep pressure where pressure needs to stay. I ask questions they barely answer and bark instructions they follow because blood scares men who think guns make them gods.
The whole time, I know the truth.
This man may live for an hour. He may live until morning. He may bleed internally while they convince themselves I fixed him because the bandage looks neat.
I can slow the bleeding.
I can help.
I cannot perform miracles on a dirty kitchen table in the woods.
“There,” I say finally, taping the last bandage into place. My hands are sticky. My scrub top is ruined. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades. “He’s stable for the moment, but that can change fast. He needs real medical care.”
Deke lowers the flashlight and drops it onto the table with a dull thud.
Silence spreads through the cabin.
I look up.
