“Blood clot. I’m going to swap it out.” He grabbed a new seal from the trauma kit and reapplied, relieved when the valves began to move as she exhaled. But the fact that the first one had clogged so quickly made him worry she might be bleeding into the area around her lung. But her vitals were okay—not great, but okay.
“We’ve got two more seals.” He placed them where she could reach them, beside the other supplies. He looked around. There wasn’t anything more he could do to help them.
“Go,” Alyssa said.
“Yeah, don’t let them hurt anyone else,” Thomas chimed in.
“Hey.” Alyssa grabbed Blake’s arm. “First rule.”
He nodded grimly. “I won’t do anyone any good if I get killed.”
“Yeah, cuz we’d be truly screwed then,” Thomas added.
Blake rummaged through the trauma bag, grabbed a roll of duct tape, smashed it flat, and slid it into his inside jacket pocket where he kept his good luck charm: his grandfather’s old Zippo lighter that had never failed to light. Not even during his Afghan tour.
Wasn’t much else that might be handy when dealing with enemy combatants—scalpels were too flimsy as weapons, and IV tubing was too pliable to be good for anything other than a garrote. If Blake was close enough to use a garrote, he could just as easy choke a man out himself. Ranger School might have been years ago, but those skills were deeply ingrained.
He moved his Kershaw Drivetrain folding knife from his belt to his sock, sliding it out of sight inside his boot. The Maglite, he attached to his belt alongside his multi-tool. He grabbed his Halligan, turned one last time to Thomas and Alyssa, their faces ghostly white in the other Maglite’s LED.
“Good luck,” Thomas said.
Alyssa waved him off. “Later, gator.”
He stepped outside into the corridor. Within a few steps, he was plunged into darkness.
ChapterSixteen
Friday,February 13th, 9:01 P.M.
Despite the pressuredressing and IV fluids, Connor’s vitals weren’t stabilizing. Sara wrapped the fingers of one hand around his radial pulse, pressed her other hand against his neck. Shit, shit, shit. He needed so much more than she could offer him.
“Not good, is it, Doc?” he murmured, eyes watching her every move.
“Could be better,” she admitted.
Two shots sounded. Loud enough that the shooter had to be close by.
Kelly dropped the IV bag she’d been replacing and spun toward the sound.
Sara touched the nurse’s arm, steered her away from the door toward the tall cupboard in the farthest corner of the room. “Why don’t you check the equipment closet, see if you can find anything helpful?”
Kelly was trembling beneath Sara’s hands. But then she gathered herself and walked over to the closet, with only a quick, fearful glance as she passed by the doorway.
“Nick, give Connor another bolus,” Sara instructed her PA. Despite her own fear, she strode to the doorway, stepped over Luca’s blood, and went to find Mercer.
He was across the hall, leaning against the wall, smoking a damn cigarette.
“Who did you kill this time?” she demanded.
“How’s my brother?”
“Stable. For now. But?—”
He shook his head at her, an eyebrow raised, daring her to finish that sentence.
Sara choked back the truth. “He’s fine.”
“Better be.”
