Blinking back tears, I yank a bandage out and press it against the worst of the bleeding, aligning my hands beside Underwood’s. When the flight attendant moans in agony, I have to bite down on my lip to keep the tears atbay.
You cannot cry,Violet.
Keep it together, for hissake.
Blood saturates the thin cloth in mereseconds.
“Shit!” I exclaim, watching the dark stain spread. “I can’t get this bleeding tostop.”
Underwood glances up sharply. “We need to tourniquet the wound or he’s going to bleed todeath.”
“Tell me what todo.”
His eyes dart left and right as options whirl through his mind. A belt would be the obvious choice, but neither of us is wearingone.
“My shoelace,” he says finally, sticking out a booted foot in my direction. “Pull itout.”
I do as he says, unlacing the thick black string with trembling hands. When I tug it free, I look up at Underwood for guidance. I see my own fears reflected back at me, bright on the surface of those emeraldirises.
“If you can’t do this…” He trailsoff.
“I can do it,” Isnap.
After a second, he nods. “Tie it tight, just above my hands, where the bone is still intact,” he instructs, jerking his chin toward the flight attendant’s thigh. I keep my hands as steady as possible as I wrap the shoelace around the muscle, trying not to look too closely at the mangled limb mere inches from my face. The damage iscatastrophic.
My fingers move deftly, looping and twisting and tugging tight enough to stop the bleeding. Once the tourniquet is in place, I exhale a faint sigh of relief as I watch the bleeding subside from a steady flow to a trickle. Underwood’s eyes move from the staunched wound to my blood-stained hands to my pale face. There’s grudging respect etched on hisexpression.
“Help is coming,” I whisper, more to myself than him. “They have tocome.”
Henods.
“We just have to hold on till then.” I dunk my hands into the shallow water at the bottom of the raft and watch dark blood flow off my skin in rivulets. When they’re clean, I reach out and gently brush a strand of blond hair from the flight attendant’s face. Even unconscious, I can read the pain on his features. When he wakes, he’ll be in absoluteagony.
“You have to hold on,” I tell him, throat thick with unshed tears. “Just a little while longer. Help iscoming.”
Help iscoming.
Help iscoming.
Help iscoming.
Stroking a stranger’s forehead, I whisper it over and over under my breath, like a witch weaving a spell that might summon a fleet of search and rescue helicopters from the skies above. I repeat it for hours, until my voice goes hoarse and the lightning ceases, until the rain gentles from a torrent to a patter, until the sky is streaked with the first pale pink traces of the comingdawn.
Help.
Is.
Coming.
Itmust.
Because thealternative…
That’s simplyunfathomable.
Chapter Six
A D R I FT