Jesus. Not Christine.
“I’m not going to let you die. I’m right here.”
The ambush had taken them all by surprise, and everyone was pinned down.
He tied a pressure bandage around her throat, holding it in place with one hand while he gave her an autoinjector of morphine with the other. Then he tied tourniquets around what was left of both legs.
Thudthudthud.
AK rounds hit the sand behind him in rapid succession.
Fuck.
He reached into his kit again, pulled out a twenty gauge IV needle. She’d already lost a lot of blood, and she would die if he couldn’t get fluids into her. He turned her head to the side, searching for that external jugular, blood from her neck wound soaking through the bandage.
Son of a bitch.
“Hang on, Christine.”
A Black Hawk passed overhead, guns opening up, raining death on the enemy. Crash was here with his crew to haul their asses out of this mess.
Jesse got the line going, hooked it up to a bag of lactated ringers, and let those fluids run. “Stay with me, Christine. We’re going to take good care of you.”
Out of it on morphine, she smiled up at him.
Holding the IV bag between his teeth, he scooped her into his arms and ran through the hail of weapons fire toward the extraction point, trying to shelter her small body with his. Sand churned beneath his boots, making it hard to build up speed, wind-driven sand biting his skin.
The Black Hawk began its descent, landing two hundred meters ahead of him.
Hang on, honey.
The rest of his element was heading toward the bird, too. He could hear their M-4s laying down suppressive fire behind him, keeping these motherfuckers off their backs.
Just a little farther.
Two men leaped out of the Black Hawk, ran toward him, taking Christine’s weight from his arms, lifting her into the bird. Jesse jumped in right behind them.
But it was too late.
Christine was gone.
* * *
The memory washed over Jesse, shards of dread and pain piercing his chest, his stomach churning. “No.”
Someone squeezed his hand, arms sliding around him, holding him tight, a voice cutting through the waking nightmare.
“Jesse, I’m right here. Listen to me. I’m right here.”
“Ellie?”
“Yes.” She stood beside him now, her arms drawing him close, his head pillowed against her breasts. “I’m here. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
He was trembling, his whole body shaking. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Let’s go to the bathroom.” Ellie took his hand, led him down the hallway to the bathroom, her palm cradling his forehead while he threw up. “There you go. That’s good. You’re okay.”
When he was done, Ellie gave him a glass of water to rinse out his mouth, then flushed the toilet.