Gentle hands lifted her, pain making her moan.
“What has she had for pain?”
She tried to speak, but Jason answered. “I’ve given her three injections of ketamine—seventy-five mgs each time. She’s due for another.”
“Let’s give her seventy-five more and one mg of midazolam.”
A prick.
And she was floating.
* * *
Jason helped Chaska,Eric Hawke, Austin Taylor, Jesse Moretti, and Conrad Harrison carry an unconscious Winona to where the helicopter sat, rotors running, the wordsLife Flightpainted in white against red. The two paramedics, who were with Life Flight and not the Team, walked alongside them with their gear.
Jason and the other men ducked down and lifted the gurney with its precious cargo into the bird. Then Chaska climbed in and sat beside her, while the others turned back to deal with the tranquilized wolf under Henriksen’s direction. They weren’t flying down in the chopper.
Jason stood there for a moment, uncertain where he belonged. He wasn’t family. No one knew about his relationship with Winona. On paper, he was nothing but an acquaintance.
Fuck that.
He made a split-second decision and followed his heart, jumping into the helicopter, buckling in, and grabbing a set of headphones.
“Are you family?” one paramedic asked.
Chaska answered for him, his gaze locked with Jason’s. “Yes.”
The helicopter lifted off, nosed into the wind, rotor wash blowing snow.
The paramedics worked on Winona, removing the makeshift splint, checking her vitals, giving her blood and oxygen, and injecting other medications into her IV.
He glanced down, saw the Cimarron, and realized they were flying her away from the mountains. “You’re not taking her to Scarlet Springs?”
Chaska shook his head. “We’re going to a level-one trauma center in Denver.”
“Jason?” Winona’s eyes fluttered open, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask.
But Jason was buckled in. “I’m here, Win.”
He wasn’t sure she could hear him.
The flight lasted twenty minutes, giving them a precious ten minutes until they reached the two-hour mark. The helicopter landed on the roof of the facility, medical staff waiting to take Winona inside. They offloaded the gurney with military efficiency, and Jason followed Chaska as they rushed inside.
A nurse met them with a clipboard and a flurry of questions, some of which Chaska answered. The others were left to Jason—mostly details about what had happened, what time he’d applied the tourniquet, how much pain medicine he’d given her, and other measures he’d taken. Then he found himself sitting in a surgery waiting area with Chaska.
Chaska rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got Win’s blood on your hands.”
Jason glanced down. Winona’s blood was on his jeans, too, and his parka. “I should wash up.”
When Jason returned, Chaska was holding two cups of coffee.
“I thought you might need this. Thanks for saving Winona’s life.”
Jason took the cup, regret assailing him. If he’d seen the trap just a moment sooner… “I didn’t do anything.”
“If you’d done nothing, she’d be dead. You put on that tourniquet, splinted her leg, gave her pain meds, started an IV, kept her warm, held her hand.”
“I saw the trap just before she stepped on it. I tried to warn her, but it was too late. She was just out of reach.” He squeezed his eyes shut against the image of those steel jaws clamping shut—and the memory of her screams.