Riker's Apocalypse (Book 3): The Precipice
Page 37
Tara examined the bag in her hand. It was a little more than half full, the blood viscous and warm. She looked a question at Vern, who took the bag out of her hands and squeezed past Shorty, leaving him all alone at the open door.
Craning to see around the man who was busy removing the catheter from her arm, Tara witnessed Rhoads and Steve-O helping Lia to stand. Though they were at the periphery of the ring of light, it was clear Lia was balancing on one leg. Her right leg, the one whose ankle she’d been cupping, was missing from mid-shin on down.
Tara’s stomach churned at the thought of the gruesome task Rhoads had just undertaken. She said, to nobody in particular, “How in the hell is that woman still conscious?”
Shorty asked, “Did she just do what I think she did?”
Answering them both, Clark said, “Rhoads shot her up with morphine. It’s probably just now taking effect.” He paused. “It was that or certain death. And then—” Everyone knew what happened after the bite, so he let it hang in the air.
Finished starting Riker’s transfusion, Vern said, “I’ve witnessed a few battlefield amputations. Mostly due to mines or gunshot wounds. Never saw one by machete. And I’m guessing, judging by the way Rhoads handled it … cool as ice, all business, that it wasn’t her first.”
“No it wasn’t,” Clark said. “And I’m sure she’s feeling it to her core.”
The three were nearly to the Lakota when Lia’s head suddenly lolled forward.
Vern handed the bag of blood to Tara, then met Steve-O and Rhoads at the door. Taking one of Lia’s hands, he helped guide her to the nearest seat. As he strapped her in, his gaze wandered to the tourniquet. It was a high-tech item. Something he’d never set eyes on before. And it was doing the job of keeping the blood in check. The amputation, maybe six inches below the kneecap, was far from surgical. While it was a straight cut, the bone was splintered on the end and ragged streamers of dermis trailed off the edges.
Vern sighed. Not only was he going to be plucking lead and shards of concrete out of the big fella, but now he was looking at having to perform some cauterization and a whole lot of suturing.
Seeing Rhoads strapping in, Tara quickly shrugged off her fleece, handed it to Vern, then helped Steve-O into his safety harness. After wrapping Lia with the fleece, Vern took his seat and buckled up.
Without warning the Lakota shot skyward. Tara reached back and grabbed hold of her brother’s hand. It was cold to the touch.
Steve-O leaned forward in his seat. Straining hard against the harness just to make eye contact with Vern, he asked, “Is Lia going to make it?”
Vern said, “I have no idea. She’s a world-class athlete, so I’d assume—”
Interrupting, Clark said, “Doesn’t mean squat. If she’s within the golden five minutes, she’s got a fifty-fifty chance. It all depends upon whether or not Romero got into her bloodstream. If it did, she’s done for.”
Rhoads passed back a pair of flex cuffs.
Knowing what was expected, Vern took the cuffs and bound the young woman’s hands at the wrist.
Tapping Vern, Tara asked, “Is my brother going to make it?”
Vern said, “Thanks to you, I give him an eighty-percent chance. Know that I am praying hard for him. Lord knows I owe him.”
Tara didn’t have to ask why. Lee was a giving soul. She gave his hand a squeeze, knowing surely it was something of monumental importance to the old man.
As the helicopter banked hard to the right, putting dead in their sights the distant hill on which Trinity House sat, Tara felt Lee’s mitt-sized hand firm up around hers.
###
Look for Book 4 of Riker’s Apocalypse in 2021.
Shawn Chesser on Facebook
Shawn Chesser Facebook Author Page
Shawn Chesser on Twitter
ShawnChesser.Com
Also by Shawn Chesser
Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse
TRUDGE
SOLDIER ON
IN HARM’S WAY
A POUND OF FLESH
ALLEGIANCE
MORTAL
WARPATH
GHOSTS
FRAYED
DRAWL: DUNCAN’S STORY
DISTRICT
ABYSS
GONE
HOME