Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Inside, Red is laid out on the table, still clutching his mangled arm, blood pooling beneath him. His face is ashen, eyes wide with shock and terror.
“He just—he came at me,” he’s saying, voice trembling. “We were standing there and he just…changed. His eyes…” Red swallows hard. “His eyes were wrong. Blue, like…like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
I strip off my coat, rolling up my sleeves as I move to Red’s side. “We need to stop the bleeding. Cole, find a first aid kit,” I bark at him. “Eli, boil water. Jensen, I need clean cloths, anything we can use for bandages.”
They move to follow my orders, perhaps surprised by my sudden command of the situation but too shocked to question it. I focus on Red, pulling off the rest of his shirts before examining the wound with clinical detachment that belies the horror churning in my gut. It’s that same detachment I feel on the job, it’s the only thing that gets me through my job. I relish it like an old friend.
“You’re going to be okay,” I tell him, using the same tone I used when I saw an agent get shot while we were in the field. Calm, authoritative, no room for doubt. “But I need you to stay still and breathe slowly. Can you do that for me?” If anything, I can lean into becoming Meredith Grey, if it helps him.
Red nods jerkily, teeth chattering from shock rather than cold. “What—what was wrong with him? Why did he…?”
“We’ll figure that out later,” I say firmly. “Right now, we need to stop this bleeding.”
Cole returns with a first aid kit, hands shaking as he sets it beside me. I open it, quickly assessing the supplies—bandages, antiseptic, basic medications, but nothing strong enough for the pain Red must be feeling.
“Is there any alcohol?” I ask, meeting Cole’s panicked gaze. “Not for drinking. For sterilizing.”
“I—I don’t know,” he stammers. “I’ll check the supplies.”
As he moves away, I turn my attention back to Red’s wound. The bleeding has slowed somewhat, but it’s still severe. Without proper medical equipment, stemming it completely will be challenging. I need to clean the wound, apply pressure, and hope infection doesn’t set in before we can get him to a hospital.
Eli brings a pot of boiling water, setting it carefully beside me. Jensen returns from the loft with an assortment of clean shirts and bandannas, the best we have for makeshift bandages.
“Hold him steady,” I instruct Jensen, who moves to Red’s shoulders, placing firm hands there. “This is going to hurt,” I warn Red. “But I need to clean the wound before we bandage it.”
Red nods, face contorted with pain and fear. “Just do it. Do what you have to.”
At least he’s not doubting my authority here.
I work methodically, cleaning away blood and dirt with hot water, revealing the true extent of the damage beneath. It’s worse than I initially thought—multiple bite marks, flesh torn away, muscle exposed in places. Whatever—whoever—did this wasn’t just trying to hurt Red.
It’s like they were trying to…feed.
The image of Hank’s eyes turning blue, of his teeth sinking into Red’s arm, sends a violent chill through me.
Hank is one of them now.
One of the hungry ones.
I look around. “Does anyone have any phones that work?”
“I do,” Eli says, pulling his out. “Charger is done and I’ve only got five per cent battery. No signal though.”
“Try pushing the SOS through,” I tell him, a Hail Mary.
“Won’t work,” Jensen tells me. “These mountains are notorious for interfering with the satellites you need to push that signal to the tower. Believe me, I know. You can try but you can’t rely on it.”
“Do it anyway,” I tell Eli.
He nods and taps something on his phone, giving his head a shake. “I don’t think it’s working. 911 isn’t going through.”
“I can’t find any alcohol,” Cole says, returning empty-handed. “I looked everywhere.”
“Check my bag,” I say, nodding toward my pack in the corner. “I have hand sanitizer in the side pocket.”
Cole moves to my duffel bag, pulling it out from under the bunk and rummaging through it with increasing frustration. “I don’t see any—”
He falls silent suddenly, and when I look up from Red’s wound, I see Cole holding something in his hand. Something that catches the light, metallic and familiar.
A gun.
My fucking gun.
“What is this?” Cole asks, turning it over. “Why do you have a gun in your bag?”
The room goes still, all eyes turning to me. I keep my hands steady on Red’s arm, refusing to show the panic rising in my chest.
Stay cool, stay cool, stay cool.
“Why do you think? For protection,” I say evenly. “Put it back and get me the hand sanitizer.”
But Cole is already digging deeper into my bag, pulling out my wallet. I watch, helpless with my hands covered in Red’s blood, as he flips it open.