Page 72 of Welker

Which they probably were, but Moira couldn’t find it in herself to respond with anything more than a grunt.

“Moira?” Welker’s voice suddenly seemed less sure, and farther away than it had been only seconds before.

“Not…feeling so good, Welk,” she somehow managed.

His tone turned panicked. “Moira. Are you hit? Answer me.”

Moira wanted to, but she couldn’t get her mouth to move.

“Ah, crap, sweetheart. Stay with me. Moira. Stay with me.”

“Mase!” she heard him yell over his mic. “Send Alvero, stat. Something’s not right with Moira.”

That’s when she sensed Welker falling to his knees beside her.

She struggled to talk.

“Shh,” he said. “I’ve got you. But you have to tell me where you were hit.”

Unable to speak, Moira managed to lift her arm and point to an area that was low in her left ribcage.

She screamed in her throat as Welker began to unfasten her vest, and she must have passed out for a short time because the next thing she knew, several teammates, including Alvero, were hovering over her, with Alvero taking charge.

“Possible flail chest,” their medic barked. “Help me get her into a sitting position, leaning toward her left side. We’ll tuck her vest under her arm to apply pressure.”

“Flail chest?” she heard someone—maybe Sin—ask.

Alvero grunted. “It means part of her chest wall has been destabilized, probably due to contiguous rib fractures where the bullet impacted.”

Moira wasn’t sure, but that didn’t sound good. She gasped for air and moaned as they turned her onto her left hip.

Mason, who’d somehow arrived too, sounded grim. “I see it,” he confirmed. “Paradoxical breathing. She’s going to need surgery. I’ve already called for a TRS.”

No way, Moira thought to herself, wanting to argue but unable to muster the energy. She’d never been under the knife for anything before, and had only been on a traverse rescue stretcher during drills. She was a tough cookie. The whole lot of them should just back away and give her a few minutes to walk this off.

If only she could catch her breath…

Fuck. What had Mason said?

Moira blinked, replaying his words.

Paradoxical breathing.

Moira struggled to remember her training, and came up with what that meant, but how did one diagnose…?

Oh. Right.

Moira laid a shaking hand on her ribcage, then concentrated on taking in a shallow amount of air.

Goddammit.

Why did the chief have to be right?

Her chest had collapsed with her inhalation instead of expanding.

She let the breath seep out through her mouth, and her chest actually inflated.

Fuck. So much for no surgery. Her chest wall had clearly destabilized.

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