Page 83 of Catching Fire

It wasn't at all what an EMT would say, not quite the language that Kalan was used to on medical scenes. And he wasn't as fully trained as some of the others—not a firefighter-paramedic—but he knew enough.

He didn't ask, just pushed Verner out of the way, peeled his shirt, and wrapped the blade sticking out of Seline’s side. He had to anchor it. The less it moved, the safer she would be.

He put his hand on her hip and motioned Verner to hold Seline’s shoulder.

“Don't move, baby. Don’t move. We’ve got you.” He crooned the words, working to hold very still.

He didn’t need to keep Seline still. She didn’t move at all, and that scared the shit out of him. He wasn’t sure if she was still conscious, and with his free hand he kept two fingers on her pulse, petrified each time he couldn’t feel it.

The EMTs were too far out and she was losing blood far too fast.

He moved his hand from her hip to her side, trying to apply pressure as best he could without moving the knife at all. Had it hit a kidney? He didn’t know. It had certainly sliced her up.

His brain ran through all the horrid scenarios. The blade could have nicked something vital. She might lose something necessary, and even if she didn’t, he knew that sepsis was a risk. Who knew where the knife had been before it had been plunged into her side?

She roused for a moment, and he felt the slight movement under his hand. “Don’t move, baby.”

“He got away.” Seline murmured the words, as she fought for consciousness.

Kalan told her the one thing that might help. “No baby. He's dead.”

He almost said,I killed him, but instead, he whispered the words, “You got him, Seline. You got him.”

Then, as she faded into unconsciousness again, he yelled to Verner.“Where's the damn ambulance?”

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Seline put a hand to her side as she slowly levered herself off the couch.

“You're not supposed to be doing that!” Kalan chastised her as he jumped out of the chair to hold onto her arm.

He tugged at her, as though to help her lower back to the seat she was trying so desperately to leave. She had been on the couch for too long.

“I have to gosomewhere else. And thedoctor—”she emphasized the title, “—said I could walk a little bit each day and that I should.”

She didn't fault Kalan, he was just being overly careful. But it had been two weeks.

“For twelve days now, we've known I’m going to make a full recovery.” She tugged a little and he let her arm go.

“Okay,” he conceded, backing away a little bit. Both hands were in the air, pale palms facing her, but he trailed along as though she might topple at any moment. “Where are you going?”

“To the kitchen.” She fought not to sigh and roll her eyes at him. He’d taken yet more time off of work to be her nursemaid since she’d gotten home.

“How about …” he countered, “you go to the dining room, and I will bring you whatever you need from the kitchen.”

“Fine.” But she waved him away. And then, as he watched her take a few more steps, she waved him away again, until he finally headed into the kitchen.

She might be slow, but she was good. She had not only survived Sanders, she’d helped take him out.

She had hazy memories of the fight and everything after. From the ambulance ride, she had vague recollections of Kalan telling the EMTs that she had not nicked a kidney. She’d asked him later how he'd known, and he'd only said, “Because you weren't already dead.”

Apparently, kidneys bled out fast.

They'd had an ongoing argument about who had killed Sanders. Seline said it was Kalan. Kalan said it was Seline—that while he might have plunged the blade in for the final time, the man was already on his last legs. He'd already been burned with a caustic solution and stabbed in the chest. The killer would have died anyway even if Kalan hadn’t gotten to him. Kalan insisted that he had just finished the job a little quicker.

She'd had two surgeries repairing the damage from the blade. Her feet had been treated for cuts and a minor infection. She’d been rehydrated by IV and pumped full of antibiotics and painkillers. But she had been home for four days now.

And, as she sat at her own dining room table, she realized there was something she needed to do.

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