Page 124 of Doyle

“Okay, probably not. I don’t understand—did the bullet go through you?” She moved his shoulder up, with his help, and looked for an exit wound. No blood. Which meant the blood was filling his pleural cavity.Oh no.“You have a hemothorax. And me without my thoracostomy kit.”

“Clearly not a Girl Scout.”

“I washed out.” She still wore her dive pants with the pockets and now unvelcroed one, tried to still her shaking hands.

“Now I wish I hadn’t made you drop your knife.”

Breathe.“Me too.” She rooted around and pulled out a multi-tool.

“What, you’re going to stab me? Just get me up. We can make it to medical help.”

Not how he was breathing. All she had to do was relieve the pressure in his chest. Then find transport and then...

“Do the next thing.”Mystique’s words in her head. She picked up his wrist, felt for the pulse.

Fast and weak.Yep.She pulled out her small collapsable water bottle filled with potable water.

“You had that all along and didn’t tell me?”

“We weren’t desperate yet.” She ripped open his shirt and poured the water onto the wound, washing it. Then she opened the water bottle and pulled out the attached straw.

“Phoenix.” He caught her arm, still enough strength to stop her trembling. “You can’t be serious.”

Right.What was shedoing?

She looked up toward the camp. Still no action. She could run. Escape the island. Accomplish her mission.

But more important—“I left you behind once. I’m not doing it again.”

His eyes widened. “Actually, I wasn’t thinking you’d leave mebehind.” He made to get up and gasped. Breathed out a couple times. “Okay, so that is an option.”

“No. It’s not.” She picked up the multi-tool and flipped to the knife.

“Oh...” He bit down on whatever word might have wanted to emerge.

“You’re just going to have to trust me.”

He closed his eyes. “God, please save me from this woman.”

She pressed on his ribs, Mystique’s training in her head, found the fifth intercostal space along the side of his body—the midaxillary line, where the arm meets the torso.

Yes.She took a breath. “This will hurt.”

He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “I know.”

And then she lifted a small prayer—Please, God, save him from my mistakes—as she tried to save his life.

THIRTEEN

It just couldn’t getany worse.

Tia sat on the floor of a hurricane-ravaged hotel room, the paint peeling from the walls, the wind shifting through a ragged curtain, the bed soiled and sheetless, her mouth taped, her hands zip-tied behind her back.

She just wanted to go home.

Adventure, fresh start, whatever this was...over.She was tapping out.

If she survived.

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