Edward Crichton - The Last Roman

Everyone looked around, but each shook their head in turn, unable to locate her.

“Stay here with McDougal,” I said. “I’ll find her.”

I tried to determine her position via her GPS locator beacon, but where it indicated she should be she wasn’t. It wasn’t until I saw a leg, clad in the rubbery material of a dive suit hanging out of a window that I found her.

I ran to the window praying to God I hadn’t killed her. Fearing the worst, I found her sprawled on a wooden table, the leg dangling from the window thankfully still attached. She must have been thrown from the truck, lucky she hadn’t hit the wall, not to mention the fact that the window didn’t have any glass.

Lucky or not, she was still bleeding from a head wound and had an extremely nasty gash on the leg sticking out the window. The wound wrapped a third of the way up and around her thigh, circling from the front of her leg, around the outside, and up near her hamstring, but at least it didn’t seem too deep. Looking back to call for Wang, I saw he was still working on McDougal.

We didn’t have time for this. We needed to get the hell out of here. Our best bet now was to get to that equipment cache and regroup.

Moans from inside drew my attention back to Helena. She was regaining consciousness, and started mumbling a name. I couldn’t make it out, but it sounded distinctly masculine. I put my hand behind her neck, propping her head up, and snapped my fingers in front of her face.

“Helena. Wake up. We’ve got to get out of here,” I offered before lightly smacking her cheek, again to little affect. “Wake up.”

She wasn’t responding, which was probably a good thing considering what I was about to do to her leg. Pulling out my knife, I tore open more of her wetsuit around the wound to make room for a battle dressing. I retrieved a packet of QuikClot from my pack, a powdery like substance that helped open wounds clot so the patient didn’t bleed out. She’d have a scar, but at least she wouldn’t bleed to death, and Wang could properly stitch it later.

Unfortunately for her, the stuff stung like hell.

I paused just before dumping it on the wound.

“I’m sorry, Helena,” I said to her unknowing form, “but this is going to hurt. A lot.”

Her reaction was as expected. The jolt of pain snapped her awake as though she were struck by lightning. She sat up involuntarily and threw her arms around my neck, shaking uncontrollably.

“It’s okay. It’s just a scratch. Just hang on while I dress the wound,” I told her while pulling out a bandage

“Th-thank you, Jacob.”

“Hey. Rescuing damsels in distress is part of the job.”

I thought I felt her slug me in the arm, but I couldn’t be sure. If she hadn’t, it wasn’t a good sign.

I attached a few butterfly bandages to keep the wound closed despite the QuikClot, and wrapped a gauze bandage around her leg several times, tying it off as tightly as I could. She cried out in pain again, and she buried her head in my neck, trying to force away the pain

“Sorry, but it’s got to be tight, now hang on.”

She clasped her hands around my shoulders, and pulled herself in close, keeping her head against my neck. Determined she was secure, I wrapped my right arm around her waist, my other under her legs, staying clear of the wound, and gently extracted her from the window. My adrenaline pumping, she felt as light as a feather.

Helena in my arms, I made my way to the truck.

“Put me down, Jacob. I can manage.”

I did as I was told, only to have her stumble under her own weight. I had to scoop her back into my arms before she put any more pressure on her cut leg. She must have hurt her other ankle as well.

She smiled up at me, eyes lulling. “Never mind. You’re doing a great job.”

“Just don’t get too comfortable. You’re not as light as you look.”

I waited for her head to turn and glare at me, but it only slumped against my shoulder instead.

Definitely not a good sign.

Back at the truck, Santino and Vincent had set up a perimeter at the end of the alley, and were already trading fire with enemy combatants. It was still dark, so we had the cover of night and the advantage of our NVGs, but we couldn’t hold out forever, especially since a third of our squad was combat ineffective.

“How’s he doing, James?” I asked Wang.

He looked up, and shook his head. “Not well. I’ve stabilized him, but his neck is very nearly broken and he’s bleeding internally. We have got to get him some place safe so that I can perform more extensive repairs.”

Wang didn’t have anything as complete as a field hospital in his backpack, but his very large bag did have many new features of modern medicine that would allow him to perform much more complete first aid than the combat medics of even a decade ago. All he needed was time.

“Fine,” I said laying Helena on the ground. “She needs a shot of morphine and a bandage on her head. Bordeaux?”

“I’m okay. Just a sprained ankle.”

I nodded. A sprained ankle could wait.

“Vincent!” I yelled. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

I saw him look over at me from down the alley, and nod. He patted Santino on the shoulder and indicated with the flick of a hand for him to hold the line. He came running over.

“What’s our status?”

“Strauss is immobile, but should be fine. McDougal is in really bad shape. Abdullah is unconscious. Bordeaux has a sprained ankle, and Wang and I seem to be okay except for a few cuts and bruises,” I summed up.

“All right,” he said, rubbing his rough chin. “Bordeaux, you take McDougal. Hunter, you grab Strauss. Wang, don’t forget Abdullah. Santino will be on point, and I’ll be on crowd control in the rear. Let’s move out.”

We gathered up our charges as gently as possible, except for Wang who had the hardest time with Abdullah. Once we were organized, we set out deeper into the alley and followed our map to the safe house. We needed some place to lay low and tend to our wounded. It was the only viable place we had to regroup.

Santino was the first to head out as he hauled ass to the front of our rag tag line, and began scouting ahead, leaving stealth as a mere afterthought. We managed to sneak around pretty quickly and efficiently despite our loads. Most people we encountered ran back inside immediately after they saw us, but we kept to the shadows as much as possible anyway, avoiding main throughways and homes with the lights on.

Along the way, Helena drifted in and out of consciousness, muttering in gibberish. Only once did she open her eyes to look at me, brushing my cheek with a hand. I could only imagine what was going through her dazed and confused mind as she uttered my name. Her eyes rolled back inside her head and she slumped into my arms, unconscious once again.

Hallucinations were a bitch.

Fifteen minutes later, we reached the building we were looking for. Only a few bad guys stumbled on our position along the way only to be dispatched easily by Vincent. Santino opened the door to the house, and waved everyone inside. Last in, he shut the door quietly behind him.

The house was barren, lacking any kind of furnishing. Its walls were bare, its windowsills dusty, and it didn’t appear as though anyone had lived here for years. It was only single story, so we headed down to the basement, the only other place left to go.

The dark, musty, scary basement.

Wonderful.

The last to descend into the dark cavern, I noticed the basement door was conveniently equipped with a large wooden plank to secure it. How thoughtful of the homeowners. That would hold off the invading horde for about twenty seconds.

Once below, we found a few light bulbs dangling from the ceiling. Illuminating them revealed a very plain room, as completely barren as the rooms above except for a few cots and the half dozen metal containers the size of queen sized beds stacked along the wall. I gave the containers an annoyed look before heading over to one of the cots.