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I skid to a stop, slipping on blood-soaked grass. Where is all this blood coming from?
Reaching for Jackson, I roll him off the guard and onto his back. He's soaked in blood, but I can't tell where it's coming from.
My hands trace over him until I locate wounds. There's a bullet wound in his shoulder, and another in his leg. It looks like the bullet went straight through his shoulder, but I don't see an exit wound on his thigh. There is a lot of blood coming out of the wound on his leg.
Removing his belt, I fasten it around the very top of his thigh and cinch it as tight as I can make it. I take off my shirt and tear it into two pieces, wrapping each of the wounds. The shirt is dirty and soaked with sweat, but it's the best I can do.
The guard remains still, his eyes wide open and horrifically bloodshot. Considering the amount of blood loss, as it looks like all of this came from Jackson, it must have taken an immense amount of strength to subdue a man of this guard's size. On the ground next to him is a sniper rifle, and I understand that Jackson just saved our asses.
Grunting with the effort, I do my best to hoist Jackson up off the ground, pulling his arm and lifting his body over my shoulders. A jog is all I can manage as I fireman carry Jackson towards the Medevac.
When I get close enough, the medics help me pull Jackson into the cabin before Lukas grabs my forearm and pulls me into the helicopter as it lifts off the ground. Six cries when she sees us, her worried eyes tracing over the amount of blood we’ve tracked into the helicopter floor.
“He’s going to be okay,” I mouth to her.
He will live for sure, but there’s a chance he could be in danger of losing that leg. I hope my tourniquet is good enough.
Everyone is silent as we look towards the war zone beneath us.
My eyes break away from the scene on the ground as the medic slides the door shut. I'm still sitting on the floor next to Jackson, who has roused enough to open his eyes.
I can’t believe we’re all alive right now.
Patting his uninjured shoulder, I let out a breath and look around. There are definitely more of us than the helicopter is meant to hold. Aside from the pilot, there is a medic sitting up front. One medic is standing, stooped over Bennet, whose gurney is fastened to the ground between four seats. Luis is sitting in one, with Six in his lap, her hand holding on to Bennet's. Lukas sits next to them. Another medic takes up the seat closest to the door, next to where Jackson and I are laid across the floor.
I try to shout at the medic closest to us. “Where are we headed?!” But she shakes her head. Reaching behind her, she pulls a headset off the wall and hands it to me.
“I said, where are we headed?” I still have to shout a bit into the microphone.
“R. L. Crumpler Trauma Center,” she answers me.
“In DC?”
She nods. “That's the one.”
“That seems far away. How long will it take?”
“About an hour, or just over.”
Nodding, I hand her the headset back and bend down to check on Jackson. He's conscious, but extremely pale.
Leaning down close to his ear, I speak loudly so he can hear. “We're on our way to a trauma center about an hour away. We're gonna get you fixed up. Just hold on for a while longer.”
He offers me a weak smile in response.
A medic hands me two blankets. I use one to cover Jackson and use the other to prop up his head. The medic works on Jackson's leg, cutting his pant leg open from the bottom. She cleans and redresses the wound, wrapping it tightly but keeping my makeshift tourniquet in place. She nods approvingly at my handiwork, and I take a breath of relief, a spark of hope that he'll be okay.
Relaxing as much as one can in this situation, I allow my eyes to roam and absorb the moment, trusting that Jackson is in expert hands with the medic as she checks his wounds and starts an IV for fluids.
The adrenaline high is coming down, a deflated feeling settling over my limbs. Six has finally relaxed back against Luis, her hand still clutching Bennet's. Luis' eyes are diligently watching the small monitor they attached to Bennet.
Lukas' head is leaning back against the wall, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. I know him well enough to guess that he is replaying using the grenades. I admit that I'm not entirely comfortable with the fact that I took a life today, but my situation was a little different, so I can't quite put myself in his position. Like Jackson, our kills while in the building were self-defense in the face of imminent danger. Lukas had to decide to launch an explosive at an entire group of people who weren't even facing him. My heart aches for how much anguish he must be in right now.
We're all going to need a whole lot of therapy. We'll send Bennet the bill if he makes it. When he makes it.
The rest of the ride to the hospital is stressful, but mostly uneventful. Every jolt of the helicopter sets me on edge as I join the others in watching Bennet's weak vitals display on the monitor, and I check on Jackson every time he drifts off to sleep.
Once we are close to our destination, most of us are given headsets so we can listen to the pilot's instructions. There aren't quite enough pairs to go around, so Luis listens in, giving Six the instructions as the helicopter makes its descent onto the helipad.
