Chapter 22
ALISTAIR
Dutch was stable. The bullet had torn through muscle and nicked bone, but the bleeding was under control now, his vitals holding steady. I checked the monitor one more time, then allowed myself to step back from the makeshift surgical area in the old resort’s kitchen.
My shoulders burned. My hands ached from the tension of maintaining pressure, from the precise movements required to clean and pack the wound. But Dutch would live, and that was what mattered.
Around me, the lodge buzzed with low activity. Most of the team was still at the mining facility. Only Nolan and I remained here with the twenty-three unaffected townspeople we’d extracted, but he was outside coordinating the evacuation to a secondary safe location.
I stripped off my blood-stained gloves and dropped them in the medical waste bag. The sharp smell of antiseptic mixed with sweat and fear. Twenty-three people we’d pulled out before Innovixus could turn them into puppets.
Not enough. Never enough.
The water bottle someone had left for me was warm, but I drank it anyway. My throat was dry from barking orders during the surgery. Dutch had taken the bullet without complaint, but I’d seen the pain in his eyes, the way his jaw had clenched when I’d probed the wound.
Good man. Stubborn as hell, but good.
“Dr. Shaw?” Mrs. Longfield appeared in the doorway, her soft features creased with concern. Sophia stood tucked against her side, the little girl’s hand clutching the fabric of the older woman’s cardigan. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
I glanced at the child. Her eyes were wide but dry now, though red-rimmed from earlier tears. She’d been so brave through everything. Too brave for a five-year-old.
“Just keep an eye on Sophia,” I said. “Her mother should be back soon.”
Mrs. Longfield nodded, her gentle smile directed at the child. “Of course. We’re doing just fine, aren’t we, sweetheart?”
Sophia didn’t answer, just pressed closer.
I turned back to Dutch, checking his pulse one more time. Strong and steady. The old man would probably try to get up and start giving orders within the hour if I didn’t keep a close eye on him.
Nolan’s voice crackled through the radio on the supply table. “Preacher, we’ve got transport ready. How’s our patient?”
I picked up the radio. “Stable enough to move. Give me five minutes to get him ready for transport.”
“Copy that.”
I moved to the supplies table to inventory what we’d need for the transfer. Gauze, antibiotics, portable monitor. We’d loaded most of the critical equipment into vehicles already, but Dutch would need monitoring during the flight.
The familiar ritual of checking and rechecking supplies helped center me. Medicine had rules. Clean procedures. Clear outcomes. Not like the messy chaos of everything else.
“Dr. Shaw?” Mrs. Longfield’s voice again, closer this time.
I turned, already reaching for another supply kit. “Yes?”
The older woman stood just inside the doorway, still holding Sophia’s hand. But something in her posture had changed. The gentle curve of her shoulders had straightened. Her soft brown eyes had gone flat.
Recognition hit me a split second too late.
Her free hand came up holding a small pistol I hadn’t seen her carrying. The barrel pointed directly at my chest.
The shot cracked through the air before I could move.
Pain exploded through my left side, hot and immediate. I staggered back, my shoulder hitting the supply cabinet. The impact sent instruments clattering to the floor.
“I need the child,” Mrs. Longfield said in a voice stripped of all warmth.
My legs gave out. I hit the ground hard, the concrete floor cold against my cheek. Blood spread across my shirt in a warm, sticky bloom. The bullet had caught me in the side, just below the ribs.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Sophia screaming.
Behind me, Dutch was shouting something, trying to get up from the bed despite his injured shoulder. His words came through distorted, underwater.
“Stay down, Dr. Shaw,” Mrs. Longfield said with the same blank expression. “Instructions are clear. The child must be collected.”
I pressed my right hand against the wound. Pressure. Had to maintain pressure. The ceiling swam above me, gray concrete blurring at the edges of my vision.
Sophia fought against Mrs. Longfield’s grip, her small body twisting. “Let me go! Dr. Shaw! Dutch!”
“Cease resistance.” The old woman’s voice held no emotion as she dragged Sophia toward the doorway. “Compliance ensures minimal harm.”
I tried to push myself up, but my left arm wouldn’t support my weight. “Don’t... hurt her...”
Nolan burst through the door, weapon drawn, but Mrs. Longfield was already moving, pulling Sophia toward the back exit with surprising strength. Nolan aimed, but the shot went wide as the old woman used Sophia as a shield.
“Stop!” I gasped. “The girl—“
Nolan started after them, but Mrs. Longfield fired twice more without looking back, forcing him to take cover behind a supply cabinet.
The back door slammed open.
Sophia’s screams faded into the night.
Nolan appeared above me, his face tight with conflict. Chase the target or help the wounded. He made his choice, hands already reaching for my injury.
“Stay with me, Preacher.” He looked over his shoulder, shouting toward the door. “Medical emergency! I need another medic!”
Dutch had made it to his feet somehow, stumbling toward us with his good arm pressed against his bandaged shoulder. “Which way did they go?”
“Back exit.” Nolan pressed down hard on my side. I gasped at the pressure. “But she’s got at least a thirty-second head start. Could be in a vehicle already.”
“Then go!” I forced out, grabbing Nolan’s wrist. “Get the girl back.”
“You’re bleeding—“
“I’ll survive.” Blood was making my words slur together. “Sophia won’t if they get her out of here. Go!”
Nolan hesitated one more second, then nodded sharply. He grabbed a pressure bandage from the nearby kit and shoved it into Dutch’s hand. “Keep pressure on it. Don’t let him pass out.”
Then he was gone, weapon ready, moving fast toward the back exit.
Dutch knelt beside me with a grunt of pain, his face pale but his hands steady as he pressed the bandage against my side. “Stay with me, son.”
“Longfield.” The word came out as a gasp. “Compromised. How long?”
“Don’t know.” Dutch’s jaw was tight. “Looked normal this whole time. No signs.”
That was the problem. No signs. We’d been looking for the wrong things. The rigid posture, the flat affect, the repeated phrases, the damn blue shirt and khaki pants uniform.
Had all of that been a distraction from the start?
“Tell...” I had to stop, breathe through the pain. “Tell Ethan. The signs... not reliable anymore. Anyone could be...”
The edges of my vision went black.
“Alistair!” Dutch’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “Don’t you dare—“
But the darkness was already pulling me under, and my last thought before it took me was of a five-year-old girl with her mother’s eyes, screaming as she was dragged away by someone we’d all trusted.
We’d been so sure we knew who was safe.
We’d been wrong.