Chapter 15 #3
I take another breath. The air smells sickly of blood and vodka.
Somehow, I’m moving forward again, toward the fire, my legs shaking.
I grab the end of the stoker with a towel, and even though the heat radiates up my arm, I hold tight, shuffling back down the slope.
The metal glows at the tip, pulsing a dull, evil red, and I wonder if we’re in hell and just haven’t noticed.
Adrian has passed out again, mercifully.
Zeke cradles his head, sweat beading down his jaw.
Kellen’s hands are slick with blood, but steady, his face set in a way that scares me more than the wound.
Ace kneels over Adrian’s thigh, his teeth clenched, his own skin covered in blood.
The leg is gone now—rolled up in the blanket that used to be Tatiana’s favorite.
I have never seen expressions like I can see on their faces right now.
I have to help.
They need me to lead right now, because they’re all going into some sort of shock.
“Here, let me help,” I say, handing Ace the stoker and kneeling next to Adrian.
Taking a breath, I get to work. I tighten the tourniquet on his upper leg so tight that blood slowly begins to stop trickling.
Then, I pour three bottles of boiled water over the exposed wound, biting my inner cheek as I wash away every ounce of sand and debris I can find.
The guys watch, almost in admiration, as I do my best to keep this man alive.
Once it is clean, I use a towel to dry off as much as possible before reaching for the bottle of vodka and emptying the entire thing over the wound.
I rock back on my heels, watching as it dries out, the blood disappearing and dripping down off what was once his leg.
Then, I look to Ace. “I think that’s the best I can do, but you need to seal it. It is the only way he might survive.”
He looks down at the stoker in his hand, still glowing red on the end, then to Kellen.
Kellen nods.
He holds one side.
I hold the other.
Zeke keeps on holding his head.
Ace grits his teeth, positions the flattest part of metal over the raw flesh and meets my gaze.
I nod, trying to keep it together but the tears won’t stop running down my cheeks.
I am just ignoring them now, because Adrian needs us to do this.
I brace Adrian’s knee with my palms, and Ace presses the stoker down.
The flesh sizzles, and almost melts against the heat, a sound and sight I never want to see again.
The smell is crippling. I gasp and jerk my head away, tears running down my face, but I don’t let go.
Kellen grinds out, “Keep going, it’s gotta seal,” and Ace presses harder.
There’s no movement from Adrian, but a single muscle in his jaw twitches, over and over. My stomach flips so hard I nearly faint, but I hold, I fucking hold, I am not going to puke on this poor man after what he has just endured. If he has to live through this, so do we.
Finally Ace pulls the stoker away, panting, and Kellen immediately dumps cold water over the burn, then more vodka. The wound goes from blackened and glistening to an angry matte red, but for the first time there’s no fresh blood. The blankets are soaked through. I blink hard, seeing stars.
Ace’s hands are shaking, but he cracks open the antiseptic and pours it straight into the freshly sealed wound.
I fish around for bandages, my own hands moving by muscle memory.
We wrap Adrian up from as high up on his leg as we can get, all the way down.
It’s silent, then, except for the shuddering breaths of the three men and the low, animal moan that escapes me without warning.
I am crying, outright sobbing, and I don’t care who sees.
Ace puts a bloody hand on my shoulder, squeezes.
I lean into it until the world stops spinning.
Zeke and Kellen lift Adrian and carefully walk him up the beach.
His head lolls to the side, lips parted, face blank and slack.
Ace lifts the bundle of leg and tells me he is going to get rid of it, and then I’m there, alone, standing in a pile of blood-soaked blankets and sand.
My legs shake, and I don’t know how to move.
I just stare down at the mess, wondering what the fuck just happened and how everything changed so quickly.
“Hey.”
Ace’s voice comes from behind me, soft and careful.
I still don’t move.
How long have I been standing here?
“Gracie,” he murmurs, a warm hand running up my back.
I crumble.
As if in slow motion, I fall to my knees, just as a loud wail comes out of my lips.
Then, I’m in the sand, in the blood and mess, just crying.
Ace is there, his arms around me, strong and secure, even though he just witnessed far more trauma than I did.
That’s the kind of man he is, though. The safe kind, the one who will hold you up even when his entire world is crumbling.
“I got you, baby. We’re goin’ to get through this.”
My body shakes, and he just hangs onto me.
He hangs on until I stop wailing.
He hangs on until I go limp.
Then, he carries me back to camp.
Just like he carries everyone here.
He’s a fucking hero, even if he doesn’t realize it.