22. Bianca
Chapter 22
Bianca
“ O kay, this is good, right?” I say as I stand back from the cabinet after moving a few things. I’m not entirely sure why I felt the need to reorganize everything, but I need to know where everything is.
If there’s an emergency, the seconds spent searching for something could mean life or death.
“It’s good,” Abana replies. “You do good work.”
I snort. “All I did was organize.”
“Today, you organized. But yesterday you brought Laring and Idra comfort. Who knows what you will do tomorrow?”
“Who knows,” I reply with a half-smile.
The door flies open and I whirl, expecting to see Silas telling me that Lance and the others are here. That the cavalry has arrived and we’re going home. Instead, it’s a ten-year-old boy, his eyes wild and afraid.
“Come!” he yells. “The SEAL needs you!”
“The SEAL? Silas!” I grab the closest medical bag—one of the things I just repacked and organized—and sprint out the door. My boots hit the dirt in heavy strides as I race toward the pit. But I don’t have to go far.
Two men, one who translated for me yesterday and another I don’t recognize, are carrying a limp Silas, while Idra applies pressure to a wound in his chest. Dread turns my stomach to a pit of rocks.
Please, God, no. Not him. Please don’t take him.
“Get him inside,” I order.
They listen, taking him over toward the cot closest to the door. They set him down, and I grip the front of his blood-soaked T-shirt and tear, ripping the fabric open. Blood is pouring from a wound in his chest.
“I need to know what happened. Alcohol,” I order Abana as I press fresh gauze onto the injury in Silas’s chest, holding pressure there until she returns.
I try not to look at his face, forcing myself to keep my attention only on his injury. Because I know that if I look up at him, I’ll lose it. Something he can’t afford.
She retrieves the bottle, and I pour it onto another stack of gauze, then work cleaning the area around the wound. “Keep pressure,” I tell her.
She replaces my hands and I continue cleaning the area so I can make sure there’s just the one injury. My training kicks in, and I work down my list. Life-threatening injuries first. So far, thank God, it looks like it’s just the one.
“You can answer at any time!” I call out.
“He tried to intervene in a fight with a guard and was stabbed,” the translator finally says.
“With what?”
“A knife. The guard ripped it out and confiscated it.”
“He pulled the knife out?” I snap, dipping my hands into the clean water basin, drying them with more gauze, and pulling gloves on.
The man nods.
Anger burns hot through me. Anyone with any common sense knows you don’t remove something when it’s punctured the body. Not until a doctor has a chance to evaluate and remove it themselves. Which means either the guard is an idiot, or he didn’t care.
Either reason infuriates me.
“Which guard stabbed him?” No one answers, so I look up at them. “Which guard?” I snap.
The translator looks at the man standing beside him. His eyes are wide, red, and full of tears. “Not a guard,” the translator says.
Silas wheezes, a horrifying sound that alerts me to internal injuries. “The blade must have pierced his lung,” I tell Abana. With shaking hands, I dig into my bag, searching for the stethoscope. After placing it in my ears, I press the diaphragm against Silas’s chest. His breathing is faint and strained, his pulse racing so fast I’m worried his heart’ going to burst. “It’s collapsed, and I need to get the air out. Get me some iodine and a chest tube from the cabinet.”
She leaves my side, only to return a few moments later. I move around Silas’s side, cleaning the spot with iodine before making a small incision. I take the tube and shove it into the pleural space around his lung, praying that it’s enough to alleviate the pressure in his chest. Without any kind of imaging equipment, all I have is a shot in the dark.
I suppose it’s a good thing I spent most of my career as a medic making exactly these kinds of calls in the field. An easy thing to do when it’s nameless soldiers on a battlefield. But this is Silas.
Please, Lord. Please guide me. Don’t take him away.
Air rushes out through the tube mere seconds before the liquid begins to drain, and he sucks in a breath.
“Hold him down!” I yell as he tries to jolt up off the table.
Idra, the translator, and the man who stabbed him rush over, each of them gripping Silas and pinning him to the table as the rest of the air in his thoracic cavity releases.
“Just breathe, Silas,” I tell him. “Please breathe.”
He draws in a breath, though it’s strained.
Putting my stethoscope back in my ears, I place the diaphragm onto Silas’s chest again, listening to his breath sounds. They’re better. Still not great, but better. But it’s enough that I can work on stitching his skin back together.
I take a moment to steady myself, taking a deep breath, then head over to my cabinet. As far as pain meds go, there’s practically nothing. The strongest we have is ibuprofen, and since that won’t do anything right now, I walk over to Silas.
He’s staring up at me, green eyes wide. “I don’t have anything to numb the area around the wound.”
“Just do it,” he wheezes, closing his eyes.
I look up to the men. “I need to make sure there’s nothing foreign in the wound, then stitch it back together. It’s going to hurt—badly—and I need you to hold him still.”
Abana translates before the other man can, and Idra and the man who stabbed Silas both nod. Abana turns to me. “Tell me what you need.”
Two hours later, the wound is sutured, a bag has been placed near the chest tube still in his side, and I’ve given a round of IV antibiotics to prevent any infection. Silas is asleep, and Abana, Idra, and Laring have all retreated to their bunkhouses, along with the translator and the man who’d stabbed Silas.
Just thinking about him angers me, even though the translator insists it wasn’t done on purpose.
Night has fallen just outside, and I’m sitting at the table reading my Bible. We should be going back to the house so they can place us in our cells, but I can’t bring myself to wake Silas when he finally managed to sleep.
The door opens, and River walks in. His gaze lands on Silas before he turns to me and nods. “Glad to see he’s still breathing.”
I don’t dignify him with a response.
“I heard what happened at the pit today. Next time, Silas needs to remain out of the arguments. They happen often, sometimes resulting in death or punishment. Other times, they fizzle out. Either way, it’s not his place.”
“Tell your guards that the next time one of them removes a weapon embedded in an injury, they’ll answer for it,” I reply, ignoring his warning.
“Fair enough.” He crosses his arms. “You two didn’t gather your meal tickets. Did you forget how it was explained to you?”
“Does it look like he can be moved?” I demand.
River’s gaze hardens. “I allowed you to take the pregnant woman and her husband off of my crew. Then Yarrow allowed you to bury that man rather than disposing of his body in a way that saved time. But do not mistake those kindnesses for weakness.”
“There isn’t a kind bone in your body,” I growl. “Just like there wasn’t in my father’s.”
“Your father was the greatest man I knew.”
“Why? Because he pulled you out of a drug house and threw you into a life of crime? Yeah, real winner, that one.”
River’s gaze turns murderous, angrier than I’ve ever seen him. He crosses over toward where Silas is sleeping. I get up, setting my Bible aside and gripping the scalpel I left beside me. “It would be so easy to kill him now,” River says. “Make you watch as the last of his life left his body.”
“Don’t you dare touch him.”
Silas’s eyes open, but he remains where he is, unmoving as River hovers over him.
“Then you’d better remember who is in charge, Bianca, because if you question me again, I’ll kill him and let you fend for yourself amongst these animals.”
We both know Silas is here as leverage for me. I’m not foolish enough to truly believe River thought these people were violent enough that I would need a security guard. Which means he’ll kill Silas if given the motive. I can’t give that to him. So I swallow my anger and pride.
“I’m sorry,” I say, each word paining me to speak it.
“Good girl. Now that he’s awake, I suggest you two get back to the house so you can be placed securely in your cells until morning. It’s late, and I’m getting cranky.”
“I have to check out the injury, and then we’ll be back.”
“Fantastic.” River smiles. “I’ll be stationing a guard outside to escort you back. Feel free to give him an earful about the weapon, as he’s the one who removed it from our favorite SEAL here.” River turns to leave. “And another thing. Remember my warning, Bianca, because you won’t get another one.”
As soon as he’s out, Silas sits up on the cot, hissing through clenched teeth as he does. I cross over toward him.
“Are you all right?” he asks, still a bit out of breath. Which he will be for about a week or two, depending on how bad the lung collapse was. As it stands, the tube will have to remain in place for a few days still.
“Fine. How do you feel?” I put the ear pieces for my stethoscope into my ears, then press the diaphragm against his chest so I can hear his heart.
“Bianca.” Silas’s hand caresses my cheek, and my blood warms. I look up at him, and everything I’d been trying so hard to bury for the day comes rushing back. Tears fill my eyes, and I wrap both arms around his waist, leaning my head against his chest.
“For a second, I thought you were dead.”
“I think I might have been for a second there,” he replies, voice raspy.
“What do you mean?” I pull away, staring up at him. He continues caressing my cheek.
“Let’s just say I had my eyes opened a bit,” he replies. “And I’m trying to open them the rest of the way.”