42. Lucie
Lucie couldn’t move. Her eyes were locked on the monitors, on all the Conductors’ live body-cam footage. But Finn’s camera was covered in blood. Finn was bleeding out, and she was useless here.
Sabrina’s camera shifted, revealing Isla on the ground, bleeding from her stomach, not Finn.
She didn’t know much about Isla other than that she had lost her sister to Legion, but Isla was going to die if she didn’t get help.
Maybe if Lucie came, she could’ve helped, but instead she had to watch it from a dozen different angles.
“Lucie. We need Lucie.” Finn’s voice broke through the guns and orders.
Alive. She clutched her chest. Finn was alive.
Relief came and went as quickly.
Wait, what did he say?
Mr. Williams grabbed a communicator. “You can make it to Atlas. I’ll call Greyson. He’ll be expecting you. We can have an unmarked ambulance meet you halfway,” he ordered.
“That’s not good enough,” Finn spat. “Isla is going to die if we don’t help her now.”
“Negative, retreat to Atlas,” Mr. Williams ordered.
The display showed Finn lifting Isla into the van they’d arrived in.
“Charlie, drive us to the Way Station now,” Finn called out. “Take us to Lucie.”
The room snapped back into focus. Everyone was watching her. Fear clawed up her throat. What if they didn’t make it in time and Finn was wrong? What if Isla died and it was all her fault?
She had never finished her residency. She never graduated. Never?—
“Lucie can do this,” Finn promised. “She fixed my bullet wound, but we have to leave now.”
That was true. She did save Finn, with less equipment and supplies than she would have here.
Mr. Williams stepped forward.
“Can you do this?” he asked.
She swallowed. Then tucked her red hair behind her ears.
All her life, she had been waiting for a moment like this—a chance to prove herself—a chance to help someone.
“Yes.” The word surprised her. But once it left her mouth, she knew she could do it. “Yes, I can do it.”
“Good,” Mr. Williams said, then turned to one of the Conductors. “Get her whatever she needs.”
Finn and Isla would arrive at her makeshift hospital in five minutes. According to Whistler, they were approaching the tunnel’s entrance.
Sam had told her that the Way Station didn’t have a hospital, but it hadn’t hit her how awful that was. How had anyone survived without a doctor on board?
Lucie reviewed Isla’s medical history, including past surgeries, allergies, and overall health, before developing her surgical plan.
At the same time, Sam helped her set up a makeshift hospital in her new house.
There was still little to no furniture, making it easy to set up an operating table and bring in large lights for surgery.
Did she have a vital-signs monitor, a ventilator, or all the right tools?
No. No, she didn’t.
But was that going to stop her?
Well, she dry-heaved in the bathroom before scrubbing in. But the only other option was that Isla was going to die if she didn’t, and there was no option in her mind that led to that. Isla was going to survive.
Her ears perked at Finn’s bellowing commands outside. They’re here.
Lucie ran into the front room, where others had helped her meticulously seal it with plastic sheeting, as Finn burst through the front door, carrying Isla in his arms.
Isla looked like a Jackson Pollock painting—red splatter covering her clothes contrasting with her pale face and blue lips.
“Bring her in here,” Lucie said, motioning Finn to the kitchen table, which was wrapped in plastic. Finn had done a good job applying direct pressure to control the bleeding, but Isla was hemorrhaging.
After Finn placed her on the table, Lucie pulled out her flashlight and checked Isla’s pupils. They were dilated.
“You can do this, Lu,” Finn said. “I know you can.”
“Everyone, leave,” Lucie commanded, stepping around the table with rubber-tipped clamps. “Isla, my name is Lucie. I’m going to save you,” Lucie said.
I can do this.