The footsteps drew closer. Two figures rounded the corner in a crouch. Weapons up, scanning back and forth.
One tall, bulky, and black; the other short, broad, and Hispanic. The two prettiest men he’d ever seen.
“There you are!” Bishop said, like he was a recalcitrant child who’d gotten misplaced in a grocery store.
Liam lowered the carbine. “You—came…”
“Leave no one behind,” Bishop said. “You still don’t get it, you stubborn ass. You don’t have to carry this burden alone, brother. You never did.”
Reynoso looked down and saw the blood. The color drained from his face. “Oh, hell.”
“I’m…shot.”
“Clearly.”
Bishop knelt beside Liam and shrugged off his pack. He pulled out a first aid kit and looked Liam over. “Easy now. There’s no exit wound. The bullet’s still in there, messing you up.”
“I think it’s a fragment from a ricochet.” Stars danced in front of his vision. His eyelids fluttered. “Can’t feel my legs…”
Bishop looked up at Reynoso, expression drawn. “It’s a spinal injury. Get a door! We can use it as a backboard.” He turned to Liam. “Stay with me.”
Reynoso got to work on a door outside the kitchen. The Marine practically ripped the thing from its hinges. A minute later, he’d carried it to Liam’s side.
With great care, he and Bishop lifted Liam and placed him on the board. They filled any voids along his back with clothes stolen from the dead contractors. Bishop fashioned a neck brace with pillows from one of the hotel rooms, using duct tape to immobilize his head.
This was combat field medicine. They were in a war zone with few supplies in the middle of an apocalypse. They made do with what they had.
Once they’d stabilized Liam’s spine, Bishop pulled a makeshift IV bag and kit from his pack. Liam recognized the small battery-operated drill for EZ IO—intraosseous infusion.
It was designed to get quick IV access to the venous system through the shin bone. Though it looked hideous, it was perfect for both medics and untrained people to get an IV line going in a hurry.
Liam’s eyes widened. “You sure you know how to use that thing?”
“Enough to know what to do. Used one a couple of times during my tour in Afghanistan. It looks worse than it feels.”
“Says you.”
“Sorry Coleman, this is the only IV we have for lone wolf types.” With that, Bishop felt for the correct location on Liam’s tibia and pressed the drill bit to his flesh. He drilled into the bone, then inserted the needle directly into the bone marrow. He attached the IV bag and secured the tubing.
Liam hissed through his teeth. “Guess it’s a good thing I can’t feel anything.”
“I’ve seen Girl Scouts whine less than you.” Reynoso said. “He’s good. Let’s go.”
“No going into shock and dying on us,” Bishop said. “We came all this way. You know how many people shot at us? It’s been quite the day.”
“Did we—?”
“Win?” Reynoso grinned through the soot streaking his face. “Hell yes, we did.”
“It’s over, brother. It’s over. Your friend Hamilton showed up to save the day. In fact, he sent a few of his own men with us to get you out. They’re clearing the hotel and providing overwatch. Hamilton’s the one who got me this fancy med kit that’s saving your life.”
“Is—”
“Hannah was with Hamilton. She’s fine. And the others, they’re okay.” Bishop winked. “Except for Reynoso, but he’s always been a little cracked in the head.”
Reynoso rolled his eyes. “Less chatting, more moving!”
“On three.” Bishop and Reynoso lifted the board, one hundred percent dead weight.
Bishop grunted. “Ever think about a diet, Coleman?”
“Only fat man in the apocalypse,” Reynoso deadpanned.
Together, they moved from the kitchen into the alcove and started for the stairs.
Liam blinked blearily. “I think I—love you.”
“You hear that?” Bishop said. “He loves us.”
Reynoso smirked. “You’re never gonna live that down, Coleman.”
Through the tremendous pain, Liam felt his lips twitch into a semblance of a smile.
They’d come for him. His people. His brothers. He’d thought he understood it, but it was only now that he truly did. All this time, he’d shouldered the burden alone when he didn’t have to.
He was no longer a man apart.
He wasn’t alone. He never had been.
72
Liam
Day One Hundred and Eighteen
Liam was alive.
Alive, but crippled.
The shrapnel had clipped his spinal cord. He was numb from the waist down. Couldn’t feel a thing. Not his toes, not his shins or knees or anything else. His spine busted, his legs ruined.
Locked in this damn bed, forced to lay still and straight to not further injure his spine. He was hooked to an IV and a catheter, monitored for low blood pressure, respiratory complications, blood clots, and any neurological issues.
“Am I paralyzed?” he asked, just wanting the truth.
“I can’t answer that,” Evelyn said. “It could be spinal shock or transient paralysis. Inflammation can put enormous pressure on your spinal cord. If it’s temporary, it could last for a few hours or a few weeks. Or…”
“Or it’s permanent.”
Evelyn’s gaze softened. She touched his arm. “I’ve found some methylprednisolone for the inflammation, but that’s all we have. I’m sorry.”
After years of his body performing like a well-oiled machine—powerful, efficient, dynamic, capable—he’d finally suffered the consequences of his actions. The punishments his body had endured.
He’d understood the risks. He’d known the crushed discs in his spine would eventually fail him.
His identity was encapsulated in his ability to shoot, to wound, to kill other human beings with precision and accuracy.
He was a soldier.
The sheepdog standing between the wolves and the sheep.
Who was he now? Who could he protect or defend?
And yet. Despite how wrecked he felt, he accepted it. He knew how lucky he was.