Second Chances by Chris Hechtl

the raptor's head off her. She sucked in a breath. “Damn that hurts,” she said. “The teeth are keeping the wound closed, you pull it out and I'm going to bleed out,” she warned, pushing back down on the head to keep the teeth in.
    “Honey, we can't just leave it in! It's got bacteria and who knows what else in the saliva!” Bert said, anguished.
    “You can and you will,” Heather ground out voice taught with pain but broking no argument. “See to the others,” she ordered. He looked at her in dismay. “We need to make sure there aren't more,” she patiently explained. He hesitated. “Go, I'll be fine here,” she said, sucking in a deep breath. She rested, breathing slowly. “Fetch me a blanket while you're at it, the old one. I don't want to get blood on the afghan; my mother knitted that one,” she said practically.
    Bert looked at her but she made a shooing motion. “Grab a first aid kit,” John urged. He nodded and turned on his heel and took off for their motor home. John watched him go and then knelt next to Heather. “You've got to take care of him,” she said to him. “He's going to be a mess,” she said, then shivered.
    “You are going into shock. You need to remain calm and still,” John said softly, looking down. Bert's attempt to remove the head had pulled the teeth out a bit, enough for blood to flow. He frowned, knowing she was in trouble. Quincy was shaken; he ripped his own shirt off and then ripped it into strips and then tried to bandage the wound.
    “It's too late, femoral artery's been cut I just know it,” Heather said, with her trademark Texas drawl. “Triage, go help the others,” she said, pushing Quincy weakly away. Quincy looked at her, then to John. “Go on now, get,” Heather ordered.
    “Hang on,” John said. He pulled off his belt then got it under her. Right at her hip. He pulled it tight, threaded it through the buckle, then cinched it until she gasped, then went tighter.
    “I guess we should have tried that a minute ago,” Heather said.
    “I...I need stents. Clamps. Water and light. We need to get in there and clamp the bleeder. She's bleeding out,” Quincy said. He kept looking up and around for his wife.
    “She's busy Quincy, focus on the patient at hand. Even if this one has two legs and not four,” John said gruffly. “What else can we do?”
    “Um, tourniquet, no, you did that. She's going into shock. The bleeding...”
    “Too much loss of blood will make my heart stop,” Heather said quietly, voice going dull.
    “Hey, come on, stay with us,” Bert said, coming up behind her. She felt him wrap the blanket around her. He shook, making her open her eyes to search his.
    “Are you hurt?” she asked weakly.
    “No. Not a scratch. I'm sorry,” he said, fighting tears.
    “Don't be. You take care of these people. They are good people,” Heather said as others came over. She looked up and smiled weakly. “My, everyone's here, how nice,” she said, eyes fluttering.
    “Do something!” Bert ground out as Trisha cried, turning to grab Adam blindly. He hugged her.
    “Adam, Trish, get your first aid kit,” John ordered. “You’re closer. We've got to do more,” he said. Adam nodded and moved off, pulling Trisha away. John could hear her quiet sobs. He felt horrible.
    “I'm sorry Heather, they...got past me,” Ross said, moving out of the crowd. “By the time I knew they were on the wall, they were over it; I couldn't fire down into our own people,” she said, voice rough with grief.
    “I know Ross, I know. I figured as much,” she said, reaching out to squeeze the woman's hand briefly. “How many did we lose?” Heather asked, looking at the woman. “I want to know who's going with me,” she said weakly, voice wavering.
    “Doc's working on Sal and Joy. Dawn and Phil are dead. Günter's tore up something wicked,” Ross said. “Bull got chewed too, but he ripped the raptor apart,” she said. “I don't know about the others,” she