hoarsely, “can you move Bashir?”
She shook her head. Julian was breathing on his own now but still unconscious. “You’d have to carry him. I could cover you, but I don’t know…”
“No.” Saad was in control again. He flicked his rifle at the nurses and anesthetist, who were still cowering. “You, get out.” When they didn’t move, he said, “I don’t ask twice.” Then, as they scurried out, Saad turned to Arin. “You, too.”
“I’m staying.” Arin started wrapping his shoulder. “I die now, I die later. It’s all the same to Blate. And Kahayn’s still alive. I can’t leave her.”
“We’re not dead yet,” said Saad. He shouldered his rifle. “Elizabeth, help me move Bashir to the floor…easy now,” he said, as they slid Bashir off and eased him down.
It was only then that Lense realized Bashir was totally naked beneath the sheets. He was starting to shiver now as his body fought off the hypothermia. She swaddled him in sheets and drapes. Then she clutched his chilled hands in hers and put her mouth to his ear. “I’m here, Julian; it’s Elizabeth. Don’t worry; it’s going to be all right.” She clamped down on tears. “I’m going to get you out of here.” She didn’t know if he heard. She didn’t know if it were even true.
Saad jerked a metal gurney onto its side, swinging it around between them and the door that led to pre-op. Then he kicked the brakes on the operating room table and clattered it to the operating room doors. Bending at the knees, he wrapped his arms around the single, off-center pedestal, wedged his right shoulder under the table and heaved. The table was blocky and very heavy, but it toppled with a loud, metallic bang. Saad braced it against the door, then scuttled back and began overturning instrument trays and maneuvering the ventilator to make a barrier.
“I can hold them off for a bit,” he said. “Elizabeth, can you help Kahayn?”
Lense bent over the woman. Kahayn was on her back. Her neck veins bulged. Lense ripped open Kahayn’s gown, using the surgical scissors again to split the gown in front and then slit her scrubs in two. The wound was centered directly over the lower part of her thick, armorlike sternum: a round ugly hole punched into her flesh. But there was no exit wound.
Suddenly, there was a squall of static and then a frantic voice coming over the radio on Saad’s left shoulder. The sound was so loud and so unexpected that Lense’s heart nearly jumped out of her mouth. Saad listened, then shouted, “Say again?”
“Soldiers!” A voice scratchy with static. Cracks of gunfire. “There are too many, we can’t hold them off, we can’t—”
“Doren!” Saad keyed his radio again. Got nothing but static. “Doren, do you read me?” More static.
Lense went cold. Soldiers on the way. They’ll kill Arin but not Saad. They need Saad, and they’ll probably keep Bashir and me alive so they can—
“Pericardial tamponade,” said Arin.
“What?” Lense looked at Arin. “What did you say?”
“Her neck veins, the entry wound. She’s got pericardial tamponade; must’ve hit the heart!” Still clutching his wrapped shoulder, he shuffled closer on his knees. “If you can decompress the pericardial sac, maybe we can fish out the bullet and repair the tear.”
“Here? Now?”
“There’s no time,” said Saad.
“I haven’t got anything better to do,” said Arin. He looked at Lense. “Bashir is stable. Please.”
She took a deep breath, nodded. She helped Arin struggle into a right glove, and then snapped on a pair of her own.
“Go for a subxiphoid approach,” said Arin. “Just make a window with a scalpel.”
“This won’t even be close to sterile.” Lense felt for the notch at the junction of Kahayn’s ribs and drew a scalpel in short vertical. Blood welled up and Arin sponged it away with his good hand. She cut again, and this time she was through skin and into skeletal muscle.
“Easy,” said
She shook her head. Julian was breathing on his own now but still unconscious. “You’d have to carry him. I could cover you, but I don’t know…”
“No.” Saad was in control again. He flicked his rifle at the nurses and anesthetist, who were still cowering. “You, get out.” When they didn’t move, he said, “I don’t ask twice.” Then, as they scurried out, Saad turned to Arin. “You, too.”
“I’m staying.” Arin started wrapping his shoulder. “I die now, I die later. It’s all the same to Blate. And Kahayn’s still alive. I can’t leave her.”
“We’re not dead yet,” said Saad. He shouldered his rifle. “Elizabeth, help me move Bashir to the floor…easy now,” he said, as they slid Bashir off and eased him down.
It was only then that Lense realized Bashir was totally naked beneath the sheets. He was starting to shiver now as his body fought off the hypothermia. She swaddled him in sheets and drapes. Then she clutched his chilled hands in hers and put her mouth to his ear. “I’m here, Julian; it’s Elizabeth. Don’t worry; it’s going to be all right.” She clamped down on tears. “I’m going to get you out of here.” She didn’t know if he heard. She didn’t know if it were even true.
Saad jerked a metal gurney onto its side, swinging it around between them and the door that led to pre-op. Then he kicked the brakes on the operating room table and clattered it to the operating room doors. Bending at the knees, he wrapped his arms around the single, off-center pedestal, wedged his right shoulder under the table and heaved. The table was blocky and very heavy, but it toppled with a loud, metallic bang. Saad braced it against the door, then scuttled back and began overturning instrument trays and maneuvering the ventilator to make a barrier.
“I can hold them off for a bit,” he said. “Elizabeth, can you help Kahayn?”
Lense bent over the woman. Kahayn was on her back. Her neck veins bulged. Lense ripped open Kahayn’s gown, using the surgical scissors again to split the gown in front and then slit her scrubs in two. The wound was centered directly over the lower part of her thick, armorlike sternum: a round ugly hole punched into her flesh. But there was no exit wound.
Suddenly, there was a squall of static and then a frantic voice coming over the radio on Saad’s left shoulder. The sound was so loud and so unexpected that Lense’s heart nearly jumped out of her mouth. Saad listened, then shouted, “Say again?”
“Soldiers!” A voice scratchy with static. Cracks of gunfire. “There are too many, we can’t hold them off, we can’t—”
“Doren!” Saad keyed his radio again. Got nothing but static. “Doren, do you read me?” More static.
Lense went cold. Soldiers on the way. They’ll kill Arin but not Saad. They need Saad, and they’ll probably keep Bashir and me alive so they can—
“Pericardial tamponade,” said Arin.
“What?” Lense looked at Arin. “What did you say?”
“Her neck veins, the entry wound. She’s got pericardial tamponade; must’ve hit the heart!” Still clutching his wrapped shoulder, he shuffled closer on his knees. “If you can decompress the pericardial sac, maybe we can fish out the bullet and repair the tear.”
“Here? Now?”
“There’s no time,” said Saad.
“I haven’t got anything better to do,” said Arin. He looked at Lense. “Bashir is stable. Please.”
She took a deep breath, nodded. She helped Arin struggle into a right glove, and then snapped on a pair of her own.
“Go for a subxiphoid approach,” said Arin. “Just make a window with a scalpel.”
“This won’t even be close to sterile.” Lense felt for the notch at the junction of Kahayn’s ribs and drew a scalpel in short vertical. Blood welled up and Arin sponged it away with his good hand. She cut again, and this time she was through skin and into skeletal muscle.
“Easy,” said
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