Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Oh fuck, fuck, fucking shit.” Ben cursed and Maddox opened his eyes to see Ben hovering over him, clutching his shoulder.
“You’re hurt too,” he said stupidly. “What happened?”
“Fuck. All we need is you with a concussion.” Ben let out a fresh string of curses. “We slid down the ridge. Do you remember the mission?”
“Sort of.” Everything was hazy. He remembered being on the transport, Ben unhappy with him, then everything went floaty, tendrils of memories he couldn’t quite grab on to yet.
“Can you wiggle your fingers for me? Wanna make sure you didn’t break your fool neck.” Ben winced with every other word, and concern for him had Maddox complying without arguing. “Now your left foot.”
“What’s wrong with my right?” Cold sweat raced down Maddox’s chest.
“Don’t worry about that right now. Focus for me.” Ben’s voice was strained.
Maddox moved his left leg. It freaking hurt but it was almost a relief to feel sensation. “Can I sit up now?”
“Slowly,” Ben ordered. “Do you remember how to set a shoulder from training?”
“Training...” Maddox tried to grab hold of those memories as he sat up. He knew who he was and who Ben was, but his brain still seemed wrapped in pink cotton candy. Think, Horvat, think. Focus. “Your shoulder out of whack?”
“Pretty sure, yeah.” Ben moved, and sure enough his left side did seem messed up, arm hanging lower than it should. “And I need you to help me set it before it swells too much. Then I can see to your injuries better.”
“It’s gonna hurt,” Maddox warned, voice low. The details of the mission were still hazy, but he sensed danger, and not just from the terrain and their isolation. “Heck. My hand’s bleeding.” He’d lost a glove at some point and his right hand was scraped and bloody.
“All right. Now I know you’re gonna live. Still can’t curse, huh?” Ben released a shaky laugh. He adjusted his uniform so that he was biting on the sleeve. “Do it.”
“It’d be far easier if we were standing—”
“Not an option right now,” Ben said, voice grim. “Just do your best from this angle.”
Even through his haze, Maddox remembered enough from their field first aid training about how this should go. And Ben was right to bite down—this was going to hurt, no two ways about it. “Okay. On three. One, two—” On two, when Ben’s arm was still relaxed, Maddox used as much of his body weight as he could to push it back into place, using a swift motion.
Sweat dripped down Ben’s face, streaking his already messy greasepaint. His jaw clamped down on the fabric, but he didn’t yell like Maddox would have.
“Did it work?” Maddox asked, praying that they didn’t need a second attempt.
“Fuck. I think so.” Ben shrugged and winced. “It’s still messed up, but I can think again. Which is what we need to get out of this SNAFU. Now to see to you.”
“I’m okay,” Maddox protested. The rain continued to drip down his face, and he brushed at it only for his fingers to come away crimson. Blood. This isn’t good.
“Ordinarily, I’d salute your sunny optimism, but in this case, just shut up and let me assess.” With his good arm, Ben dug out his survival kit and medical supplies from his uniform. When he grabbed the clotting powder packet, Maddox drew in a deep breath.
“That bad?”
“Yeah.” Ben’s voice was ominous. “Head wound’s pretty vicious and I’m not ruling out a concussion. It’s way more than some butterfly bandages can cope with, but I’m saving some of this for your leg too.”
“Head wounds always bleed.” Maddox tried for practicality. “And what about my leg—” he broke off as he looked down for the first time. Fuck. His knee and lower leg were not at the correct angle. Pain slammed into him, like it had been stalking him and finally caught up to his foggy brain. And to make matters worse, his uniform was torn, a huge gash on his calf.
“It’s not an open fracture.” Ben bent over him, “But I’m pretty sure it is broken. And first we gotta stop the bleeding.”
The clotting powder burned, making Maddox gasp and tense, body wanting to wrench away. At least Ben wasn’t busting out the tourniquet—the SEALs carried the clotting power and tourniquet more for bullet wounds, and Maddox tried to count his limited blessings that at least he wasn’t bleeding out on the jungle floor, team gone—
Wait.
Team gone?
“Did they really leave us?” he asked as Ben continued to fuss over him. He had a vague memory of the sound of a chopper.
“Not sure. They needed to get Issacson and the hostage medical attention ASAP, but chances are high that they’ve left part of the team to search for us.” The SEALs didn’t leave people behind. It just didn’t happen. But even knowing that, Maddox’s sore stomach still churned. The wind whipped through the ravine, underscoring how hard it was going to be for the chopper to return.