Page 51 of Anchor
“Bluebird, eyes up!” he barked. “Lockjaw, cover the south!”
The crowd panicked and scattered, phones flashing, screams tangling with orders. The NSA suits were shouting into their radios now, ducking low, but Reid didn’t give them an ounce of trust.
He pressed his hand against Claire’s flank. It came away red. Too red.
Her eyes found his, wide and trying to stay clear. “Reid…”
“Don’t,” he snapped, voice steel and fire. “Save it. Stay with me.” He scooped her up against his chest, ignoring the hot streak of blood soaking into his suit. “We’re moving!” he barked to the team.
As Shade threw smoke to cover the retreat, Reid carried Claire through it. His entire world narrowed to the pounding of her heart against his arm and the knowledge that someone had just declared war in broad daylight.
Reid tore across the quad with Claire locked in his arms, her weight barely there, her blood now soaking straight through his shirt. The shouting, the flashing cameras, the chaos of students and agents were gone from his vision. All he saw was her pale face and her eyes slipping.
“Bluebird, call it!” he barked.
“Extraction, one minute, north turnaround!”
“Spartan, Shade, block the rear!”
A second SUV screeched into the lane as Reid rounded the corner. Doors flew open. Flint was inside, sleeves rolled, gloves on.
Reid climbed in with Claire still against him, refusing to let her slide from his arms. Flint’s eyes snapped once over the wound. Blood flowed steadily from her right flank.
Reid cried out, “No exit!”
“Shit. Internal bleed.” Flint snapped open a pack. “Hold pressure. Now.”
Reid’s palm was already jammed into the wound as Flint poured QuikClot straight into it. Claire jerked away, a strangled sound escaping her throat. The smell of burning tissue filled the SUV. Reid’s chest seized.
“QuikClot’s working,” Flint said flatly. “It’s ugly, but it’ll slow the blood loss.” He grabbed a line then stabbed her arm. “IV going in. Hang the bag, Spartan.”
The SUV swerved hard, forcing Spartan to brace the drip line against the ceiling. Flint’s hands were steady but his tone clipped. “She needs a trauma surgeon, Anchor. We’re going into med hot.”
Reid bent close to her ear, pressing down, refusing to let the bleeding take her. “You hear me? Stay with me, Claire.”
Her lashes flickered weakly.
Heat.Too much heat.A burn ripped through her side like a fire was alive inside her. She wanted to scream, but only a ragged gasp came.
Something cold flooded her arm—IV. Voices overlapped, but the one she clung to was Reid’s: low, fierce, steady. “Stay with me. Don’t close your eyes.”
She wanted to tell him she wouldn’t, but the weight pulling her lids down was too strong. She caught visions of faces. Spartan was holding something above her. Flint leaned in with blood on his gloves, but Reid’s shadow above her was the only shape she trusted.
Her lips barely moved. “Anchor, not… your fault. I messed up.”
His voice snapped, hard as iron, “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare.”
She coughed weakly, a copper taste filling her mouth. Her breath rattled, but she forced her eyes open again, even as darkness pressed. “You came,” she whispered.
Reid pressed his forehead to hers, steadying her, grounding her in that touch. “Always.”
The SUV barreled into the underground Chase Medical garage. The brakes screamed. Doors flew open. Hands pulled her as med techs shouted. Claire felt herself lifted, the ceiling lights stabbing too bright, and her vision tunneled.
She locked onto Reid’s voice one more time, sharp through the roar. “She’s not leaving my sight.”
And then everything broke into white.
CHASE MEDICAL –TRAUMA UNIT – 1229 HOURS
