Chapter 17
“What did you just say?” Cole’s voice pitched higher, and the room tilted as a black haze swept his vision. He grabbed the doorframe to steady himself.
Carter lurched to his feet and knocked over the vanity stool, his heartbeat slamming so hard that it
seemed to miss a beat.
On the phone, Matthew rushed to clarify. “We traced Ms. Reed to the Aygate region. A report just came in
that a newly arrived Doctors Without Borders team was attacked in the conflict zone.
“Two of the victims are reportedly women from our country. The identities haven’t been confirmed yet,
but the description is a close match.”
“Impossible!” Cole’s nails bit into the wood. He forced out the words through his teeth. “She’s not dead!
I’m going to find her right now!”
Carter swayed, then bolted past Cole, taking the stairs two steps at a time.
Cole pocketed his phone and followed, sliding into the passenger seat as Carter gunned the engine.
Carter drove like the city had emptied for them alone. His hands were veined and white-knuckled on the
wheel, his mouth trembling.
Cole booked the fastest flight to Southville. After a mad scramble for passports and gear, they sprinted for the airport.
On the long-haul flight, neither of them shut an eye. Red veins webbed their stare, and the fear grinding in their chests never let up.
The only thing keeping them going was the hope of finding Maya alive.
They told themselves that she would survive because she was tough and brave.
However, it was a war zone. In a place torn apart by armed clashes, could anyone say for certain that she
was still alive?
“Damn it!” Cole drove his fist into the armrest.
It was all his fault. If he hadn’t believed Valerie and had faced his own feelings, Maya wouldn’t have left in despair and thrown herself into danger.
He hated himself more than words could describe.
Carter clasped his hands together, his lips trembling as he stared out at the bright drift of clouds.
Whether she was alive or not, he would bring her back.
On the verge of breaking down, they endured more than ten hours on the flight.
As soon as they landed, they rushed straight for the border.
They reached out to local aid groups, immediately funded a truckload of supplies, and asked for only one thing-to join the convoy entering the conflict zone to search for Maya.
Meanwhile, in a field hospital, Maya was performing surgery. A little boy lay on the table. His leg had been blown apart, and he was being prepped for an emergency amputation.
“Dr. Reed, we’re low on anesthetic. We only have a small sedative dose left,” a nurse said.
The boy’s cries pitched higher.
On a nearby cot, his sister tried to soothe him. Her forearm was torn open and ended in bandages where
her lower arm should have been.
She was the next patient in line.
“Give him what we have,” Maya said quickly, already disinfecting her tools.
She bent down to explain the procedure to both children, then nodded to the scrub tech and asked the
girl to help hold her brother steady.
The saw bit and drew back. The boy screamed and bucked on the table, fighting even as three pairs of
hands pinned him down.
Blood sprayed across Maya’s temple and speckled her mask. She never wavered, and even her breathing remained steady.
Patient after patient came through the flap, and she kept going until long after dark.
When the final stretcher was taken away, she finally let herself relax. Her hands trembled as she flexed
and rolled her fingers, trying to work out the pain of overuse.
She shoveled down a few bites of food and stepped outside. She sat on the packed dirt beyond the ward lights, tilting her head back.
The moon hung coldly over the camp. For a moment, she simply looked at it and let her mind fall silent.
