The Hill - BLACKBIRD book 5

11. breathe

The shots startled Gillian, who realized she'd been listening while staring at Brock blankly. "Lads, cover me while they extract Russ. Brockner's not responding, so I gotta wait this out here with him."

"You damn got it," Fred replied, as another shot echoed down the hill.

Gillian forgot about them to focus on Brock. She touched his shoulder again, causing him a jolt as he let out yet another faint moan.

Gillian fought her urge to throw her arms around him and hold him tight. That wouldn't help him. She commanded her hands to stay steady and open the backpack as she spoke in a low, soothing tone.

"Agent Brockner, it's me, sir. It's Gillian. Can you hear me? It's okay, sir. We're here now. You're safe. We're here to take you home, sir."

She turned on her flashlight and stuck it into a small hole in the fallen trunk. She wished she hadn't done it, because seeing Brock like that filled her eyes with tears. "Oh, my..." she mumbled, and rummaged the backpack to take out what she needed. "What've they done to you!"

Brock had crumbled against the tree and curled up, his hands limp on his lap. He wore only a flannel in that freezing night, and it was wet and dirty. The knees of his jeans were tore open and covered in mud, showing he'd crawled like his hunters had said. She noticed his hiking shoes were untied, and he had no socks on. He kept his head sunk between his shoulders, and his face turned to the tree was one swollen bruise covered in dry blood.

"How is he, Reg?" asked Hank then.

Speaking with her eyes on him was harder than she thought. "I—I don't know, Hank. He's like raving, and he's so beaten up...!" she mumbled as she wrapped a thermal blanket around him, her throat painfully squeezed.

Hank's calm, detached tone came to her rescue. "Keep'im warm and try to hydrate him."

"I don't think he can drink, Hank. And he's making a funny noise when he breathes... Try to send me a medic from the chopper!"

"Sit him up, Reg. That'll help him breathe. And if he can't drink, you'll have to use the IV."

"I can't use a needle, Hank! I don't know how!"

"Okay, then wet a cloth and squeeze it on his lips. Keep doing it. Some drops will fall into his mouth."

"O-okay..."

"Or cut the IV tube to make a straw with it. That'll help him drink from your bottle."

She produced another emergency blanket, folded it as much as she could and slipped it between his head and the tree. Then she heard more gunfire from the south, still far from the hill. And the regular sound of rotors from the north. Her radio let her hear two rescue medics talking as they rappelled down from the helicopter and rushed into the shed. They set to work right away, preparing Russell to be hoisted up to the helicopter.

Gillian's eyes fell on the morphine shot ready in the first-aid kit she'd opened by her legs. She'd never injected anybody, but it was plain to see that what kept Brock knocked down was the pain. Morphine would ease it, and she'd be able to tend a little to his ruined face.

So she reached for his hand under the blanket. He squirmed once more with a deadened moan and stole it away. Gillian rested her other hand on his shoulder and spoke again in a gentle, soothing way. "It's me, sir. Please, let me help you." She reached further, her fingertips following Brock's folded arm to his wrist. His hand was pressed tight between his other arm and his side, as to hide it. "Please, sir. I need you to give me your hand now..." She felt him shiver when her fingers touched his skin past the flannel cuff. He just couldn't help it. Even at the brink of death, his reaction at her was rejection. "Let me help you, sir. I just wanna help you."

Brock didn't even blink, but she felt he relaxed slightly, and he didn't steal away from her touch again. Okay, now he was really dying for sure. She covered his hand with hers and guided it gently out from under the blanket. Without any conscious thought about anything, her first impulse was taking his hand to her lips and kissing his scratched knuckles, covered in mud and blood like the rest of him. His shaky sigh made her clench her teeth and swallow a sob. Then she rested his hand on her leg and injected him the morphine.

"Russ is out," said Hank then. "Give me your twenty, guys."

Gillian didn't pay them attention. The furious shooting from the south kept getting closer, but her team had her covered. Now she needed to keep Brock alive until they were able to extract him too. She held his hand again, and couldn't fight the temptation to caress his hair gently.

"It's okay, stupid bitter man. I've got you," she muttered.

She would've caressed his face too, but that would only hurt. And she didn't want to cause him any more pain.