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Foster swallowed the bitter fear cresting his throat, turning to stare at his best friend. “Chase. Brother you need to keep her breathing.”
Chase grunted, hanging a second saline bag on his makeshift hook. “She’s lost at least a liter of blood. I’m doing all I can.”
“Can’t you do some kind of direct transfusion?”
“I could, if I had someone to match her blood type. She said she’s O negative. Which would be ideal if anyone else needed blood. But it means I need another O negative donor for her, and the last time I checked, none of us fit the bill. And Bodie and Saylor aren’t a match, either.” He pushed another shot of something into the IV. “She needs to get to a hospital, Foster. Now.”
Foster clenched his jaw then looked at the helicopter. There were bullet holes in the fuselage and part of the bubble was cracked, but he didn’t see any obvious damage that would warrant not at least trying to start her up.
He nodded, gave Mac a kiss on her forehead then stood. “Bodie? Is that state trooper buddy of yours on his way?”
Bodie nodded, kicking one of the men when he looked as if he was rousing. “He and a few of his colleagues just started hiking the trail. They should be here in about twenty. I’m sure we could head out and grab some keys — use one of their cruisers to get Mac to a hospital. Or procure whatever Striker and Thompson have.”
Chase grunted. “Beckett.”
Foster merely sighed. “I know. She doesn’t have that kind of time. And since the boat’s not an option…”
He darted over to the machine, doing a quick walk around before opening the rear doors. “Bodie? Are you okay holding down the fort until your friend gets here?”
“I’ll stay with him.” Saylor shifted in beside him. “I haven’t gotten a chance to shoot anyone in the ass, either.”
Bodie nodded, again. “We’re good.”
Foster walked back over to Mac and gathered her in his arms as Chase moved all the lines and meds he’d set up. “Then, get anyone else who needs medical support onboard.”
Saylor frowned. “But how is Mac gonna fly when she’s not even conscious?”
Foster stopped at the rear doors, looking at Saylor over his shoulder. “She’s not. So, saddle up, folks. This is going to be one hell of a ride.”
Chapter Eighteen
Foster placed Mackenzie on the stretcher Zain had arranged on the floor, palming her cheek before taking a breath then shuffling into the cockpit and sliding onto the seat. Rain battered the bubble, a light spray misting through the bullet hole on the other side.
Mac’s blood stained his hands, the sticky feeling a reminder of all he had to lose. That she was counting on him to push past his fears.
To fucking grow a set.
He rolled his shoulder, clenching his hand a few times before gripping the controls as he pressed in circuit breakers and got everything rocking. The nav system sprang to life, confirming every fear that this weather system was worse than anything he’d ever flown in. That maybe this time, he really was pushing his limits too far.
Foster glanced over at the empty co-pilot’s seat, then back at the darkened horizon. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the gale force winds already buffeting the chopper.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked up at Zain. His buddy arched a brow as he stared out at the horizon, wincing when the next boom of thunder rattled the aircraft.
Zain sighed. “I know we don’t have many options, Beckett, but even I can tell that nav screen isn’t looking very favorable.”
“It rarely does. You’d better buckle up. This isn’t going to be a fun ride.”
Foster turned, took a breath, then lifted off, battling the gusting winds as they pounded the machine, nearly spinning it when they abruptly shifted. He adapted, nosing the bird forward as he picked up speed, keeping the aircraft parallel to the shoreline. The clouds thickened around him, blocking out any hint of light until he wasn’t sure if it was day or night, the eerie gray blending in with the raging ocean.
He gained a bit of altitude, cursing when the aircraft started to buffet, the strong vibrations shaking through his controls. He just wasn’t sure if it was the damage to the fuselage, some nicks in the rotors, or if one of the rounds had compromised the hydraulic line. Either way, it meant the situation was only going to get worse.
You’re doing it, again, Beckett.
Foster jumped as the ghostly voice sounded around him, the wavering tone sending shivers down his spine. He glanced at co-pilot’s seat, again, ensuring it was still empty before shaking it off.
It wasn’t real.
It was just his nerves getting the best of him.