Page 12

Lauren

The packed bags lined up against the clinic wall looked like gravestones in the dim light. I pressed my palms flat against the examination table, trying to stop the tremor that had taken root in my hands. I could still see Carlos’s blood all over them, even though I hadn’t touched him.

Logan emerged from the back room, radio in hand. “Helicopter’s on schedule. Departure in ninety minutes.”

Ninety minutes. The number felt both eternal and impossibly short.

“I’ve finished the patient transition protocols and have set everything up with Mariela,” Sophia said, checking her watch as she sorted medications into labeled containers.

Mariela, our local nurse, would have to do the best she could.

“Mrs. Rivera has enough insulin for two weeks, and I’ve left detailed instructions for the diabetic patients.

What about the Quispe family—should someone check on them after what happened to Carlos? ”

My stomach clenched. “I’m sure the village has already gathered round them. We don’t have time to do any crisis counseling. Let’s focus on the people we can physically help.”

Sophia took a deep breath and nodded. “Agreed. There’s nothing we can do to bring Carlos back.”

And whose fault was that? I could hear Logan’s voice in my head saying the blame belonged with Diego Silva alone. But let’s be honest…would one dinner have hurt me? I could’ve been boring and drab, and Mateo’s interest in me would’ve passed quickly.

And Carlos would still be alive.

“Miguel will need his mining wound dressing changed in three days.” I forced the words out, trying to do what I could in the time I had left. “And Lucia Vasquez isn’t due for another two weeks, but first pregnancies can be unpredictable.”

“I’ve prepared instructions for all the expectant mothers. You know how quickly things can change without proper prenatal care. I’m going to put those in the boxes.” Sophia walked out the door.

I nodded absently, my thoughts fragmenting between patient protocols and the image of Carlos crumpling to the dirt. Diego Silva had pulled that trigger so casually, like he was swatting a fly. I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve?—

“Lauren.” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos in my head. “Talk to me.”

I looked up to find him studying my face with that intensity of his. “I keep thinking about what happened to Carlos. If I could’ve stopped it.”

“Don’t.” The word came out harder than I’d expected. “Don’t let Silva’s psychological manipulation work. That’s exactly what he wanted—for you to replay that moment until it destroys you.”

“Easy for you to say. You didn’t get someone killed today.”

Logan’s expression darkened. “Neither did you. Don’t forget what I said before.”

Before I could respond, Ty appeared in the doorway. “Doc Yang finished with the medication protocols. Martinez and Williams are ready to roll. Just waiting on the word.”

“Copy that.” Logan turned back to me. “Final preparations. If you want to double-check everything, now’s the time. We’re wheels up in seventy-three minutes.”

I moved toward the supply area, each step feeling like I was walking away from everything that mattered. Six months of building trust with these people, of becoming part of their community, reduced to a single bag and a helicopter ride.

The guilt sat in my chest like broken glass.

But Logan was right about one thing—staying would endanger everyone. As long as I remained in Corazón, I was a target that painted everyone around me.

I was organizing more antibiotics when the sound of running feet echoed outside.

“Everyone down. Now.” Logan’s voice carried sharp authority.

I dropped to the floor, heart hammering. Through the window, I could see a small figure racing toward the clinic—not a cartel vehicle, but something almost worse. A child in distress.

“Dr. Lauren! Dr. Lauren!” Elena Vasquez burst through the door, her face streaked with tears.

The ten-year-old, the one who had suggested I marry Logan yesterday, was one of my regulars, always bringing her younger siblings for checkups—less because they needed it and more because she liked to practice her English with me.

I liked practicing it with her too. She was so smart. So witty. If she lived in the United States, she would be in advanced classes and no doubt would go on to college. Here? There was no telling.

Logan’s hand stayed near his weapon as he assessed the threat level, but he stepped aside when he realized it was just a frightened child.

“Elena, what’s wrong?” I dropped to her level, automatically switching to Spanish.

“It’s my aunt Lucia—the baby’s coming wrong. There’s blood everywhere, and Abuela says she’s dying. Please, doctora, you have to help her.”

Lucia Vasquez. Nineteen years old, first pregnancy. I’d seen her two weeks ago for what should have been a routine prenatal visit. Everything had looked normal.

“How long has she been in labor?”

“Since this morning. But the bleeding just started, and the baby won’t come out.” Elena’s small hands clutched my shirt. “Abuela sent me because you’re the only one who can save her.”

The words felt like a stab to my heart. You’re the only one who can save her. This was exactly why leaving felt like abandonment—these people had no alternatives, no backup plan when medical emergencies struck.

“Sixty-eight minutes to the helicopter departure,” Logan said quietly, but his tone carried unmistakable warning.

I stood slowly, medical training warring with the dangerous reality. Prolonged labor with bleeding could mean anything from simple positioning issues to life-threatening complications like placental abruption or uterine rupture.

I looked at Logan. “I have to go.”

“Absolutely not.” He moved between me and the door. “The risk?—”

“This is a nineteen-year-old girl hemorrhaging to death while I choose my own safety over my medical oath.” I reached for my obstetric kit. “I can’t live with that.”

“The van is scheduled to leave in just under an hour.”

“Take the others and leave without me. I’ll meet you at the landing spot.”

“On foot? There’s no way you’ll make it in time through unfamiliar jungle. It’s a five-minute van ride, but probably thirty minutes on foot.”

“Then I’m not going to make it.” The words came out steadier than I felt. “You’ll have to send the helicopter back again later. My parents will pay for it.”

“It’s not a question of payment. There’s a hurricane coming in that will make coming back impossible for a while.”

I shrugged. “Then I’ll just have to find a way to stay alive and stay hidden from the Silvas until you can come back. But I’m not leaving this young woman and her baby to die.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he ran calculations I couldn’t see. Finally, he turned to Tyler and Jace.

“Change of plans. Get the other doctors to the extraction point. Establish overwatch and we’ll catch up to you.”

“What about you?” Jace asked.

“I’ll procure another vehicle, and we’ll meet you at the landing zone as soon as we can. Tell the pilot to hold as long as possible. But if we’re not there when the safety threshold passes, extract without us. No exceptions.” Logan’s voice carried the kind of authority that ended arguments.

Ty didn’t like it, but he agreed. “Copy that.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” I said to him as the others gathered their gear. “I understand the risks and am willing to take them. It’s not fair to ask you to take them too.”

“Someone has to keep you alive long enough to save people.” He adjusted his radio frequency and clipped it to his vest. “That’s me.”

It wasn’t poetic, but I didn’t need it to be. He understood why I had to go, even if he disagreed with the choice. And most importantly, he wasn’t letting me go alone.

Sophia appeared at my side as I prepared emergency supplies. “Are you sure about this?”

“No. But I’m sure about what happens if I don’t try.”

She pulled me in for a hug. “Be careful. We’ll see you at the helicopter.”

I hugged her back, hoping that was true.

Logan established his rules as we prepared to leave. “You stay where I can see you. If I say move, you move immediately. If I say we’re leaving, we leave—medical situation be damned.”

“And if Lucia’s bleeding out when you make that call?”

“Then she dies, and you live.” His voice was implacable. “I won’t apologize for prioritizing your survival.”

The brutal honesty should have angered me, but instead, it felt oddly comforting. He would keep me alive, even if it meant making impossible choices.

“Understood. As long as you give me as much time as you can.”

A few minutes later, we followed Elena through the afternoon heat, leaving the clinic’s relative safety behind. The air felt thicker, more oppressive—whether from the approaching storm or my mounting anxiety, I couldn’t tell.

Logan moved with that controlled awareness I was learning to recognize, positioning himself where he could monitor approaches while maintaining visual contact with me. His competence was reassuring in ways I was only beginning to understand.

Lucia’s house sat at the village’s edge, small and cramped. The moment I stepped inside, medical training took over. Worried voices, the smell of blood and sweat, a young woman’s labored breathing—this was familiar territory.

Lucia lay pale and exhausted, dark stains spreading across the sheets beneath her. Her grandmother hovered nearby, wringing her hands and murmuring prayers.

“Lucia,” I said softly, moving to her side. “I’m here.”

Relief flooded her face. “Doctora, something’s very wrong. The baby won’t come, and there’s so much blood.”

I worked quickly, assessing vitals and examining the source of bleeding. Pulse rapid but strong. Blood pressure low but stable. The hemorrhaging appeared to be from trauma rather than internal rupture—frightening but manageable.

“The baby’s positioned incorrectly,” I explained as I prepared for manual repositioning. “I can fix this, but it’s going to be painful.”

“Do whatever you have to do,” Lucia whispered.

As I worked, I was acutely aware of Logan’s presence in the doorway. His attention split between monitoring my progress and watching for external threats, but somehow his steady competence made the chaotic situation feel more controlled.

The repositioning was delicate work—one wrong move could injure both mother and baby. Lucia’s grandmother murmured prayers while I worked my hands carefully around the infant’s shoulders, feeling for the right angle.

“There,” I breathed as something shifted. “Lucia, when the next contraction comes, I need you to push.”

Her face contorted with effort, and I guided the baby’s head as it finally emerged. One more contraction, and the shoulders followed.

“Almost there,” I murmured, supporting the baby’s body. “One more push, Lucia.”

The baby slipped free with a rush of fluid, and for a terrifying moment, there was only silence. I quickly cleared the airway, then a lusty cry filled the small room—healthy, strong, furious at being disturbed. Relief flooded through me as I checked vital signs.

“She’s perfect,” I told Lucia as I placed the squirming newborn in her arms. The baby’s cries softened to whimpers as she found her mother’s warmth. “You did beautifully.”

Lucia’s tears mixed with exhaustion and joy as she gazed at her daughter. “She’s so small.”

“She’s exactly the right size,” I assured her, administering antibiotics and checking for continued bleeding. The flow had slowed significantly—a good sign.

“Dr. Valentino.” Logan’s voice carried new urgency from the doorway. “We need to leave. Now.”

I looked up to see tension radiating from every line of his body. He was checking his watch, calculating.

“Two minutes,” I said, finishing Lucia’s immediate care and turning to her grandmother. “She needs to rest, but the bleeding should stop completely within an hour. Elena, watch for fever or heavy bleeding. If either happens?—”

“Lauren.” Logan’s voice cut through my medical protocols, sharper now. “The van’s gone by now. We’re hoofing it. If we have any chance at all of making it, we have to leave right now .”

The implication hit me—we’d missed our ride to the extraction point. Now, we’d have to make our way through the jungle on foot, hoping we could reach the helicopter before it left without us.

I could see Logan’s hand hovering near his radio, probably debating whether to contact his team. Time was up.

I kissed Lucia’s forehead and grabbed my bag. “Take care of that beautiful baby.”

I reached down and kissed the top of Elena’s head, wishing I had more time to say goodbye, to explain what was going on. To tell her to stay in school and work hard and try to go to college. But I didn’t. There was no time. And my final words would be of more use if they were practical.

“There’s a storm coming. A hurricane,” I said as Logan pulled me toward the door. “Get supplies. Get as prepared as you can. Tell the others in the village.”

Then Logan had me out the door, and soon, I was following him toward the path that would take us to the helicopter. He keyed his radio as we cleared the village.

“Citadel Two, this is Citadel One. We are Oscar Mike to your POS.”

“Copy that, One. Standing by.”

I shot him a questioning look as we hurried down the village path.

“On the move to your position,” he explained without breaking stride. “Military shorthand.”

“Are we going to make it?”

“We’re going to do our fucking best.”

And then we ran.