Page 25 of Explorer’s Revenge

TWENTY-FOUR

MAEVE

T he first thing that pierces the floating comfort I’m in is pain.

It stabs through me—mainly my head, back, ass, and legs.

My eyes are closed, but I keep them that way for a moment as I scan my body.

My head hurts, but it isn’t to a point where I’m worried I cracked my skull—did that once, thanks, so I know what that feels like.

My back feels like I hit something hard, but I can twitch my toes, which means nothing is broken, but moving them brings a whole lot of agony to my left leg—the type that means a big injury.

I just breathe through the pain, trying to remember what happened. Did I slip? It doesn’t seem like a mistake I would make, but I must have. The guys’ shocked faces are the last thing I remember seeing before oblivion swallowed me.

The pure horror in their gazes haunts me.

I don’t remember hitting the bottom of wherever I am. All I remember is intense pain, the feeling of free-falling, and then nothing.

Okay, enough, Carter. Time to get moving.

It’s my dad’s voice, like that time I slipped into a glacier and he called instructions from the top. Accidents happen, but I can’t let fear overwhelm me. I have to deal with it as it comes and adapt. I am clearly in that hole.

First things first . . .

Blinking my eyes open, I realize I can’t see anything. Wherever I am is pitch black. Panic starts to consume me, so I slam my eyelids shut and force myself to relax.

I strain my ears for any familiar sounds, like the guys or anything, and wait. All I can hear is a soft lap of water and dripping somewhere farther away. Nothing else. No yells. No screams.

I don’t hear my name being called either, which isn’t a good sign.

Once I have myself somewhat in control, I make a list.

First, I need to find out what’s broken or hurt in my body.

Second, I have to figure out where I am and find a way up for help.

I can’t expect anyone to save me; I need to save myself. It’s what I was taught—it’s the way of the world. I can’t lie around feeling sorry for myself.

Opening my eyes again, I try to get my vision to adjust, which it does, albeit slowly.

Shapes and shades of gray come into view.

I can’t see far, but I can see my hands when I lift them, which is something.

Sliding one into my right pocket, I search for my keychain that’s attached to the inner pocket.

I unhook it from the carabiner, tug it out, and turn on the small light attached to it.

It blinds me for a moment before I shine it around. This isn’t good.

There’s water to my left, and it seems to go for a while, beyond the light’s capabilities.

There are rocky outcroppings surrounding me, almost like a barrier in the front and right.

There are a few to the left as well, but I can still see the water, and if I reached out, I could probably touch it.

The light doesn’t pierce the ceiling, but I’m lying on rock and wet sand.

I’m not dead, so at least there’s that.

Okay, now my injuries. I’ve been putting it off, knowing there’s something wrong with my left leg, but I can’t anymore.

Licking my dry lips, I place the light on a rock to my left, angling it up. It only reaches the immediate area, but it’s better than nothing.

Taking a deep breath, I look down at my legs.

My first thought is I’m fucking lucky. They are straight before me and not broken, which is a fucking miracle.

I don’t know how I didn’t break any bones.

Running my gaze down my right one, I only see surface wounds, scrapes, cuts, and torn pants. Nothing major.

Now to my left.

At first, I can’t make out much. My pants are completely torn into shreds from mid-thigh down.

I carefully try to pull a hole farther apart so I can see the skin below, and I hiss through my teeth, but I can finally spot the injury.

It covers most of my thigh and past my knee.

My skin is a strange color, and blood pumps steadily from the raw wound, which looks like a chewed-up mess.

No bones are poking through, though, which I guess is a mercy.

My boot is missing, and I don’t know why that pisses me off, but it does.

My thigh is bad, though, really bad. I’m losing a lot of blood. It’s sliding through wet sand and down a small slope into a pool of water, tinting it red.

I need to stop the blood loss, which means I need a tourniquet tight enough to restrict the vessels, but I’ll need to remember to release it every now and again so I don’t lose circulation. The torn muscles and skin are an issue, as is the risk of infection, but I can worry about that later.

Sliding my belt off, I use the sharp tip to pierce another hole in the leather with much difficulty after measuring.

I lift my leg as much as I can, and a sharp scream leaves my lips before I cut it off, then I wrap the belt around my upper thigh and tighten it.

The agony is indescribable, and once it’s done, I fall back, panting and sweating.

It hurts, but it’s better than bleeding out.

I need to clean the wound, but there is only that water, which probably has more bacteria in it than anything else, so I decide not to.

The edges of my skin are torn as hell, like I slammed into a rock and ripped it open.

It’s a jagged mess. If I don’t get out of here soon, I could lose my leg or worse.

Infection will set in, and I’ll become septic and die a horrible death.

It’s an idle thought, but it makes me want to laugh hysterically.

I know if I start, I won’t stop, so I swallow it down.

Think, Carter. Focus.

Okay, my leg is hurt, which means I probably can’t climb, and that means I need to look for another way out. There has to be another way, right? I need to move and bind my leg. The longer I wait, the more blood I will lose, and the pain will get worse, making it hard.

At least it’s not cold. It’s almost too hot, oppressively so. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I’ll lose more precious water from my body, but at least I won’t freeze since shock is already setting in.

Glancing down at my wound, I debate the best course of action. Should I try to close it? But I don’t have anything with me, only what I have on my body.

Grabbing my light, I spin it around again, but nothing has changed.

There’s just rock, sand, and water. My back aches then, reminding me of my other pains and that sitting up hunched like this isn’t helping.

My leg is useless right now, though, so I hold my light between my teeth and dig into the wet sand until it’s under my nails.

Using my hands, I scoot backward, resting my back against the rock as my eyes close and my head lolls.

Come on, Carter, think.

Think!

An idea comes to mind—a terrible, crazy one, but I don’t have much choice.

At least it will be a story to tell and I’ll add an epic scar to my collection.

“Okay, Maeve, fucking do it,” I mutter, placing my light down.

I wince as I tug off my boot. It’s useless anyway.

I lost the other one, so I’d just be unbalanced.

Unthreading my laces, which are luckily thin since I hate the thick ones, I lay it out on my thigh before reaching into my shirt.

I manage to get my bra out. The one I’m wearing today has a wire in it.

I don’t usually wear one like that, but it was all I had left—lucky me.

Ripping the material, I yank the wire out and try to manipulate it.

It’s stiff, but I manage to snap off a piece and then, using a rock, I bend it into a curve.

The end is sharp from being broken but too ragged, so I sharpen it on the rock.

I keep pulling it back and testing it until it finally draws a pinprick of blood from my finger.

Wrapping the lace around it, I lean down to my leg.

I hesitate, knowing it’s going to hurt, but then I hook the makeshift needle into my skin.

The pain makes me grimace as I pull it through, threading the lace.

The skin ripples, and the pain is so intense, I nearly pass out, but I keep going, gritting my teeth.

I’ll need to remove the lace at some point, but it might help stop the bleeding and save my leg.

The pain grows so intense as I continue that I almost throw up, and I’m on the verge of passing out. If I do, I’ll die, so I focus on good things, trying to go to my happy place.

“Iced tea with Dad on a summer day.” I push it through my skin again, fighting unconsciousness. “Hitting the peak on a mountain.” I thread it again, wanting to cry and scream. “The feeling of flying through the air.”

I sew it back and forth, tightening the wound and closing it. It’s inexpressible how much it hurts, but I keep going despite the dots dancing in my vision and the blood thundering in my ears. My body feels hot all over as the world seems to slant.

“The look on Wilder’s face when I beat him.” I chuckle as I tug the next stitch. “Aiy when he was able to speak to me.” Groaning, I thread again. “Rick’s and Logan’s laughs.” There’s one more to go. I thread it through. “Way’s protectiveness.”

There.

It’s done.

Bending over, I bite off the rest of the lace and tie it.

It won’t last forever, but hopefully it will do the trick until I get out of here.

I feel dizzy as hell, though, so I close my eyes and lean back, allowing myself a moment to rest. I could use some sugar, but I don’t have anything, so I just have to make do and hope I’m strong enough to overcome it.

I must lean to the side because something sharp pokes me, making me jerk upright.

The sudden movement causes me to groan out loud in pain, and I blindly reach for whatever it was, only to yank it from the sand and pull it in front of me.

My eyes widen in horror when I realize what I’m holding—a bone.

It’s human from the looks of it.

It’s a fucking human bone.

Grabbing my light, I sweep the beam around the sand, terror washing through me as I see more protruding.

I’m sitting in a fucking graveyard.