Page 65 of Double Exposure

Jade immediately lifts the camera strap from her neck and loops it above my knee, sliding the loop through and tightening.

I open my eyelids and peer down. Still bleeding.

Seeing the same result, she reaches over and grabs a stick, shoves it into the loop and gives it a twist. It breaks. She tries again with another stick. This time it holds. She twists four times.

“I think that’ll work.”

“Call Brock for an ETA. Tell him to bring a tourniquet.”

Then I see her face. It’s too late. He’s probably already left. With a hand on my shoulder, she makes the second call anyway.

I can’t hear as well when she turns her back, just a jumble of voices, and then, “He wants to talk to you.” She holds the phone to my ear.

I cough. “Hey,” I say. “So much for the romantic picnic.”

As always, Brock sounds calm and to the point. “Hey. Sorry. Damage report.”

“It hit all the way to the bone—”

“Shit. Can you take the pin out?”

“And maybe an artery.” I’m behind in the conversation.

The phone trembles next to my ear.

“This was something welded together in somebody's shitty little shack with a shitty little torch.”

“So, it’s not standard issue?”

“No. She’s got a tourniquet on it now, but—”

“We got it. And you don’t want to try and pull the pin out and get some pressure off?”

I lick my lips and try to lower my voice, but I know Jade will hear everything. “Don’t want to without the real deal.” I mean a real tourniquet. With nothing to stop the blood flow, I could go in a minute once the jaws are removed

“Just leave it then. We don’t want you bleeding out.”

Jade presses the phone to her own ear and then says, “Yes. Okay.” and then signs off. She squats next to me and peers into my face.

“They’re eight minutes out,” she says. “Eight minutes.” She fingers a lick of hair from my forehead.

My heart flutters, like it’s trying to keep up. My hands are freezing in their gloves. Jesus Christ. I can’t afford to go into shock. I reached down and give the tourniquet another twist. The worry in Jade’s face sears my heart. I can’t bear it.

There’s a stinging, throbbing pulse in my leg when the strap tightens.

Cupping my face with one hand, she leans over and very gently kisses me on the mouth.

Again, I try to speak, to tell her I love her. “Hang in there,” she says. “Don't talk.”

I look into her face, again, the worry in her eyes is palpable. When someone holds a mirror up to you, and you see how others must see you, it's gut wrenching. And that's what I see in her face. The constant worry, in a situation where there’s little control.

I want to touch her face, but all I can do is close my eyes again.