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“Minka, I—”
“You have no clue how mad I am about it.”
“Minka!” My breath comes faster. Faster. As I put my weight into compressing Miranda’s heart and forcing the needle’s contents through her blood. “What did you give her?”
“Dynazanmapalin.”
Leaning over Miranda’s face and checking that her mouth and airway are clear of vomit, Minka presses her lips down. She breathes for her, and the cameras who didn’t bolt film everything. They get their exclusive. And Miranda… doesn’t.
Breaking the seal of their lips with a gasp, Minka swipes her mouth with the sleeve of her coat, leaving behind a garish smudge of Miranda’s transferred lipstick.
And still, I compress.
“I consulted with a biochemist who told me about this catch-all chemical thatshouldreverse the decomposition of organs caused by the Opulus Killer’s cocktail.” Minka leans to the side and spits onto the ground. Her face screws up in disgust, and her eyes scream how she loathes being so near someone she despises. But her voice remains calm. Her movements, deliberate and attempting to save the life of a woman she wouldn’t be sad to see dead. “But the dynazanmapalin has to be administered immediately. Come on, Miranda.” Leaning in again, Minka presses their lips together and breathes so Miranda’s lungs inflate. “Come on, you asshole. Live, so we get to fight fairly.”
“Minka?” Aubree skids down onto the concrete beside us, tearing the knees from her jeans and opening the medbag Minka already dropped at her side. “What do you need?”
“Replace Archer and continue compressions.” She reaches into her bag and snatches another needle. “Don’t stop. We need to keep that antidote moving through her blood.” Then she looks to Fletcher, who stands over us. “The killer was here. Keep guard while our backs are turned.”
He nods and pulls his service weapon.
“Archer.” Aubree scrambles around to where I kneel and places her hands on mine. She matches my rhythm, then looks into my eyes. “I need you to move.”
“I don’t wa—”
“You need to stand with Fletch and guard our backs.” She shoves my hands off and works on pumping Miranda’s heart. She has to lean further over the woman on the ground. To use her weight, and not just her strength. “Stand up and cover Minka’s back. She can’t see and work at the same time.”
Across from us, Minka slams a second needle into Miranda’s chest. “Everyone heard her consent for this. I know you did.”
“I heard it,” Aubree says immediately. “A moment before she fell unconscious, I heard her.”
The hospital doors whir open. Trauma medics rush out in their gowns and gloves, and roll their gurney toward us so fast, I worry they’ll run Minka straight over.
Pushing up to stand, I guard the three on the ground and catch the end of the gurney mere inches before it would smack Minka’s head.
“What have we got?” The doctor in front drops down beside Miranda. “Where are you up to?”
“She’s not breathing on her own. Her pulse is thready and weak. We began compressions almost immediately. There’s no blockage in her throat. She hasn’t been without oxygen or blood flow. Vomited when she dropped, but not since.”
“Head injury when she fell?”
“No.” Emptying the needle in Miranda’s chest, Minka yanks it back and deposits it in her bag. “Administered twenty mils of dynazanmapalin, two shots approximately two minutes apart. I don’t know her status on allergies or other medication.”
“Alright. Let’s get her on the gurney.” The doctor shoves to his feet and positions the bed alongside Miranda’s body. “Straight into Trauma Three. Let’s go!”
