The Jungle

Chapter 9: Singapore

“Oh god!” Warren yelled as Bahati stumbled onto the plane. “He got shot!”

“Macbeth!” Caroline yelled. “Macbeth, he’s going to bleed out!”

The redhead sprinted to the back of the plane holding a medical kit. “Warren, you’re a cop. You were trained to treat gunshots. I need your help.” As Bahati collapsed onto the floor, she knelt over him. “C’mon, kid. Stay with me.”

Warren knelt next to her. “What do you need?”

“Compression bandages. Now,” she said stiffly. “James, get me something to help keep him warm.”

Gunfire echoed like hail on the hull as Juliet pulled the plane up into the sky. A few rounds passed through the shell and into the plane. One grazed Macbeth’s temple, but she kept working. After Bahati was covered with the plane’s fire blanket, she turned to Warren. “Take off your shirt.”

He obeyed, stripping out of it immediately and pressing it to the wound. Macbeth slowly eased the native out of his quiver and bow. “Pull the bowstring off,” she said, handing it to Warren. Her hand reached into the quiver and drew out an arrow. Once Warren had removed the bowstring, she wrapped it around his shoulder blade and used the arrow to make a tourniquet.

“Macbeth, he’s still bleeding,” James said urgently, pointing to Bahati’s side. A bullet had also hit the left side of his stomach and blood poured from the wound.

She flew into action once more. “James, I need your shirt and I need you to prop his head up for me. Can you do that?” Once James was in place, she pressed the shirt over Bahati’s wound and beckoned to Warren. “Hold this here and check for an exit wound,” she instructed, moving to Bahati’s mouth and listening. “He’s breathing. Good. It was a gut shot, not a lung or heart shot.”

“Good?” said a fearful voice from the cockpit. A huge tremor rocked the plane as anti-aircraft rounds began to fire into the sky.

“Focus on the sky and get us the hell out of here, Juliet!” Caroline yelled.

“Carrie, get over here and hold the arrow,” Macbeth ordered. Once Caroline was in place, Macbeth returned to her bag once again. “There’s no telling what kind of internal damage he’s got,” she said quickly, digging into her bag with shaking hands.

“What are you looking for?” James asked. “I can find it. You’re shaking too badly.”

Macbeth nodded and relinquished her bag to James, taking his place at Bahati’s head.

James calmly reached into the bag and removed a small package something in a white bag. Next, he ripped it open. “When I say so, Warren, I need you pull my shirt off the wound. This is Celox. It’ll clot the wound when I pour it on. He’ll still have a good bit of internal bleeding, but I’m no trauma surgeon. I think I can do something about the shoulder wound, but the abdomen comes first. If I can stop the bleeding there, we can get him a doctor when we get to Malaysia.”

“How did you learn how to deal with bullet wounds?” Caroline asked in disbelief.

“I was a medic in the Navy for the province of Canada,” he replied, ripping open the package. “Now, Warren.”

Warren lifted the almost-soaked shirt and poured the powder onto the wound. “Now push on the wound with this,” James replied, handing a thick pad to Warren. “Do you have any compression bandages for the abdomen in here, or are they all just for limbs?”

“There’s one,” Macbeth said quietly. “It should be in a bag on the very bottom of the bag.”

James followed her instructions and pulled it out. He waited a bit and then pulled up the shirt. The bleeding had slowed considerably. “Help me prop him up, Warren,” he ordered. The two men propped the native’s body up as James wrapped the bandage tightly around the wound and fixed it in place over the compression pad. “Okay,” he said. “That’s over control. “How’s his breath, Macbeth?”