The silence that descended after she felled the last soldier was almost deafening. She turned to face the entrance to the bunker again and only then realised why it was so quiet.
Her partner was down. Instead of his usual quips, complaints or comments, he was bleeding. Badly.
Three, still known here and there as Marcus Boone, known only to her as Trip, was bleeding out.
She analysed his injuries from a distance, calculated the time he had left in a moment, and hated her mind for being able to do that when the rest of her was frozen in terror.
The thaw to movement was sudden and rapid. She raced to his side, falling to her knees, hands uncertain where they should or could start to stem the flow of blood.
“Trip,” she gasped.
At hearing her name for him, his eyes fluttered open. “Hey…” he managed.
She knew he could see the fear in her eyes, knew he understood she had calculated his chances and found them lacking.
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