“We have to get him to a hospital.”
Once she says it, all the kids there are visibly relieved, because now this boy’s life will not be in their hands. With all the injuries at the Graveyard, only twice before have they had to send a kid to a hospital. Both times the injured kid died. Risa is determined that it will not happen again.
“Hurts bad,” the kid says, between gasps and grimaces.
“Shh,” says Risa, and she sees his eyeballs begin to roll. “Stay focused on me.” She gives him the epinephrine shot, which should slow his bleeding and hopefully keep him from going into shock. “Tell me your name.”
“Dylan,” he says. “Dylan Ward.”
“Really? I was a ward too. Ohio State Home Twenty-Three.”
“Florida Magnolia. Florida state homes don’t got numbers. They’re named after flowers.”
“Figures.”
Dylan Ward is thirteen, maybe fourteen. He has a bad cleft lip, and looking at it makes her angry, because like her, he was a ward of the state—and while parents won’t unwind a kid on his looks alone, the state homes have no problem unwinding kids they don’t want to look at. For Risa, saving him now is a matter of honor. She tells Kiana to get the ambulance.
“It has a flat,” Kiana tells her.
Risa growls in frustration. “Fix it!”
“Don’t leave,” Dylan says, putting all his trust in her.
“I won’t,” she reassures him.
The ADR keeps promising to permanently station a doctor at the Graveyard, but that has yet to happen. She knows the resistance has other priorities, but when a kid is bleeding out, it’s a pretty lame excuse.
“Am I gonna die?” Dylan asks.
“Of course not,” she tells him. In truth, Risa has no idea whether he’ll live or die, but that’s not very comforting to hear, and no one wants the truth when they ask that question.
Risa rolls her way over whatever debris is on the floor and down the plane’s rear ramp, where a bunch of kids have gathered to fret.
One kid comes forward. It’s Starkey. Ever since Connor put him in charge of food service, he thinks his nose belongs in everything. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Not unless you have powers of teleportation and can get us to a hospital.”
“Sorry,” he says, “my tricks are just tricks.”
That’s when Connor runs up.
“I heard about the accident. Is everyone okay?”
Risa shakes her head. “One kid we can take care of, but the other”—again a shiver of memory—“has to go to a hospital.”
Connor’s lips go thin, and his legs start to shake like they did back when he was in the safe houses. He stops his fear response by pounding his fist into his hand, and he nods. “Okay,” he says, “okay, we’ll do what has to be done.” Only then does he seem to notice that Starkey’s there. “Is Starkey helping you?”
“Not really,” says Risa. Then, just to get rid of him, she says, “He can help fix the flat on the ambulance.”
Starkey looks insulted for a moment, then smiles. “Right, no problem.” And he trots off.
The ambulance is a seatless minivan, jury-rigged with medical equipment. Dylan is rushed down the stairs and loaded inside. One of the other medics will drive, and Kiana will tend to Dylan in the back. The boy calls for Risa, but she can’t get in with him. Once more she silently curses her wheels.
Starkey still lingers. He turns to Connor. “You mean you’re not going?” Starkey asks.
“The Admiral never left the Graveyard until he was carried out,” Connor tells him. “I lead by his example.”
Starkey shrugs. “It makes you look like a coward.”