Shards of Hope (Psy-Changeling 14)

“You should be able to use the tip of the scalpel to lever up the bone,” Aden said with no pain in his tone, though she knew from experience that this had to hurt. “The previous seal is weak enough now that it should break.”

Taking the disinfected blade, Zaira followed his instructions. Any hesitation could mean the difference between getting the implant out in time or not, the difference between Aden’s life or his death, so she put her mind into the icy-calm state where nothing could reach her and used a knife on the one person she’d sworn to protect, to never harm.

“Bone’s out,” she said around the penlight.

Blood welled and she had to wash it out using the disinfectant. “I can see the suture in the membrane.”

“Cut it open—use a delicate touch.”

She made the cut before she could overthink things. “Done.”

Aden’s shoulders locked, his breathing rough, but he said, “You should see the implant.”

“It’s not there.” She made sure the beam was shining right at the wound, and that the blood had been cleaned out. A glint caught her eye. “Wait. I can see the very edge of what might be one of the ‘legs’ you described.”

“They did the surgery in a rush. The implant may have moved.” Aden released a harsh exhale. “You’ll have to widen the hole in the bone using the blade.”

The ice threatened to crack, her stomach churning. A single tiny error and she could stop his breathing. But if she didn’t, she reminded herself, then the cowards who’d done this would kill him from a distance.

“Get ready,” she said from around the penlight and began to saw at the bone.

The disposable scalpel bent a minute later and she had to switch to a barbaric-looking hunting knife. Disinfecting it, she continued on, having to clear away blood multiple times, the knife doing far more damage than a laser would have.

She couldn’t hold on to the ice. This wasn’t some random target. This was Aden. And she was hurting him, blood slick on her thin surgical gloves.

“Zaira.”

Realizing she’d frozen, she slammed the memory door shut again and continued to slowly, painfully widen the hole in his skull.

Sweat trickled down her temple but she kept her hand steady. This was Aden’s life. She would not fail. Putting down the knife after removing an inch-by-inch square of bone, she washed out the blood using the disinfectant because they had no other sterile liquid. Aden went rigid but stayed conscious. “Do you see it?” he gritted out.

A glimmering square of metal in among the flesh and blood. “Yes,” she said just as there was a tiny flicker of blue at the site, an electrical impulse passing through the device.

“This’ll be the hardest part,” he said, his breathing rough. “You can’t laser through the legs so you’ll have to use the tip of the scalpel to lift them up.” He asked to see the bent scalpel. “Yes,” he said after she showed him. “The tip is still sharp and flat enough for it to work.”

It was like asking a giant to pick up a single fine sewing needle off a floor slippery with blood.

But Zaira would do it. There was no other choice.

“The rain’s stopped.”

Zaira hadn’t noticed, but now she felt the stunning quiet. No rain, no wind. The chopper would be in the air soon, their pursuers moving on the ground. It meant they, too, had to move, but she wasn’t about to rush this and paralyze or kill Aden.

She carefully disinfected the scalpel again using the near-empty bottle of disinfectant. She was just about to slip the angular and sharp tip under a metallic spider leg when she heard the faint, faraway echo of the chopper. Ignoring it, she went back to work . . . and suddenly the implant lit up, the electrical impulses turning it into an electric blue storm.

Every muscle in Aden’s body locked as the impulses started to snake up at rapid speed, going for his cerebral cortex. She didn’t even think about it. Sliding the tip of the blade directly under the main part of the implant, she tore it off without finesse and threw it aside. “Aden? Aden!” He was bleeding badly, his head hanging forward.

She washed out the wound with the last of the disinfectant and, with no way to repair the membrane, slotted in the pieces of bone she’d removed and slapped on a thick piece of gauze to soak up the blood while she tried to find a pulse in his neck. “Don’t be dead,” she said. “Don’t be dead.” It was a low, staccato mantra as she searched desperately for a pulse, her blood-slick fingers sliding over his skin. “Don’t be dead, Aden.” Don’t leave me all alone. You promised I would never be alone again.

Tearing off the gloves, she replaced the blood-soaked gauze and searched for a pulse again. Aden couldn’t be dead. Aden was the squad’s future. Without him, they’d crumble, fade away, break into a million pieces. “Don’t be dead,” she said again, and this time it was an order. “Wake up!”

Thud.

She halted, listened with her fingertips, and felt it again, the thud of his heart pumping blood. Removing her fingers from his throat, she quickly lifted the gauze and checked the state of the bleeding. Bad. There was nothing in the medkit to seal it up, so all she could do was tape a fresh gauze pad over the site and try to put pressure on the wound.

It wasn’t enough. He needed proper medical attention.

Her abdomen cramped at the same time, pain shooting through her torso. Breathing past it, she found the second-to-last bottle of nutrient drink and, tilting Aden’s body back toward her own so that his head was supported by her shoulder, dripped the enriched liquid into his mouth. When he didn’t swallow, she stroked his throat. “Swallow, Aden, or I’ll cut your throat and pour it straight in.”