Chapter 6 - The Medic's Touch"Medic," my father called out over his comms channel.
Within three seconds, a combat medic carrying a heavy trauma backpack stepped into the living room. He dropped to one knee beside us, gently pulling medical shears from his kit.
"Hang tight, Ms. Vance," the medic said calmly, his fingers deftly cutting away the sleeve of my blood-stained blouse to expose my swollen, grotesquely bent left arm. "You're going to feel a sharp pinch in three, two, one..."
Before I could process what was happening, he administered a rapid-action dose of liquid ketamine into my shoulder.
Within seconds, the agonizing fire in my arm dulled into a warm, floating numbness. The world started spinning gently around the edges, but I remained anchored by the solid, reassuring presence of my father's arm supporting my back.
"Bones fractured at the radius and ulna, Colonel," the medic reported professionally as he applied a rigid pneumatic splint to my arm. "We need to get her to the surgical unit at Andrews Air Force Base immediately. The local civilian hospitals don't have the clearance for our protocols anyway."
"Do it," my father ordered, lifting me up into his arms effortlessly. "I'm riding in the lead vehicle with her."
As they carried me out through the shattered front door of the apartment, I caught one last glimpse of Marcus being dragged down the hallway, his face bruised, his expensive clothes stained with dust and blood. He looked up, his eyes meeting mine one last time, filled with a desperate, pathetic plea for help.
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I looked away without a single ounce of pity.
The worthless waitress was gone. In her place was the daughter of The Beast.
