Leviathan Wakes - James S. A. Corey [65]
When she’d finished cutting the suit away, Naomi blanched at the mass of blood and gore that Amos’ lower leg had turned into.
“What do we do?” Holden asked.
Naomi just stared at him, then barked out a harsh laugh.
“I have no idea,” she said.
“But you—” Holden started. She talked right over him.
“If he were made of metal, I’d just hammer him straight and then weld everything into place,” she said.
“I—”
“But he isn’t made out of ship parts,” she continued, her voice rising into a yell, “so why are you asking me what to do?”
Holden held up his hands in a placating gesture.
“Okay, got it. Let’s just stop the bleeding for now, all right?”
“If Alex gets killed, are you going to ask me to fly the ship too?”
Holden started to answer and then stopped. She was right. Whenever he didn’t know what to do, he handed off to Naomi. He’d been doing it for years. She was smart, capable, usually unflappable. She’d become a crutch, and she’d been through all the same trauma he had. If he didn’t start paying attention, he’d break her, and he needed not to do that.
“You’re right. I’ll take care of Amos,” he said. “You go up and check on Kelly. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Naomi stared at him until her breathing slowed, then said, “Okay,” and headed to the crew ladder.
Holden sprayed Amos’ leg with coagulant booster and wrapped it in gauze from the first aid kit. Then he called up the ship’s database on the wall terminal and did a search on compound fractures. He was reading it with growing dismay when Naomi called.
“Kelly’s dead,” she said, her voice flat.
Holden’s stomach dropped, and he gave himself three breaths to get the panic out of his voice.
“Okay. I’ll need your help setting this bone. Come on back down. Alex? Give me half a g of thrust while we work on Amos.”
“Any particular direction, Cap?” Alex asked.
“I don’t care, just give me half a g and stay off the radio till I say so.”
Naomi dropped back down the ladder well as the gravity started to come up.
“It looks like every rib on the left side of Kelly’s body was broken,” she said. “Thrust g probably punctured all his organs.”
“He had to know that was going to happen,” Holden said.
“Yeah.”
It was easy to make fun of the marines when they weren’t listening. In Holden’s navy days, making fun of jarheads was as natural as cussing. But four marines had died getting him off the Donnager, and three of them had made a conscious decision to do so. Holden promised himself that he’d never make fun of them again.
“We need to pull the bone straight before we set it. Hold him still, and I’ll pull on his foot. Let me know when the bone has retracted and lined up again.”
Naomi started to protest.
“I know you’re not a doctor. Just best guess,” Holden said.
It was one of the most horrible things Holden had ever done. Amos woke up screaming during the procedure. He had to pull the leg out twice, because the first time the bones didn’t line up, and when he let go, the jagged end of the tibia popped back out the hole in a spray of blood. Fortunately, Amos passed out after that and they were able to make the second attempt without the screaming. It seemed to work. Holden sprayed the wound down with antiseptics and coagulants. He stapled the hole closed and slapped a growth-stimulating bandage over it, then finished up with a quick-form air-cast and an antibiotic patch on the mechanic’s thigh.
Afterward he collapsed onto the deck and gave in to the shakes. Naomi climbed into her couch and sobbed. It was the first time Holden had ever seen her cry.
Holden, Alex, and Naomi floated in a loose triangle around the crash couch where Lieutenant Kelly’s body lay. Below, Amos was in a heavily sedated sleep. The Tachi drifted through space toward no particular destination. For the first time in a long time, no one followed.
Holden knew the other two were waiting for him. Waiting to hear how he was going to save them. They