Chapter 33
All-encompassing Dread
Cammie's POV
My mother's blood pumps, hot and slick, from between my fingers, turning my skin a sickly red. My stomach turns at the feeling and the sight. My head begins to spin. I press my fingers tighter over the wound, pushing my weight into it. My ears are ringing.
"Callie!" Solomon's voice shakes through the haze in my head. "Callie we need to get her out of here! You need to help me lift her."
A helicopter lands about a hundred metres to the east of us, the other another hundred to the south.
"Rebecca, Macey get in the helicopter to our south." Solomon orders as he slides my mother's legs into his arms. "Alert the medics as soon as you get there that Headmistress Morgan is coming in with a critical abdominal injury."
They open their mouths to object before closing their mouths at Solomon's sharp, "Girls."
Bex and Macey throw one last glance at me, their bruised and burnt faces showing worry, concern, and the question of if I will be ok. With my nod, they continue their shuffling walk and climb into the waiting helicopter that instantly takes off.
I remove my hands from the wound on her stomach, trying to ignore the feeling of her slick blood on my fingers and the sight of the renewed flow of blood from said wound at my movements. I slip my arms under my mother's arms and brace myself for the weight that I know I am about to feel. My mother can in no way be described as heavy when conscious but dead weight is heavy no matter what.
"On three," Solomon says, also bracing himself. "One,two…"
We lift her, and walk as quickly as we can to the helicopter, sliding her onto it and climbing in after her. The instant I enter the cabin I retake my position at her side with my hands applying pressure to her stomach as Solomon slides the door closed.
The instant it looks, the pilot, the same one I held at knife point, takes off. I can hear Solomon and him talking but I can't find the space in my head to allow myself to concentrate on them. The pallor of my mum's normally tan skin is a pail, sickly white, the colour stark against the dark interior of the helicopters cabin.
"I'm sorry mummy." I whisper, leaning in to press my lips to her forehead, her skin scarily cold. "I didn't mean to get you hurt. I am so sorry."
I desperately wish that she would answer me, that she would open her stunningly beautiful eyes, and smile at me, telling me not to worry, in her voice that can be like honey when she is trying to soothe me.
Hell I would even accept her throwing me her trade mark disapproving look and say something along the lines of how dare you leave the school without my permission.
God knows I deserve it. I've created a hell of a mess. Allowing myself, then my friends, to get captured… tortured… And then to top it all off, I have gotten my mother, a highly trained operative, and headmistress of a prestigious school for spies, shot.
I stifle a sob that threatens to escape as it bubbles up from deep within my chest, the feeling tight and painful.
"Please be ok mummy." I whisper into her hair, allowing a single tear to leak from my eye and drip down my nose and onto her skin with a wet splash.
Solomon looks at me, and if he notices my emotional state he doesn't mention it. Instead he quickly looks at my mother.
"Personnel report?" He asks in a business-like manner, his stern voice masking his own emotions.
"A great deal of blood loss but I think I have it stemmed." I answer, my voice also taking on the emotionless tone of an agent reporting in. "Her pulse is weak and thready and her breaths are shallow but she appears to be holding on."
He nods before turning to face the front of the craft again.
I almost swear that I can hear him whisper, "Please be ok, Rachel.", as he does but over the noise of the engines it is almost impossible to tell.
The blood on my wrists is beginning to dry, making my skin tight, an entirely unwelcome feeling that I wish I could get away from by I don't dare to move my hands from their current position. More tears well up in my eyes and I hate myself for straying from the strong spy that I am supposed to be, unshaken by all that is put in front of me, but I can't stop the tickling feeling in my eyes. They drip from the corner of my eye and irritate the skin on my nose, the instant need to wipe my eyes and scratch my skin overwhelms me and I fight to resist the urge.
The trip back seems to be taking so much longer than the trip here, which I know is impossible, considering we are flying a lot faster now with an injured passenger on board, but it is not helping. A hand on my shoulder, jolts me from my thoughts and I jump slightly.
"Sorry." Solomon murmurs, crouching down beside me. "But you shouldn't be so easily startled."
"I know." I mutter, ashamed at myself for losing awareness of my surroundings despite the current situation.
"Don't worry about it Cammie." He answers, placing his hands over mine on my mother's stomach and I take the cue and slide my hands quickly out from under his, his taking over the pressure that I had been applying before the wound can start to bleed again.
"Wipes are in the box under the seat." He tells me, somehow sensing my need to clean my skin.
I quickly pull out the box and pop the lid off. Without hesitation, I rip open a packet of moist towels and begin to scrub angrily at my reddened skin. Once I get as much off as I can, I slump back against the seat, still sitting on the floor despite helicopter protocol, my energy evaporating from me. I bring my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, curling myself into a ball. I put my head in my arms and sigh.
"It's all my fault." I whisper to my feet.
Somehow despite the noise that is overwhelming my hearing, Solomon hears me. I can feel his eyes on me as he studies me. My weakened position is something that I can't bring myself to feel ashamed of.
"It's going to be ok Cammie." He says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
I don't answer him, unable to find the energy needed to put into words the feeling of all-encompassing dread that is threatening to crush my chest.
Why don't I believe it?