Renegade Runner by Nicole Conway (ebook reader with highlight function .txt) 📗

and into the rear of the ship. He gripped the walls to steady himself. “Doesn’t matter, though. W-We can’t go anywhere until the storm passes and … n-neither can she.”

“She won’t try to get to us while we’re grounded like this?” I asked as I followed.

He didn’t answer. His staggering gait halted and his head bobbed strangely, his face hidden from my view. The big glowstick-thing slid out of his hand and clattered to the floor about a half-second before his knees buckled.

“Phox!” I cried out, throwing myself after him and seizing one of his big arms just in time to keep his head from cracking off the floor. It took every ounce of my strength to lower him slowly to the floor and roll him onto his back. Falling on my knees beside him, I shook his shoulder slightly. “Phox? Can you hear me? Say something—you’ve got to tell me what to do!”

His gaze was distant, his expression totally blank as he stared straight ahead at the ceiling. Oh my god. What was happening? Was he dying?!

I jostled him, patted his cheeks—anything to get some kind of response.

Nothing.

“No! Don’t you dare die on me, you idiot! Not now!” A desperate sob tore from my throat. I reared back and smacked his face as hard as I could.

Still nothing.

I covered my mouth, stifling another scream of panic. Medical kit—I had to get the medical kit. Right now.

Floundering to my feet, I seized the giant glowstick and tore open the compartment where I’d seen Phox store all our medical supplies. We had two kits full of basic things like more of the same bandaging and syringes he’d used on me. But a third, much smaller case was tucked securely beneath them. He’d handled that one much more carefully and warned me not to mess with it.

I spread everything out on the floor beside him, my hands shaking like mad as I cracked open the kits and dug through them for something—anything—that might help.

Then I found it.

Inside that third case, resting neatly on a bed of white foam, was a collection of syringes all containing different-colored liquids. As soon as I opened it, the holographic image of a beautiful, human-looking woman in a white bodysuit appeared hovering right before the open lid.

I jerked back in surprise, my heart in my throat as the miniature holographic woman began to speak. “Thank you for choosing the Faulbender Industries Trauma Response Kit. What follows are instructions on proper use for diagnosis and treatment. Please listen and follow all directions carefully.”

I let out a gasping, frenzied breath and scooted in closer to listen. This was it. Our only hope.

“If possible, please place the patient into a face-up horizonal position, making sure that you are clear and safe from further injury. Please ensure that the patient is calm and still for the duration of treatment,” she continued, smiling and using that chipper, sickly sweet voice like someone on an infomercial as she went on giving instructions.

I followed every step to the letter. His heart was still beating as far as I could tell, but it felt so fast and faint against my fingertips as I held my hand to the side of his neck. Too bad I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. Bad, right? Shit. What was I doing?!

Grabbing the diagnostic syringe out from where it rested at the end of the lineup, I rushed to push some of his hair out of the way. My hands shook as I listened to the instructions replaying over and over, prompting me until I verified I was ready for the next step.

Holding my breath, I slowly slipped the needle into one of the veins in the side of his neck. The silvery, swirling liquid flowed from the glass barrel into his body until it was all gone.

I sat back on my heels, still gripping the empty syringe as I watched in horror. Had I done it right? This wasn’t going to make his injuries worse, was it? What if I killed him trying to save him?

My pulse boomed in my eardrums as the woman instructed me to wait for the microscopic, data-gathering nanorobots to cycle through his body.

A minute later, her image flickered, her pose shifting as though reverting to a different sequence of instructions. “Diagnosis confirmed. Multiple injuries have been detected. Redirecting to the most critical. Please continue following instructions for the treatment of severe traumatic brain injury.”

Oh no. Brain injury? How could I possibly treat something like that? Another sob burst past my lips as I stared down at him. I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t a doctor. I didn’t have any medical training. What the hell was I even doing injecting stuff into his neck?

Looking down, I fought hard as every nerve and shred of sanity in my mind threatened to unravel. I couldn’t lose it. Not now. Phox’s eyes had rolled back, but his chest still rose and fell with steady breaths. He was still alive. He needed me. Hold it together, Brinna.

The holographic woman walked me through more steps, injecting two more of the syringes into him—one of a weird, misty purple liquid and another filled with something much thicker and clear, almost like gel. I waited two minutes between each injection, giving his body a chance to acclimate and circulate the mystery alien potions. Meanwhile, tears poured down my cheeks and peppered his face and chest, and the little bit of floorspace between us. I couldn’t stop shaking, even when it was finished and the holographic assistant assured me that it might take several hours for the injected compounds to take full effect. During that time, I couldn’t move him at all. And afterward, he might still be unstable and weak. This wasn’t going to cure him. But it might keep him from dying, which was my only goal at the moment.

So I had no choice but to sit … and wait.

Closing the kit, I sank back on