CHAPTER 26: THE LONGEST THIRTY MINUTES

Xitllali 

Those thirty minutes felt like a lifetime.

Guillermo lay completely still on the heavy wooden dining table. His breathing was shallow and his chest was rising and falling in weak stutters.

I stood frozen right beside him, my fingers instinctively gripping the edge of the wood.

The room smelled terrible. The sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood hung heavily in the air, mixing with the damp, earthy odor of our wet, muddy clothes. It made my stomach churn, but I refused to step away.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Stay with me," I whispered, my voice trembling as I reached out to brush a damp lock of hair from his forehead. "Just hold on."

Then, I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel outside, followed by doors slamming.

The front door opened, and an older man rushed inside with two younger medics carrying large silver medical cases. He didn't stop to greet anyone. He walked straight to Guillermo, checked his pale face and the blood covering the table, and immediately moved closer.

"How much blood has he lost?" he asked, his voice sharp and urgent.

"A lot," Valdo said, stepping forward. "His blood pressure is dropping."

The doctor checked Guillermo's pulse and breathing before looking closely at the wound.

"We need to control the bleeding and get him on blood. Move him somewhere else. I need a cleaner place to work."

Valdo and Mateo didn't argue. They immediately lifted Guillermo and carried him down the hallway into the back bedroom. The doctor and the medics followed with their medical cases.

I dropped the bloody towels and hurried after them.

"His condition is critical," the doctor snapped over his shoulder as he threw open the bedroom door. "Give me two units of O-negative blood, quickly!"

Before I could cross the threshold, Valdo's large, warm hand clamped onto my shoulder, gently guiding me back.

"Señora," Valdo murmured, his eyes dark and steady. "Let the doctor work. We cannot risk an infection, and he needs immediate medical intervention. Come with me."

I looked from Valdo to the narrow bed, where the Dr. was already ripping open sterile packaging. I nodded numbly.

The heavy wooden door clicked shut. My knees buckled, and I slid down the rough wooden wall until I hit the floor, pulling my knees to my chest as the shock finally broke into silent, shuddering tears.

He can't die, I chanted in my head over and over. 

For the next hour, the hallway turned into a chamber of quiet torture. I listened to every sound leaking through the wood. I heard the sharp, metallic clink of surgical instruments. I heard the rhythmic, mechanical whine of an electric suction device clearing blood from the wound, followed by the steady, piercing beep of the heart monitor.

Every single sound made my stomach twist into knots.

Finally, the heavy door clicked open.

The Dr. stepped out into the hallway, pulling off blood-soaked latex gloves and tossing them into a biohazard bag. He looked exhausted, wiping his brow with the back of his forearm.

"How is he?" I asked, scrambling to my feet so fast the room spun.

"He is alive," he said with a heavy, professional sigh. "The bullet tore through the deltoid muscle and fractured the clavicle. He lost a dangerous volume of blood, putting him on the verge of hemorrhagic shock, but we packed the wound, repaired the torn tissue, and stabilized his blood pressure with an immediate transfusion."

The doctor adjusted his glasses, his expression grim.

"However," he continued, "his body underwent severe trauma. The infection risk is high. He is going to spike a dangerously high fever tonight as his immune system reacts to the trauma and the blood loss. I have to fly back to Monterrey before sunrise, but Valdo has the precise medication schedule. When he wakes, he must remain flat. Do not let him strain that left arm."

He gave a respectful nod, then motioned for his medics to pack up their gear, exiting the cabin into the damp night.

Valdo walked over to me, his expression softening. "We need to check on him, Señora. Come."

We stepped into the back room. Guillermo lay motionless on the narrow wooden bed, his left arm immobilized against his chest.

"I will guard the door," Valdo said quietly, stepping back out.

I pulled a wooden chair right next to the bed and sat down.

Hours passed by and the rain slowed to a steady, rhythmic drip against the tin roof. I watched his chest rise and fall, counting his breaths in the dark.

Around midnight, the fever hit.

Guillermo’s skin suddenly turned burning hot, slick with heavy sweat. He twisted his head side to side on the pillow, his jaw clenching so hard a low, pained groan escaped his lips. His breathing turned ragged and shallow.

"Guillermo?" I whispered.

I grabbed a clean cloth from the bedside bowl of cool water, wrung it out, and gently pressed it against his blazing forehead.

He groaned at the sudden chill, his hazel eyes fluttering open. But they were cloudy, unfocused, trapped behind the thick fog of the infection and fever.

"No..." he muttered roughly, trying blindly to lift his injured arm.

"Guillermo, stop! You'll tear your stitches," I pleaded, pressing my hands gently against his uninjured right shoulder to anchor him. "Stay still. You're safe."

He blinked hard, struggling against the haze. Slowly, his dark eyes focused on my face in the moonlight. It hurt to look at him like this. The great cartel king looked so small and broken.

He didn't have the strength to form words. His dry lips parted as he took quick, shallow breaths.

"I'm right here," I whispered, a tear slipping down my cheek to land on his blanket.

He reached out slowly with his heavy right hand. His fingers shook badly, but he managed to find my wrist. He didn't pull me close, he was far too weak, instead, he wrapped his trembling fingers around my arm, anchoring himself to my pulse.

His eyes fluttered closed again as the fever pulled him back under. His breathing slowed, but his grip didn't loosen. He held onto me, tethering himself to life.

Sitting there in the dark, I finally admitted the truth to myself. I had run away two years ago, but sitting here in this quiet room, holding him while he fought for breath, I knew I didn't want to be anywhere else in the world.