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Chapter Eighteen

We drove for half an hour before pulling over in a small clearing, just off the main road. Mike slid out and swapped seats with Burney. We all knew I wasn't his first pick as nurse, but Ronnie's hands were still shaking and Burney hadn't had enough practice for this type of wound.

I tipped some of my bottled water over his shoulder, washing away the congealing blood. The puckered wound was a mess and tweezers or not, I couldn't get all the shrapnel out. Not that it mattered. The HG was lethally toxic, it was only a matter of time before he died. I focused on the needle in my hand, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Stan was gone, Mike wasn't far off and with each of their deaths, Nick was slipping further and further from my grasp.

"Are you sure you want me to stitch you up? The wound's not clean."

"Poison or infection, we both know I'm gone. Just patch me up as best you can."

I touched the butchered site and felt the needle slide into his bur
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