The 13 th tribe

[51]

Using a wad of gauze clamped in a hemostat, Toby dabbed at the bullet hole in Phin’s right cheek and the much larger exit wound in his left. “Man,” he said. “And I thought you were ugly before.”

Phin moaned. His hand came up to strike Toby, but dropped back to the vinyl bench seat in the rear of the helicopter’s cabin.

“Why’s he falling asleep all the time?” Alexa said, reaching over her seatback to touch Toby’s head. He was crouched between the bench seat and a row of captain’s chairs, where she and Nev sat. In front of them, Ben occupied the copilot’s seat.

“Pain,” Toby said. “Head wounds hurt, and the bullet really messed up his mouth, tongue, and teeth.”

“And his face.”

“It’ll heal.” Toby taped squares of gauze over each wound, pushed a syringe of an analgesic-sedative cocktail-morphine, bupivacaine, and dexmedetomidine-into Phin’s thigh, and returned to his seat beside Nevaeh. He slapped her shoulder. “So what’s this?” he said. “You shot a kid?”

She glared at him. “I’ll shoot you if you don’t shut up.”

“Like, how old was he?”

Nevaeh ignored him. Ben turned in his seat to look at her, then at Toby. “Tobias,” he whispered, “our pilot’s fidelity has already cost a king’s ransom. Your mouth will make it two… if not unpurchasable at any price. We will sort everything out on the plane.”

Toby glared into the back of the pilot’s head. “Don’t you think he heard the explosion? What about all those emergency vehicles we just flew over? The El Tour Road looked like a jeweled snake.”

“Everyone has a line they won’t cross.” Ben returned his gaze to Nevaeh, who said, “It was an accident.”

Toby waited for Ben to tell her what he’d told Toby a million times: We don’t do “accident,” but the older man simply turned in his seat and stared out the windshield at the dark desert below.