steel thorax of his beast just as Bo lands next to him, metal hands outstretched to kill. When he sees the pilot is dead, he whoops and spins toward Sinan.
His joyful expression freezes.
Sinan looks puzzled as he touches his fingertips to the blood blossoming across his tunic. He glances at Bo as if his friend might know how to fix him, then sinks to his knees as Melik screams his name.
Chapter
Seventeen
IT IS AS if my brain cannot accept the horror unfolding before my eyes. I cling to the ridge, frozen, as Melik slides and leaps down the steep trail to the canyon floor. Bo catches Sinan in his steely arms and gently lays him on the spider’s back, but he steps away from him quickly, blinking down at the blood on his metal hands. As Melik reaches the ground, Bo leaps across to the machine he downed, rips the top hatch off, and pulls out its dazed pilot. He strips him of his weapon and tosses him aside, then jumps onto the machine’s abdomen and tears away the rear hatch. A moment later he drags the limp body of its fireman out and pitches him onto the ground. His movements are violent and merciless. He does not look at Sinan, who is writhing now, curled into himself as the pain winds through him.
Melik sprints to the machine where his brother lies sprawled. As he throws himself onto its back, he shouts my name. The desperation in that one syllable gets me moving, reminds me of my purpose. I hike the satchel onto my back and clumsily crawl down the steep trail, following Melik’s path, the sliding prints of his boots in the loose rock and dirt. I focus very hard on each step and try not to listen to Sinan’s anguished cries.
I huff as I race across the narrow space between the canyon wall and the wrecked machine. As I reach up, Melik grabs my arm and pulls me onto the thorax, which is hot under the sun and with the fire that burned within.
“Wen,” Melik says in a raspy whisper. “Please.” His face is twisted with pain as he turns back to Sinan.
I scoot across the spider’s back and kneel on the other side of Sinan. He is clutching at Melik’s shoulders, crying in pain. When I touch his body, he screams and tries to turn away. “Melik, you have to hold him,” I say.
Melik lets out a trembling breath and pins Sinan’s shoulders to the machine. He begins whispering to him, kissing his forehead between each sentence. My gut clenches as I tear Sinan’s tunic up the center and see the wound. He has been shot in the stomach, just below his ribs. I run my palm along his back, and his skin is smooth and unbroken—the bullet is still inside him. I glance at his face and see the blood on his teeth. It is creeping up his esophagus. Even if I had opium and bright lights and a scalpel and clampers and antibiotics and my father, I am not sure I could fix what has broken. Suddenly I feel the bitter helplessness I saw in Anni this morning as I proudly and stupidly announced I could save the wounded. Suddenly I understand her resignation.
Melik wipes his brother’s lips with his sleeve. His pale, bloodshot eyes meet mine. But I cannot say what I am thinking. I cannot bear to tell Melik that his little brother is going to die.
Melik grimaces, like he is holding in a scream of pure pain. “Please, Wen,” he whispers. “Please?”
I clamp my lips shut and open my satchel. But I do not use my san qi, because I must save it for those who have a chance, and it might only prolong Sinan’s agony. Instead I reach for my jie cao. I pour a bit of water into a small bowl and mix it with the powder I made this morning, until I have a paste. “Sinan,” I say gently, edging toward his face. “This will taste awful, but it will help.”
Melik holds his head as I push bits of the paste between Sinan’s graying lips. “Will this stop his bleeding?” he asks in a hushed voice. “Will it heal his insides?”
The hope in his voice is like a knife traced along the tender seams of my heart, slicing the stitches that hold me together. I do not look at Melik as I say, “It will ease his pain.”
Melik lets out