“Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay,” August said to him, grabbing a scarf held out by a woman in the next row. A steady stream of blood oozed from the gash. The man appeared to be unconscious. August rummaged through his mental files, calling up a first-aid manual he’d read during a CPR class. “What’s your grandpa’s name?”

“I think it’s Ford,” the boy said.

August tied the scarf around the grandfather’s head, pressing to stop the bleeding. He instructed the businessman behind him to apply pressure to the wound. The businessman shook his head. “I’m staying right where I am,” he said. Bathed in the red emergency lights that illuminated the cabin, the businessman bore the distinct expression of a man who had just wet his pants.

“This guy might die if you don’t help me.”

The speakers crackled above them, probably the captain trying to tell them to remain calm. Too late, thought August.

“Why don’t you do it?” the businessman asked, voice quivering.

“Because I need to find a first-aid kit,” August said. “C’mon, man! Just loosen your belt and lean forward. Wrap your hands around the top of the seat. I’ll help you.”

“I can’t,” said the businessman. “I’m sorry.”

The two men next to him had their heads tucked firmly between their legs, their arms crossed protectively over their necks. They weren’t going to be any help either.

“Someone get a first-aid kit for this man!” August said, slamming a fist down on the seat. The plane shook again, and he anchored his hand to the armrest like a bull rider.

The lights came back on. August felt a tap on his side. “Is my grandpa going to be okay?” The boy was only a couple of years younger than his own son. August weighed his answer. “I hope so,” he said.

A flight attendant rushed down the aisle with the first-aid kit. She cracked it open and pulled out a wad of bandages, which she immediately placed over the old man’s wound.

“Is there a flashlight in there?” August asked, pointing to the kit.

“I think so,” she said, rifling through it. The plane dipped, and the contents spilled to the floor.

August reached down and retrieved a small penlight. He pried open the old man’s left eye and shone the light in it. He then repeated the process for the right eye.

“You’re checking for a concussion?”

“If the injury caused his brain to swell, there could be dangerous tissue compression inside his cranium. That compression would put pressure on his optic nerves, and his pupils would react strangely to the light.” August stepped into the aisle and had her take a look at the old man’s eyes. “You should check him every fifteen minutes.”

“Are you a doctor?”