“Really, Jack,” she said, straightening up and wiping her eyes. “Is that necessary? Can’t you just leave him there?”

The adrenaline was still shooting through his arteries, his heart still pounding, his lungs still afire. He looked down at his free hand and saw the fine tremor. The fight was over but his body hadn’t got the message yet. He’d come this close to buying it and was still shaking from the sight of Baker’s pistol zeroing in on his chest a few moments ago.

He wasn’t feeling too polite.

“The answers are, in order: Yes…and No. He’s stinking up the place.”

Jack dragged him outside, past Baker’s body, and released him in the weeds. “Please… a doctor…”

Jack wanted to kick him but held back.

“Get me to a hospital.”

Jack squatted next to Kemel and leaned close, speaking through his teeth. “Guess what, pal? I just polled the passengers on JAL 27. I said, ‘Anyone who thinks Kemel should have a doctor raise your hand.’ You know what? Nobody moved. So no doctor for you.”

As he rose, he noticed that it was starting to snow. He returned to the cabin. Alicia was leaning against the wall next to the door, her head back, her eyes closed. She looked pale and weak, as if the wall was the only thing keeping her upright. Snowfiakes brushed her face.

“Thanks for the help,” he said.

She opened her eyes. “Thanks for coming back.”

“I didn’t have much choice.”

“You could have kept going.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“No, I guess you couldn’t.” She gave him half of a very tired smile. “And you know, somehow I knew that.” She glanced down at his bloody thigh. “Let me check that—”

“I’ll be all right for now. I’ll get it stitched up back in the city.”

“It needs more than that strap. Come with me.”

Jack followed her into the cabin. Maybe she needed something to do. She pulled the sheet off the cot and began tearing it into long strips.

“Sit and pull your jeans down.”

“I told you the other night not to get any ideas.”

She didn’t smile. “Just do it.”

Jack loosened the strap, then slid his jeans down to his knees.

Alicia inspected the two-inch vertical slit. “That’s a deep one. Did you feel it hit the bone?”

“No. The guy who did it didn’t have much oomph left.”

“Luckily it runs in line with the muscle fibers of your quadriceps,” she said as she began to wrap the thigh with strips of the sheet. She seemed to have slipped fully into her doctor mode. “The femoral artery and nerve are over here, so it missed them completely. Should heal up pretty well, but you will need stitches. ERs have to report stab wounds—”

“I know a guy who doesn’t.”

“I’m sure you do.”