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Shep quickly switches over to external audio. "How… how is this possible?" If anyone could see his face, they’d see fear, pain, and utter shock all tangled together. Then he remembers they’re not alone. Switching the audio off, he says, "Carl… Carl… have you ever encountered this? Can she truly still be alive… can she be saved?" His words come rapidly, gravelly from the tightness in his throat. His breath quickens as he studies Nova’s face, searching for the spark of life—the little girl she once was.

"Once, along the way through what was once Phoenix, Arizona. A rift had opened up and something came through and we battled it, but it took days and multiple soldiers and flyboys to finally find the source of the problem. A being known as a necromancer, who deals with the mystical arts of manipulating the dead.

"Anyways, the necromancer had created zombies, much like these two. No record of any staying human, though. This girl is a rare case and shows intelligent response, which is unheard of in all of my data about them.

"Shep, I don't think she is fully a zombie or a human. Or... she could be a smart zombie. But if she was, and remembers your name, then that means she still remembers and is human. She has a massive fracture of the occiput region of her skull and most of her ribs are fractured. Her sternum has been snapped in half at the middle and she is hemorrhaging from her lungs. Her left wrist is fractured as well as her right hand. Her hyoid bone is 50% collapsed."

Shep realizes that Carl is panning through different optics as he continues, "The impact to her skull put pressure on her optical nerves and circulatory system, forcing blood into her vitreous and aqueous humor regions of her eyes. I read her approximate ICP at near 18 psi, which is near fatal. Shep, she needs medical attention now!"

“Wait—go back to the previous view.” The Silver Eagle’s optics shift, and as they do, something shifts inside Shep as well. Not the usual ghosts clawing their way up from the dark, but something useful this time—something he hasn’t felt in years.

A memory forces its way to the surface. A much younger Shep stands beside his father on the edge of a collapsed embankment. A man lies in pain, clutching his leg. His dad kneels, gently pressing along the limb. “See this swelling?” he says. “That’s where the break is.”
He passes a small imager over it, the screen confirming a clean fracture. “We’ll need to realign the bone and splint it. Then we get him home for a proper cast…”

The scene dissolves, replaced by flashes—Shep assisting the town doctor, long hours at the library with anatomy texts, steady hands helping in the clinic. “Shep,” the doctor had said once, “let’s put some of that book learning to use. Come work with me. I could use someone in surgical who actually pays attention…”

The surge of memory hits all at once—overwhelming, but only seconds pass in reality. He draws a slow, shaky breath as training he hadn’t consciously accessed in years slots back into place like long-missing gears.

He forces himself to look at Nova again—not just with horror or grief, but with the eyes of someone who knows the human body, who understands injuries, who has saved people before. Having a plan of action and a specific task to focus on helps keep the internal demons at bay, but now he has to figure out whether she can be saved—or if it’s already too late. As he examines the enhanced optical images the suit provides, he thinks out loud to share his thoughts with Carl and get second opinions on possible ways to stabilize her enough that she might survive the trip back to Camp Wilson and a proper surgical room.

“Wait—go back to the previous view.” The Silver Eagle’s optics shift, and as they do, something shifts inside Shep as well. Not the usual ghosts clawing their way up from the dark, but something useful this time—something he hasn’t felt in years.

A memory forces its way to the surface. A much younger Shep stands beside his father on the edge of a collapsed embankment. A man lies in pain, clutching his leg. His dad kneels, gently pressing along the limb. “See this swelling?” he says. “That’s where the break is.” He passes a small imager over it, the screen confirming a clean fracture. “We’ll need to realign the bone and splint it. Then we get him home for a proper cast…”

The scene dissolves, replaced by flashes—Shep assisting the town doctor, long hours at the library with anatomy texts, steady hands helping in the clinic. “Shep,” the doctor had said once, “let’s put some of that book learning to use. Come work with me. I could use someone in surgical who actually pays attention…”

The surge of memory hits all at once—overwhelming, but only seconds pass in reality. He draws a slow, shaky breath as training he hadn’t consciously accessed in years slots back into place like long-missing gears.

He forces himself to look at Nova again—not just with horror or grief, but with the eyes of someone who knows the human body, who understands injuries, who has saved people before. Having a plan of action and a specific task to focus on helps keep the internal demons at bay, but now he has to figure out whether she can be saved—or if it’s already too late. As he examines the enhanced optical images the suit provides, he thinks out loud to share his thoughts with Carl and get second opinions on possible ways to stabilize her enough that she might survive the trip back to Camp Wilson and a proper surgical room.

OOC: Paramedic roll = 22

Shep determines that about half of her ribs snapped inward, perforating her lungs. She will need surgery, but needs to vent excess air filling her thoracic cavity. A needle would work if he had one. A careful jab with a knife could do it too. This would allow her to breath. This takes priority over the rest of her injuries. She can't be jostled too much, thanks to a broken sternum, which could shift ribs around, puncturing more organs. So he needs to fashion some sort of stretcher. Two sticks and several shirts or jackets would work if he had them.

Luckily, the Silver Eagle can fly, reducing bumps, should he need to, which may alert the Coalition aerial reconnaissance.

Her throat had been partially crushed while she was choked by a zombie, but not enough to warrant a tracheotomy. She should be able to breath once her lungs can expand fully. Her wrist and hand are not life threatening.

The main thing she needs is to stay awake until someone can perform restorative surgery on her skull, the most long term threatening injury.

Shep exits the power armor, but leaves it running so that Carl can assist if need be. He finds a stick on the ground and promptly begins sharpening it against a stone. He then rapidly rubs his thumbnail over the point to eliminate any splinters. He leans over Nova and without warning, thrusts the mini spear partway into her chest. Upon pulling it out, the hole produces a small farting noise as the excess air escapes.

Nova responds by taking a deep breath. Then says, "It feels like I need to hurt something, but I can't do it to you." She tries to move, but yelps in pain, "It hurts... Where's Kar, Jinaan and Hughe?" She coughs up more blood, but it doesn't seem life threatening anymore. Shep bought her at least minutes and possibly hours, but she needs surgery on her ribs, sternum and skull. Moving her could be risky. She looks almost dead, but seems to have more energy than expected.

"Easy, little one," he soothes. "I know it hurts, but I need you to fight to stay with me, okay?" He uses his best grandfatherly voice—the same one he’s used a thousand times over the years with the kids who visit him at the library. "You need to fight the urge to hurt people… or yourself. Fight hard against that like you’ve never fought before, because your life depends on it. Promise me?"

Shep surveys the immediate area for small, green, sturdy saplings to serve as stretcher supports, then returns to the Silver Eagle to use its strength to break or pull free the pieces he needs. He unburies Mel just enough to remove her outer clothing—something he’ll have to step out of the armor to do—so before that, he and Carl run a full scan to make absolutely sure Mel hasn’t somehow returned to life.

Using the salvaged clothing from Mel along with whatever pieces of his own clothing are necessary, he constructs a makeshift stretcher, keeping a constant eye on Nova for any sign she’s losing her battle against the zombie effect. Once it’s ready, he pulls it up beside her.

“I need to get you back to town, so I’m going to have to move you and stabilize you so I don’t make your injuries worse.” Climbing back into the armor, he lifts her as gently as the suit allows, settling her onto the stretcher in the position least likely to cause further damage. With the remaining scraps of fabric, he fashions strips to secure her arms and legs in place to prevent her from throwing herself from the litter should the zombie effect reassert itself.

"Easy, little one," he soothes. "I know it hurts, but I need you to fight to stay with me, okay?" He uses his best grandfatherly voice—the same one he’s used a thousand times over the years with the kids who visit him at the library. "You need to fight the urge to hurt people… or yourself. Fight hard against that like you’ve never fought before, because your life depends on it. Promise me?"

"Sure... Shep," her eyes dart back and forth, trying to assess the situation, "How bad is it?"

Shep surveys the immediate area for small, green, sturdy saplings to serve as stretcher supports, then returns to the Silver Eagle to use its strength to break or pull free the pieces he needs. He unburies Mel just enough to remove her outer clothing—something he’ll have to step out of the armor to do—so before that, he and Carl run a full scan to make absolutely sure Mel hasn’t somehow returned to life.

Using the salvaged clothing from Mel along with whatever pieces of his own clothing are necessary, he constructs a makeshift stretcher, keeping a constant eye on Nova for any sign she’s losing her battle against the zombie effect. Once it’s ready, he pulls it up beside her.

“I need to get you back to town, so I’m going to have to move you and stabilize you so I don’t make your injuries worse.” Climbing back into the armor, he lifts her as gently as the suit allows, settling her onto the stretcher in the position least likely to cause further damage. With the remaining scraps of fabric, he fashions strips to secure her arms and legs in place to prevent her from throwing herself from the litter should the zombie effect reassert itself.

Tears begin streaming down the side of her head as Shep has found some taller trees and quickly strips them of branches. He finds enough clothing on Melissa and himself to fabricate a stretcher, leaving himself shirtless. He then gently rolls her onto the stretcher as she visibly struggles to stay conscious.

She keeps herself awake by asking, "Where did you get that armor thing?"

“You’re pretty banged up,” Shep says gently, lowering the Silver Eagle’s external audio to a soft, reassuring murmur, “but you’ll be okay as long as I get you back to town soon. We’ll have to move fast, but I’ll try not to jostle you more than I have to.” He adjusts the stretcher in his arms, keeping her as steady as possible.

“My dad left me this suit back in Lake Crenshaw,” he answers, hesitating only a moment. “I just went to retrieve it.” He wants to leave it at that—but she deserves at least the truth that matters. “There’s something happening in town, Nova. An infection. Some people… there’s no coming back from what it does to them. They lose themselves completely and turn into things that only want to hurt others.” He swallows hard. “But some—like you—might still have a chance.”

The next part hurts almost as much as the sight of her broken body. “Nova… I’m so sorry I hurt you. I thought you were gone. I didn’t know there was still a part of you in there.” Tears warm the inside of his helmet as he lifts the litter, cradling it—and her—with the Silver Eagle’s reinforced arms. He switches off external audio. “Carl, keep an eye on the sensors. Let me know the second anything looks off or it seems like those flyboys behind have spotted us.” His voice sounds tired...as if he's not sure how much more pain he can tolerate before it crushes him completely.

Shep starts forward at a brisk walk, then pushes into a jog until he sees Nova react to the jostling—then eases back immediately. “Carl,” he says, “At this speed… what’s our ETA to Camp Wilson?”

“You’re pretty banged up,” Shep says gently, lowering the Silver Eagle’s external audio to a soft, reassuring murmur, “but you’ll be okay as long as I get you back to town soon. We’ll have to move fast, but I’ll try not to jostle you more than I have to.” He adjusts the stretcher in his arms, keeping her as steady as possible.

“My dad left me this suit back in Lake Crenshaw,” he answers, hesitating only a moment. “I just went to retrieve it.” He wants to leave it at that—but she deserves at least the truth that matters. “There’s something happening in town, Nova. An infection. Some people… there’s no coming back from what it does to them. They lose themselves completely and turn into things that only want to hurt others.” He swallows hard. “But some—like you—might still have a chance.”

The next part hurts almost as much as the sight of her broken body. “Nova… I’m so sorry I hurt you. I thought you were gone. I didn’t know there was still a part of you in there.” Tears warm the inside of his helmet as he lifts the litter, cradling it—and her—with the Silver Eagle’s reinforced arms. He switches off external audio. “Carl, keep an eye on the sensors. Let me know the second anything looks off or it seems like those flyboys behind have spotted us.” His voice sounds tired...as if he's not sure how much more pain he can tolerate before it crushes him completely.

Shep starts forward at a brisk walk, but Nova begins groaning in pain, so he eases back immediately. “Carl,” he says, “At this speed… what’s our ETA to Camp Wilson?”

"Shep, the power armor units from over the lake. They're approaching," Carl replies. Upon checking the radar, Carl is correct, they're coming in hot, but haven't fired upon him. "With no radio, they may be suspicious if we haven't been answering any requests for identification."

OOC: Uh oh, injured friend on a crappy stretcher with potential hostiles inbound.

"Crap… exactly what I was hoping to avoid." Shep’s brow tightens as he thinks it through. "We can’t fly with her like this—the wind would shred the stretcher, and probably her with it." He adjusts his grip on the litter, frustration edging into his voice. "Unless you’ve got a miracle fix for the radio, Carl, we’re going to have to let them catch up and pray they don’t open fire on sight. Even with the Silver Eagle, two sets of power armor would tear us apart." He draws a steadying breath. "Guess I’ll have to rely on my charm to keep us alive."

"Crap… exactly what I was hoping to avoid." Shep’s brow tightens as he thinks it through. "We can’t fly with her like this—the wind would shred the stretcher, and probably her with it." He adjusts his grip on the litter, frustration edging into his voice. "Unless you’ve got a miracle fix for the radio, Carl, we’re going to have to let them catch up and pray they don’t open fire on sight. Even with the Silver Eagle, two sets of power armor would tear us apart." He draws a steadying breath. "Guess I’ll have to rely on my charm to keep us alive."

"Shep, I have no fix, but I have an idea," Carl replies as Shep notices that the spotlights are blinking on and off in morse code [ooc: Basic Radio Roll = 13% to read morse], "N-E-E-D H-E-L-P."

The SAMAS units slow down and eventually land with their C-40R rail guns aimed at Shep. They take a few seconds to observe the scene when one of them finally uses their loudspeaker, "You in the... wannabe SAMAS, please step out of the unit and keep your hands visible!" While the other SAMAS circles around to Shep's rear to cover him.

Shep pitches his voice into the clipped, no-nonsense cadence of a high-ranking officer. “Negative. I am not stepping out—my patient is in critical condition, and moving her could kill her. I’ve stabilized her as best I can in the field, but she needs surgical care at Camp Wilson immediately.”

He shifts just enough for the spotlights to catch the stretcher. “You will identify yourselves—name, rank, and commanding officer—now. Then you will either assist in transporting her to the medical center or stand down and clear a path. I will not waste another second while she’s dying.”