Lily, Ben thought.

She wasn’t necessarily at the hospital, he told himself. She could be anywhere. He glanced across at the few canvas-shrouded figures on the beach. She could even be…

Don’t go there.

Dawn. She was still operating, but without much hope. They were out of plasma, low on everything, and the child under her hands had lost so much blood that she almost hadn’t started operating. But therein lay defeat and somewhere in the back of her exhausted mind lay a cold fury that had grown so great that if any of the insurgents had been close to her scalpel right this minute, they would have feared for their lives.

The boy she was operating on-Henri-was a friend of Benjy’s. Three nights ago she’d made pizza for the pair of them and they’d watched a silly movie, she in the middle of the settee, with a little boy at either side.

Henri had been with his father on the beach where Kira had been killed. Henri’s father had fled with the wounded boy into the rainforest and had waited far too long before he dared bring the boy for treatment.

Benjy and Henri…

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t see what happened to Benjy,’ Henri’s father had told her, but all his attention had been on his son, and Lily’s must, be too.

The wound on Henri’s thigh was massive, tissue torn clear and jagged fragments of bone embedded in what remained. It was well beyond Lily’s area of expertise. She was sweating as she worked, and as she looked at the heart monitor and saw that she was failing, she knew tears were mixing with the sweat.

Damn them. Damn them, damn them, damn them.