Jack drove the Suburban and arrived at the farm 60 kilometers away in less than half an hour. It was indeed a small farm, measuring less than four hectares, about eight or nine acres.
The main building was a single-story wooden house with at least seven or eight rooms from the outside. Scattered around were several wooden structures typical of farms, such as animal sheds, a garage, and tool storage.
"Jess, check the surroundings but don't go inside. Be cautious of explosives."
Considering that the suspect had committed suicide with a grenade and had a military background, they didn't rashly charge into the house. Knowing the suspect intended to take down police officers with him, who knew what traps he might have set inside.
"Angela! Angela Miller!" Jack called out the kidnapped woman's name as he circled the wooden house, listening carefully for any sounds inside.
Jess headed toward the garage about fifty or sixty meters away. There was a large fenced garden partially obscured by the garage, making it difficult to see what was planted there.
Jack picked up a shovel from the ground, contemplating whether to break a window on the side of the wooden house to get a look inside. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out from the direction of the garage. It wasn't the sound of an FBI-issued Glock, but a rifle shot—Jess was in danger!
"Bang!" Another gunshot followed, this time from a Glock, but only one shot.
"Damn!" Jack dropped the shovel, running while drawing his sidearm. He had just rounded the wooden house when a loud screech of tires was followed by a crash. A brown, old-fashioned Ford pickup burst through the back door of the garage, kicking up a cloud of dust, attempting to flee.
"Bang, bang, bang!" Jack didn't hesitate, firing his Glock at the pickup nearly a hundred meters away. At this distance and in this position, he didn't expect to hit anything but was providing cover fire.
Not knowing Jess's condition was his primary concern. Emptying his Glock's magazine, he didn't bother reloading, instead holstering the gun and reaching for his FK 7.5 under his arm. Jess's scream cut through the air, prompting him to abandon the pickup chase and sprint toward the garden.
"Jack, hurry, she's in bad shape!" Jess's voice guided him to a rose garden beside the garage, where she was holding a woman under a dead cherry tree.
"Help me, I can't stop the bleeding," Jess urged.
Jack knelt beside the woman, focusing first on Jess's face. She had a long scratch on her cheek, and her right shoulder's clothing was torn, exposing a grazed wound.
"I'm fine. I found her just as that guy was about to stab her again. I drew my gun but didn't have a clear shot," Jess explained.
Jack nodded, recognizing that Jess's injuries were from wood splinters after a bullet hit a board. As long as her eyes were unharmed, the rest could be dealt with later. He then turned his attention to the woman's injuries. The woman had a severe stab wound near her heart, with an open pneumothorax.
Jack used his healing skill to stabilize her, then tore open her clothes, disregarding any modesty considerations. "The first aid kit and thoracotomy kit are in the car. Hurry!" he instructed.
Jess ignored her own bleeding and ran barefoot back to the Suburban. Jack dialed emergency services, relieved that this remote area at least had a signal.
He continued to use his healing skill while talking on the phone. Though he could secretly repair major blood vessels and minimize internal injuries, the woman's lungs were filled with blood, and she was at risk of suffocation.
"Angela Miller?" Jack called out to the woman in his arms, patting her cheeks to keep her conscious.
The woman struggled to open her eyes, blood foaming from her mouth.
"Hey, listen to me. We're FBI. I just saw Mike; he's fine. I promised to find his mom."
Hearing her son's name, the woman widened her eyes, gripping Jack's arm tightly.
"Don't worry, you're going to be okay. Your husband and son are waiting for you," Jack reassured her with the typical comforting words, even though it felt cliché. Still, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. As long as she was alive, he could keep her that way.
"Here it is," Jess said, dropping her high heels and sprinting back with the first aid kit and thoracotomy kit, nearly collapsing beside them.
Jack focused on the woman, opening the first aid kit and finding the bandage and thoracotomy kit. He first applied a sterile dressing to seal the chest wound, while Jess folded a triangular bandage to apply pressure.
He then used the thoracotomy kit, locating the second intercostal space at the midclavicular line and inserting the needle to allow air to escape the pleural cavity, restoring negative pressure.
"It's okay. You'll be fine now. We just need to get you to the hospital," Jack assured the woman, placing an oropharyngeal airway to prevent her tongue from obstructing her airway if she lost consciousness.
"Relax, this will be uncomfortable but necessary," he said, watching her condition stabilize. He then turned his attention to Jess's still-bleeding wounds.
"Hold still. Let me take care of you," Jack said, gently cleaning her cheek and shoulder wounds. They hadn't been this close since returning to Los Angeles.
As the sound of sirens grew louder, Jess shifted uncomfortably but didn't pull away.
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