Rae hadn't hesitated; she'd taken out the woman in the window and told the rest of her crew to take out the others who were still shooting, so she could go tend to her boyfriend, but by the time she got down there... it was too late. He was on his way out. Dying... her brain taunted. He was dying on her. Leaving her. When she fell to her knees beside him and he looked at her, she looked at him with wide and desperate eyes. "D-don't... don't sleep, p-please," she begged him. But it was futile. He was already out. Don't leave me, she begged.
No, she told that voice in her mind. He wasn't going to die. Not today.
She tore off a piece of her sweatshirt to hold to the wound—why hadn't they had the wherewithal to bring a first aid kit?—and held it to his shoulder, shaking her head no. "You're not... you can't," she insisted. "You can't die on me," she told him, though he couldn't answer.
So lost in her desperation was she, that she didn't hear the scream that sent Brandon off in the other direction. Nor did she hear his command for them to head back to the compound, and that he'd catch up. She did, however, hear it when Regan asked her if she was ready. She pressed the torn piece of cloth a little tighter to his skin and nodded her head. "Y-yeah, I'm ready..." she nodded, trying to level herself out.