Page 21 of The Final Storm
My heart almost fell out of my chest when I saw the room where they were treating Luke. It’s identical to the nightmare in my mind and smells of cement, bleach, and blood. A curtain separates each patient in a long, open area. We take up one side of the space, moving some cots to the sides of their beds and tuning out the noise of the machines and workers. A few people come in and out, but it’s only Luke and Morgan that stay day and night, and so do we.
We spend most of our time on the cots by their sides, but we hardly sleep and never for long. The room is a constant carousel of nurses and noises, and occasionally Sam.
When the area becomes too loud or congested, we leave to give the teams more workspace, but it breaks my heart to separate from them. I don’t see our cabin for days at a time, and I only make it to the cafeteria once, and even then I don’t want to eat.
Luke has sepsis throughout most of his body. His infection could have been from the bone break months ago, or something more recent. The staff lets us know often it’s a miracle he’s alive. They’ve warned us more than once that he could succumb to his illness at any moment. Lori cries most nights while I hold her.
Morgan’s issues are more of a mystery. She doesn’t sleep enough, and her heartbeat is erratic. They sedate her, which I hate, but it’s the only way to get food into her. She was premature, and the nurses assure me these things work themselves out. She needs time, but the supplies they have aren’t state-of-the-art. I know they’re doing the best they can with what they have available. She needs rest and nourishment and to remain in a plastic box that I can’t open without a nurse.
I watch her as my milk dries up in my chest and wait until I talk to the boys or have another mysterious appearance from Sam. Everything is a reminder of how separate I am from her, from my family, and from everyone.
In the interior of this vessel, without windows or schedules, I stop counting how many days pass, how much sleep I get, or when I eat the sporadic meals left by medics or Sam. I can’t hold my child, and the only comfort I can give Luke is a squeeze of his hand. The bleakness of this place covers me with a shadow of depression.
I think about the last time I saw Sam. He shook me awake… yesterday, maybe? “Hey, I have to head to work.” He kissed my cheek. “I love you.”
“You just got here,” I argued.
“I’ve been here for hours,” he said, throwing on a boot and hopping out the door.
I rest my head back down on the cot, trying to remember when that was, listening to the beeping of Luke’s machines.
The loneliness here is palpable. My only companion, Lori, is a shell of a human without Luke and her boys. “Lori, are you awake?” I call to her. She shifts in her cot and groans, possibly awake but refusing to answer. I try to keep perspective. This is a temporary point in time. We will all be together again, happy and healthy.
The disappearance of the Thalassa is not an accident, and rumors spread about Dean’s involvement. Listening to the chatter of nurses and visitors tells me there’s something nefarious and everyone knows it. They just don’t care enough. More storms are coming, and there are bigger problems ahead.
If they only knew what he was capable of.
Or… is capable of? I can’t be sure.
A nurse comes in, one I’ve seen a hundred times, but I can’t remember her name. I hate myself for that, but I smile and sit up when she moves to Luke.
“Are we in your way?” I ask.
“Not at all. Just checking him over. It’s the end of my shift,” she says. She taps on a tablet and hums to herself.
“I just never know where to go. The cabin is lonely, and maybe I’m bored. If there’s something I could do around here to help… to be useful.”
She turns to me, and I know I’m talking too much to someone ready to end her workday. I’m deprived of human interaction, and I need a release.
“Did they give you assignments when you came from the other boat?” she asks and continues charting. “I know it was a mess, and some folks got missed. Some folks just don’t want to work.”
“The other boat?” I question. “We came from the island.”
She lowers her tablet. “Oh, my mistake. I’m new to this unit, so I thought this one had been here a while.” She taps on Luke’s arm.
“Other boat,” I repeat. “What do you mean?”
She sets her tablet down and unlocks a cabinet, pulling out a syringe and something for Luke’s IV. Lori rolls on her side facing us, her eyes narrowing at the nurse.
“The Thalassa. Some passengers fled to the Galene a few weeks ago - maybe a month. I thought you were in that crew. Some of them were a little banged up.”
I grip the sides of the cot, feeling my quickening pulse in my fingers. I try my best to keep my voice calm, but it vibrates with each word, anyway. Sam’s voice rings in my ears, begging me to not draw attention to ourselves, or our connection with the Thalassa, but I have to know more. “Why? Why did they leave?”
She shrugs. “Whatever they saw or went through is being kept a secret from everyone else. I’m a civilian, so I sure as heck don’t know. Has he shown any signs of waking up? I don’t see any bumps on the heart rate monitor.”
“No,” Lori answers. “Is there a manifest somewhere of who came over?”
“Like I said,” the nurse answers, “I’m a civilian. I don’t know. I just patch ’em up. Ring the bell if anything changes. Day nurse is on his way.”
