Chapter 14 #2
Liana switched out. Another set of hands took over.
“Second epi ready.”
“Push it.”
Eira’s voice stayed level. “Check H’s and T’s. Hypoxia, hypovolemia, hydrogen ion, hypo or hyperkalemia, hypothermia. Tension pneumo, tamponade, toxins, thrombosis.”
Nothing changed. The monitor stayed dead.
Another two minutes. Another rhythm check.
Asystole.
“Resume compressions.”
The patient’s skin had gone gray now, his jaw slack. No spontaneous effort. No organized rhythm. No pulse.
“End-tidal?” Eira asked.
“Low. Not improving.”
Another round of epinephrine. Another cycle of CPR.
Nothing.
At the final pause, she listened herself. Checked the pupils. Looked once more at the monitor.
Flat.
She straightened slowly. “Time of death, 13:32.”
Ford hit the doorway just as the room went still. Eira hadn’t moved yet. She stood there with the death still in front of her, shoulders locked, face unreadable. It became one more thing she carried.
Lightning cracked so close the building vibrated. The clinic lights flickered again and then held. The radio on the intake desk burst alive with static and shouting. “—orph—roof—section lifted?—”
Karine grabbed the receiver. “Repeat that!”
“Orphanage west wing!” island patrol’s voice came through, broken by wind. “Roof panel tore loose. There is a structural breach with children still inside!”
Eira didn’t hesitate. “Liana, Karine, lock down clinic doors.”
She turned. Ford was down the corridor and through the side exit before the next thunderclap hit.
THE ORPHANAGE
The wind outside was brutal. Rain came sideways now, stinging bare skin. The path between clinic and orphanage became a sheet of mud and running water. Palm debris skidded across the ground.
Halfway there, Ford saw it. The west wing roof had peeled back at one corner like a torn lid. Corrugated metal screeched as it lifted and slammed under gust pressure. One rafter had shifted. The entire section was at risk of shearing off.
Children were visible through the blown-open shutters, clustered at the far interior wall. The adults seemed paralyzed with fear. He thought about Véronique and Kavi. Three of the older boys were trying to brace the inner door.
Ford sprinted. A wooden sign tore loose and slammed into the mud beside him. He didn’t slow.
He hit the west wing entrance just as another gust lifted the roof panel higher with a metallic howl. “Inside wall!” he shouted over the wind. “Move away from the windows. Adults, move them to the east wing.”
The children were already crying, but they were listening to him.
He performed a rapid assessment. The structural failure wasn’t the whole roof. Just the corner section where the fasteners had corroded. If it ripped free completely, it would tear the beam and bring half the wall with it. He moved back outside quickly.
A length of heavy rope lay coiled near a storage shed beside the building. He grabbed it, kicked open the maintenance locker, and yanked out a climbing harness and anchor spikes used for seasonal storm prep.
He ran back inside and looped the rope around his waist, securing it to the central support column inside the orphanage hallway. “Kavi!”
The boy looked up instantly.
“Get the older boys to help you. Bring me the sandbags from the emergency stack. Now.”
Kavi didn’t hesitate.
Ford shoved through the side access door and climbed onto the narrow exterior ledge under the torn roof section. Rain hammered him blind.
The metal panel was lifting higher now, shrieking against the remaining bolts. He drove the first anchor spike into the wooden support beam with the heel of his hand and a wrench grabbed from the maintenance locker. The wind tried to rip him backward.
The rope caught him hard at the waist. He didn’t let go. Another spike. And another. The panel slammed down once, then lifted again.
“Sandbags!” he shouted.
Kavi and two older teens slid them through the broken window gap.
Ford hauled them up onto the ledge one by one, bracing his boots against the beam.
He lashed the rope across the metal sheeting, threading it through the spikes and hauling tight, tying a fast, efficient knot that would hold under load.
The gust hit. The roof lifted and stopped. The rope went taut, vibrating under the strain.
Ford leaned his full weight into it, driving one final anchor into the beam. It would hopefully hold until the storm stopped.
For a second, it looked like it might fail. But the panel held. The scream of tearing metal dropped to a grinding rattle instead.
He stayed braced for several seconds more, breathing hard, rain pouring down his face. Inside, the children were silent. They were watching and waiting. The worst of that gust passed.
He reinforced the tie twice more. Carefully, he slid back inside, soaked to the bone.
Véronique launched at him before anyone could stop her, arms wrapping around his waist. “You didn’t fall,” she said, half crying.
“Not today.”
Kavi stared up at him, eyes wide but steady. “That was a good knot.”
“Learned in the Navy.” Ford gave him a short nod. “You carried the sandbags very fast. Great job.” He panted.
Kavi straightened slightly.
Outside, the storm still raged. But the west wing held.
By the time Eira reached the orphanage, breath tight from running through wind and rain, she found him standing in the hallway, drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, checking the interior beam alignment like he hadn’t just been hanging off the side of the building in gale-force winds.
The children were clustered behind him. All were safe.
She took in the anchored roof. The reinforced lines. The stabilized support. She gulped, “You could have been blown off.”
He shrugged.
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
He met her eyes steadily. “Hmm. Kinda like antivirals.”
The words landed. The storm howled again, but the building didn’t give.