Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
THE CLINIC
The building felt smaller than it had an hour earlier. People filled every hallway now—nurses moving supplies, med techs rolling equipment carts, Hunter’s team staging crates of ventilators and cases of antivirals along the walls. The air smelled of antiseptic, salt air, and sweat.
Ford paused just inside the entry. “Welcome to Kasavoa General,” he said dryly.
Kieran glanced around. “You weren’t exaggerating.”
Ford motioned them forward. “Come on.”
They moved down the main hallway. Several members of Hunter’s medical team were already unpacking gear in the treatment bays. One of Flynn’s respiratory specialists was checking oxygen hookups along the wall.
Ford stopped at the central station. A woman looked up from a tablet. Her dark hair was tied back, and her eyes were focused. “Liana.”
She turned fully. “Ford.” Her gaze fell on the group behind him.
“Reinforcements.” Ford gestured around. “This is Liana Payet, NP. She’s been running this clinic with Eira.”
Liana nodded politely to each of them.
“Hunter Montgomery,” Ford continued. “You’ll like him. He’s the calm one.”
Hunter gave a faint smile that appeared in his eyes. “Debatable.”
Ford pointed to the others. “Flynn Marsh.”
Flynn lifted a hand. “Respiratory and neonatal.”
“Tate Webster,” Ford said. “CEO of Chase DC.”
Tate nodded warmly. “Liana.”
“And this is Kieran Chase, VP of Chase International.”
Kieran stepped forward slightly. “Good to meet you.”
Liana’s eyes moved over them all quickly. “Thank God you’re here. We can start everyone on preventative antivirals. And maybe now Eira will take her treatment antivirals without fighting.”
Ford gestured down the hallway. “Liana and the staff have been holding the line.” He nodded toward the nurses and technicians moving around the station. “Everyone here has been working nonstop.”
Several of the staff looked up briefly and nodded at the newcomers. Relief showed in their eyes.
Ford guided the group farther down the hall. “This wing is pediatric and general recovery.”
He pushed open one door briefly. Several beds lined the room. Children slept beneath light blankets while a nurse checked IV lines.
Kieran slowed slightly at the doorway. “How many kids?”
“Fifty-one in the orphanage,” Ford said. “We also have to consider the children from town. School is a common vector.”
Kieran’s jaw tightened slightly. “Alright.”
Ford continued moving. They passed the supply room, now stacked with new equipment from the planes.
Flynn stopped briefly to inspect one of the neonatal transport units. “Good. We’ll need these.”
When they reached the end of the hallway, Ford stopped at the final door and looked at Hunter. “She’s in here.”
Hunter didn’t hesitate. “Alright.”
Ford opened the door. The room was dim compared to the hallway. Eira lay on the bed beneath a thin blanket, her skin flushed with fever. A monitor beside her ticked steadily.
Hunter stepped inside slowly. The physician disappeared, and only the brother remained. He walked to the bedside and rested his hand gently against her forehead.
Eira’s eyes opened slightly, her forehead wrinkling. “Hunter?”
His voice softened. “Yeah, Scout.”
She tried to push herself upright.
Hunter placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “Don’t.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re running a fever.”
“Barely.”
Hunter exhaled slowly and turned to Ford. “Did she take anything?
“We got one dose into her this morning.” Ford crossed his arms.
“We brought supplies. You’ll take the meds.” Hunter circled a finger in the air, and one of his technicians went running.
Eira squinted at him. “You brought half the world with you?”
“Only a quarter of it.”
She looked past him toward the doorway where the others stood. “Hi, Tate.”
Tate stepped into the room. “Good to see you, kid.” They’d spoken via internet when she needed to reach Pete Walter in DC.
“Bad timing.”
“You always pick dramatic moments.”
She smiled faintly.
Kieran stepped forward next, his expression softening immediately. “Eira.”
She blinked. “Kieran?”
He nodded. “You scared a few people.”
She gave a weak shrug. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for getting sick,” Kieran said.
Ford leaned stoically against the wall, watching.
Hunter checked her pulse as a nurse arrived with antiviral meds and acetaminophen. He took the medication cup and helped Eira take them with some water. “She’s staying in bed.”
Eira groaned softly, “No.
Ford smirked behind the respirator. “Good luck with that.”
Before Eira could fight with them more, the door burst open. Liana stood there, still wearing a bloody surgical glove. “Hunter.”
He turned.
“We have a problem.”
Maria lay on the emergency bed in the trauma room, looking even younger under the surgical lights. Her breathing was shallow and fast. Blood soaked the absorbent pad beneath her. The fetal monitor chirped irregularly beside her.
Hunter stepped closer. “How far along?”
“Twenty-eight weeks,” Liana said. “She says she has placenta previa.”
Hunter nodded immediately. “Type and cross for four. CBC, CMP, Clotting factors. Get her on the table.”
Liana stripped off the dirty gloves and headed down the hallway. She pointed. “OR.” She pointed again. “Scrub area.”
Hunter looked back down the hall. “Hartt, come scrub. We’ve got a hemorrhaging placenta previa. I want her under.” He scrubbed and walked to the patient, now on the table. “What’s your name?”
Her lips moved weakly. “Maria.”
“Okay, Maria. I’m Hunt,” he said calmly. “We’re going to take care of you.”
Her hand trembled against the blanket. “Baby…”
“You’re going to take a nap, and when you wake up, you’ll have your baby.”
“Too…early.”
“Well, someone is in a big rush, and you’re bleeding.”
“Please don’t… take her away,” Maria cried.
He nodded. “No one is taking your baby away.”
“Okay sweetheart, nice slow breaths.” The anesthesiologist, Hartt, placed an oxygen mask over her face, pushed medication, and her eyes closed.
“Let’s move,” Hunt directed as Liana cleaned her abdomen. “Are you equipped to handle a preemie?”
Liana nodded. “We are now.”
Maria lay motionless on the table as the anesthetic took hold. Her chest rose slowly beneath the sterile drape.
Hartt monitored the ventilator beside her. “Airway secure,” he said calmly. “Vitals holding.”
Hunter stood over the table, gloved hands steady as Liana finished prepping the surgical field. The antiseptic stained Maria’s abdomen a deep amber.
“Bleeding is increasing,” Liana noted.
Hunter nodded. “We’ll move fast.” He glanced toward the door. “Where’s Cox?”
The door pushed open, and Ford stepped in, masked and gowned. Behind him came Flynn Marsh, still pulling gloves over his hands as he crossed the room.
Flynn’s eyes went immediately to the table. “Twenty-eight weeks?”
Hunter nodded.
“Tiny preemie.” Flynn moved beside the neonatal warmer that was rolled in only minutes earlier. “I’ve got the baby.” He began checking the equipment automatically. Tiny oxygen mask. Suction. Warming blankets. Portable ventilator.
“Good,” Hunter said as another figure entered the room behind them.
“New Chase PA from Denver?” Ford asked.
The man nodded through his mask. “Jason Keller.”
Hunter gestured toward the opposite side of the table. “Keller, across from me. Assist with retraction.”
Keller moved into position without another word, and the room fell into focused silence. Monitors beeped steadily. Hartt adjusted the anesthetic flow.
Hunter looked across the draped abdomen. “Scalpel.”
Liana placed it in his hand, and Hunter made the incision in a precise line down the lower abdomen. “Retractors.”
Keller positioned them. The surgical field widened. Hunter worked quickly but without rushing. Layer by layer.
“Bleeding’s picking up,” Liana said.
“I see it.” Hunter opened the uterus.
The moment the incision reached the uterine wall, dark blood pooled into the suction line.
“Placenta is anterior,” Hunter said. “Of course it is.” The placenta sat directly over the cervical exit. Every cut risked massive hemorrhage. “Maria, stay with me.”
Suction slurped louder. The monitors chirped faster.
Hartt glanced up. “Blood pressure dropping slightly.”
Hunter moved carefully through the placenta. “There,” he said as a tiny foot appeared in the incision.
“Breech presentation,” Flynn said immediately.
Hunter didn’t look up. “I see it.”
He guided the legs gently through the incision. The baby was small. Fragile.
“Easy,” Flynn added. The body followed slowly, then the shoulders. And finally, the head.
Hunter lifted the tiny infant free. She was impossibly small, blue and silent. “Your patient.”
Flynn stepped forward. “Got her.”
Hunt clamped and cut the umbilical cord.
Flynn carried the newborn to the warming station. “Come on, little one.” He suctioned the airway carefully, but there was no cry.
Ford felt the tension rise in the room as Flynn rubbed the infant’s back gently. “Breathe,” he encouraged.
There was still nothing. He adjusted the tiny mask. “Ventilation.”
A soft puff of oxygen was followed by another and another. Finally, there was a weak sound, but it was an unmistakable cry.
The entire room exhaled.
Flynn smiled behind his mask. “There we go.” He checked the tiny chest. “Heart rate climbing.”
Across the room, Hunter was still working.
“Placenta coming out,” Liana said.
But the bleeding had worsened. Dark blood filled the suction canister rapidly. “Estimated blood loss climbing,” Keller said.
Hunter nodded. “Expected.” He delivered the placenta carefully. “Uterus contracting?”
“Starting,” Liana said.
Hunter began suturing quickly, layer by layer.
“Blood pressure stabilizing,” Hartt reported.
Hunter finished the final stitch and stepped back slightly. “Alright. Let’s close.”
Flynn carried the wrapped infant toward the table. “She’s small, but she’s breathing.”
Hunter glanced down at Maria. “Good.”
The room began to relax slightly as the final sutures were placed. Ford stood near the wall, watching the scene.
Hunter removed his gloves slowly. “What’s the baby’s weight?”
Flynn checked the scale. “Just under two pounds.”
Hunter nodded. “Fighter.”