Chapter 24 #2
There was movement at the door. Hunter saw it without turning. Eira. She should not have been standing. She was pale, unsteady, with one hand braced against the doorframe, breath still not fully her own. But she was there.
Véronique saw her. Her eyes widened just enough. “Eira…”
Eira stepped forward despite it, voice soft but steady. “I’m here.”
Hunter shifted slightly, giving her space without breaking contact with the child. “You made it.”
Eira moved to the other side of the bed, her hand finding Véronique’s hair, smoothing it back with a tenderness that cut through everything else. “I told you I would come.”
Véronique’s breathing hitched, then steadied just a fraction under the high-flow.
Hunter kept his voice low, guiding. “In… slow. That’s it.”
Eira stayed with her, hand anchored, presence steady despite the weakness in her own body.
Between them—they held the line.
CLEAN ROOM — KASAVOA CLINIC
The door swung open hard. Flynn Marsh came in fast, a newborn cradled in each arm “Clear the room.”
The space was an adult recovery room an hour ago. Now it was scrubbed, sealed, and humming with portable filtration units.
Keller pushed in behind him with two incubators. “Incubators live. Temps stable.”
“Open them.” The lids lifted, and Flynn placed the first baby inside. A thin cry slipped from the tiny chest. “Good.” He moved to the second incubator and settled the other infant onto the warmed mattress.
Keller closed the domes and checked the monitors. “Temp holding. Breathing shallow but steady.”
Flynn adjusted the oxygen ports. “Let’s give them a little help.”
A soft hiss filled the room as oxygen flowed.
One of the babies kicked weakly. Flynn leaned closer, studying both tiny faces. “Strong.”
Keller looked at him. “You think more are coming?”
Flynn watched the monitors stabilize. “These two won’t be the last.” He moved to scrub his hands and return to perform an in-depth exam on each baby.
KASAVOA DOCKS
The second boat rocked hard against the dock, its overloaded hull knocking against the pilings. Adrian Rourke had Alpha squad spread across the pier. Two operators secured the lines while
two more controlled the ramp.
Ford stepped forward, respirator tight against his face. “Engines completely off.”
One of the masked crewmen nodded and cut the motor. The sudden quiet made the coughing easier to hear.
One of the pregnant girls leaned against the rail, shoulders shaking. Dr. Rios stepped beside Ford, thermal scanner already raised. “Starting temperatures.”
She pointed to the crew first. “Forehead.” Beep. “98.7.”
Second crewman. Beep. “98.9.”
“Crew’s clear.” She turned to the passengers.
First client. Beep. “99.2.”
Second client. Beep. “99.0.”
Ford nodded. “Now the girls.”
Six of them sat huddled along the benches. All were visibly pregnant and sick. Dr. Rios scanned each one, then lowered the scanner. “They’re all febrile.”
Rourke stepped closer. “Damn.”
Ford moved toward the boat. “Anyone bleeding?”
The female client shook her head. “Not that we know of.”
The male client’s was voice strained. “Our surrogate is the one in blue.”
Ford followed his gaze. The woman sat upright, pale but steady, one hand resting over her stomach.
The male client, Bradley, spoke fast, words stacking over each other. “My wife, Carolyn, and I had a boat arranged to take us to Victoria for the delivery. We didn’t want her going past her due date.”
Carolyn nodded. “We didn’t want her delivering on Tevenne. We didn’t like the answers Dr. Blake was giving us before we flew in. And we didn’t know what was happening yet.”
Bradley gestured toward the other girls. “But when we went back to Daria’s room… they were all there.”
The wife’s voice broke. “They’re babies.”
Ford was about to respond when something shifted under the hull. A hard, uneven scrape.
One of the crew looked down and cursed. “We’re taking on water.”
Ford’s head snapped toward the deck. A thin line of seawater pushed up through a crack near the stern, spreading fast with each slap of the waves.
“Rourke,” Ford was already moving, “we need them off now.”
“Copy. Move,” Rourke snapped to Alpha squad.
Operators surged forward, grabbing lines, locking the boat tighter to the dock.
“Slow,” Ford ordered. “One at a time. Watch their footing.”
The first of the pregnant girls was helped to her feet. She cried out immediately, folding forward, both hands gripping the rail.
“Contraction,” Rios said, already stepping in.
“Get her up,” Ford said. “We have to move her.”
Two operators steadied her, guiding her toward the edge of the boat.
“Easy,” Ford said, voice low. “You’re alright. Just one step.”
She nodded, breathing hard, sweat pouring down her face. They lifted her carefully.
The moment her foot touched the dock, she screamed, and her body locked.
Ford commanded, “Stop. Do not move her.”
Too late. She dropped, collapsing straight down between them.
Rios was already there, catching her shoulders as she hit the dock. “Head down,” she said. “Give me space.”
Ford dropped beside them. Blood seeped along the dock. Too much. He saw it instantly.
“She’s crowning.” Rios positioned herself between her knees.
The girl cried out again, body bearing down without control.
“No time,” Rios said. “We deliver here.”
Ford moved when she moved. “Tell me what you need.”
“Support her. Keep her still.”
He braced her shoulders, steadying her as another contraction tore through her.
“Push,” Rios said. “You have to push.” She demonstrated pushing.
The girl screamed, then bore down.
The baby came fast. Too fast. It was small. Too small.
Rios caught it, clearing the airway immediately. “No cry.”
“Rourke!” Ford called.
Rourke was already moving, dropping beside them as Rios handed him the infant. “Got it.” He moved fast, checking airway, stimulating, working.
The baby did not respond.
Behind them, Alpha squad kept moving, pulling the remaining passengers from the boat as water continued to rise inside the hull. Bradley and Carolyn flanked their surrogate, their faces pale as they looked upon the scene of the bleeding girl on the dock.
“Keep them coming,” Rourke shouted over his shoulder without looking up.
Ford stayed locked on the mother. Something was very wrong. Blood poured like a running faucet.
“She’s hemorrhaging,” Rios said sharply. “I need pressure.”
Ford shifted immediately, hands where she directed. The girl’s skin had gone translucent. Her breathing hitched, and her body began to jerk.
Rios saw it. “Seizure.”
“Eclampsia,” Ford said.
“Hold her,” Rios ordered.
Ford locked her down, keeping her from injuring herself as the seizure took her.
“Magnesium,” Rios called.
“On it,” one of the arriving med team shouted.
The girl continued to seize, weakening with time until she sagged.
“Stay with me!” Rios worked fast, trying to control the bleeding, fighting for blood pressure.
Ford watched her chest as his fist pressed over the boggy uterus. He watched the fight leave her face. “Come on.”
Behind him, Rourke’s voice cut through, “I’ve got a pulse. Weak, but I’ve got it.”
The baby let out a thin, fragile cry.
Ford did not look back. He stayed with the mother. She was slipping.
Rios’s voice cut sharp. “Start CPR.”
Ford’s hands locked over the center of her chest. He drove down hard and fast, counting the rhythm in his head. One, two, three…
Rios moved at his side, controlling what she could, fighting the bleeding that did not want to stop. “Bag her,” she ordered.
Air pushed. Chest rose under Ford’s compressions.
Behind them, boots pounded across the pier. Patrol officers rolled a stretcher in, wheels rattling over the wood.
Rourke didn’t look up from the infant in his hands. “Set a corridor.”
Two operators moved instantly, clearing a path from the dock to the vehicles, pushing back onlookers, locking the space down. “Clear the way. Move.”
Ford did not break rhythm.
“Epi?” Rios asked.
“Coming,” a medic answered, dropping beside them. “Pushing it now.”
Ford counted through another cycle.
“Switch,” Rios said.
The medic took over compressions. Ford shifted to the airway, sealing the mask, forcing steady breaths.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath. “Stay with us.”
The stretcher hit beside them.
“On three.” Rios counted, “One, two, three.”
They lifted her. Blood soaked through the sheet almost instantly.
“Go,” Ford commanded..
They moved down the boardwalk, through the corridor Rourke had carved, straight to the waiting vehicles.
Behind them, Rourke jogged alongside with the newborn, still working, still focused. The infant’s cry came thin but present.
Ford turned once, eyeing the boat. Water was already filling the lower deck, creeping higher. “Island patrol,” he called out.
The nearest officer snapped to him. “Yes, sir.”
“Get that boat off this dock. Tow it out and let it go down somewhere safe. I do not want it sinking here.”
The officer nodded. “Understood.”
Ford switched languages without hesitation, voice carrying across the crew. “Nou pou kouver tou keksoz ki zot perdi. Pa trakase.” We will cover your losses. Do not worry.
One of the crewmen met his eyes and gave a tight nod.
Ford turned back to the vehicles. “Load everyone,” he ordered. “All patients go to the clinic. Now. Bring the couple and crew in another vehicle.”
Rios was already climbing into the back of the lead vehicle with the mother, continuing compressions as they moved. “Move,” she snapped. “Do not stop.”
Ford grabbed the side rail and hauled himself in beside her. “Keep going.”
The doors slammed shut. The vehicle surged forward. Inside, everything narrowed. Compressions. Airway. Blood.
Ford locked back in, hands steady as he took over again. One, two, three…
The clinic was minutes away.
THE CLINIC
Blood soaked the sheets beneath her. Too much. Still coming.
“Keep bagging her,” Rios called out.
Air pushed. Her chest rose and fell under Ford’s compressions.
Hunt Montgomery dropped in beside them, already gloved. “What do we have?”
“Postpartum hemorrhage, seizure, now arrest,” Rios said. “Asystole.”