Chapter 30
THIRTY
KASAVOA – COMMAND ROOM
The storm radar filled the far wall. Kieran stood close to the screen with his hands braced on the edge of the table, watching the rotating bands crawl across the islands.
The storm slowed as it moved north, but the outer circulation still covered both Kasavoa and Tevenne like a lid pressed over the water.
Behind him, the command room was in constant motion. Radios crackled. Patrol officers stepped in and out with updates. Medical teams called in bed counts that were already outdated by the time they were spoken.
But Kieran barely heard any of it. His eyes stayed on the storm. He initiated the call and waited. When the satellite phone vibrated against the table, he picked it up immediately. The line opened almost at once.
“Ian here.” It sounded like he was waiting for the call.
“I know you probably figured it out,” Kieran’s voice was tight, “but we heard from Tevenne.”
“I know Cox went,” Ian said. “He wouldn’t send anyone else into that. Not like this. He shouldn’t be there. Not after…”
Kieran forced the pieces into order. “Seven-man team. They made landfall, took contact fast. Hill took a round to the right thigh. Stabilized and sent back with Michaels. He’ll make it.”
“Good,” Ian said. “Keep going.”
Kieran exhaled once. “Blake is dead.”
“How?”
“Ford engaged him at the helipad,” Kieran said. “Blake tried to lift. He didn’t make it.”
“What did he leave behind?” Ian asked.
Kieran’s jaw tightened. “A girl—fifteen, maybe younger. Blake walked out mid-C-section. Ford got Hunt on the line from Kasavoa. They worked it. Did everything right. They couldn’t save her, but they saved the baby.”
The line stayed quiet. He could almost hear Ian processing it.
“Go on,” Ian said finally.
“The window’s closed,” Kieran explained. “Eight hours minimum before anything moves. Maybe longer.”
Ian exhaled slowly. “So Ford’s in the middle of an outbreak, in a compromised facility, with no evac.”
“Yes.”
“And he knows it.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“He’s not fully recovered.”
Kieran didn’t answer that either. Because they both knew it.
“He went anyway,” Ian said.
“He was always going to,” Kieran replied as the storm radar flickered on the screen, tightening its path.
Ian’s voice came back steady. “If he’s going to risk his life, we support him. Everything we’ve got. Legal, medical, logistics. I want options before that window opens.”
Kieran nodded. “Already moving.”
“He’s going to hold that place together.”
Kieran looked back at the storm. “And we’re going to make sure he’s not holding it alone. But I’m not worried about Ford.”
“What are you worried about?”
“The island flooding.” Tevenne was low. Resort construction near the shore meant storm surge could push water straight into the complex.
“That changes exfil,” Ian said.
“Right.” Kieran straightened slightly.
“They’re unlikely to have a functioning airstrip after this storm.”
“Agreed.”
“Which means we stage aircraft at Kasavoa.” Ian blew out a breath. “Helicopter shuttle or short boat transfer once the seas settle.”
“That’s the only option.” Kieran continued watching the storm display. “We also need two response teams.”
“One for Kasavoa.”
“Yes. The clinic here is already overwhelmed.”
“And the second team for Tevenne.”
“Correct.”
Ian continued, “Full disaster response unit to Kasavoa. Respiratory and infectious disease specialists.”
“Exactly,” his brother agreed.
“And neonatal and obstetric support for Tevenne.”
“Ford will need them.”
“Assuming the island is still intact.”
Kieran’s eyes remained fixed on the radar. “That’s the assumption we’re working with.”
“I’ll move the Nairobi team to launch readiness.”
“Two aircraft?”
“Three,” Ian said. “One supply, two medical.”
Kieran sighed. “We’ll stage them the moment the weather window opens.” He watched the storm sweeping over Tevenne again. “Ford will keep those people alive.”
Ian’s voice softened slightly. “What about you?”
Kieran didn’t look away from the storm. “I make sure we’re ready to get them out the second the sky clears.”
TEVENNE – MATERNITY WARD
The storm turned violent. Wind slammed against the resort buildings hard enough to make the glass walls tremble, while rain struck the windows in sheets.
Lightning flashed over the ocean beyond the cliffs, briefly illuminating the dark courtyard outside before everything dropped back into the dull yellow glow of emergency lighting.
Inside the maternity wing, the air felt thick with heat, fear, and exhaustion.
Ford stepped out of the nursery just as Marino and Davis pushed through the doors from the storm.
Both men were soaked, their clothes plastered to their skin, but the golf carts behind them were stacked high with supplies.
Rourke moved immediately. “Get that inside.”
Within minutes, the nurses were tearing open the boxes. Four women who hadn’t developed fevers sat in the nursery chairs feeding crying newborns with bottles of formula. Fresh diapers replaced the improvised cloths they were using earlier. Clean receiving blankets wrapped around the babies.
For the first time since Ford arrived, the nursery sounded slightly calmer. Blake had to know the babies were starving.
Rourke grabbed a bottle of electrolyte drink from the pile and shoved it toward Ford. “Drink.”
Ford barely looked at it. “I’m fine.”
Rourke’s voice sharpened. “You’re dehydrated, and you’re shaking. Drink.”
Ford took the bottle and swallowed half of it in one long pull. The salt and sugar hit his bloodstream immediately. He finished the bottle just as Aurelia and another nurse rushed toward him. Both looked pale.
“Ford,” Aurelia said breathlessly. “We need you.”
“What’s happening?”
The second nurse spoke quickly. “One of the labor patients. Something’s wrong.”
“How wrong?”
“A foot is presenting.”
Ford went still. “Footling breech?” It was something he learned in training that rarely happened. Ah hell.
He stood beside the labor bed while Aurelia positioned the frightened young woman beneath the surgical lights.
Her fever colored her skin deep red, and sweat soaked the hair at her temples.
One of the baby’s feet had already descended through the birth canal—the worst possible presentation in this situation.
The woman’s fingers clutched the sheets. “Please,” she gasped. “Please don’t let my baby die.”
Ford leaned closer so she could hear him over the storm and the voices moving through the room. “Look at me,” he said gently.
Her eyes found his.
“My name is Ford. I’m going to help you and your baby, but I need you to stay with me.”
Another contraction hit her, and she cried out.
Ford glanced toward the phone sitting on the tray. “Rourke, get Flynn or Hunt.”
Flynn picked up. “You’re gonna need to turn the baby.”
“Before I try to rotate this baby, can I give her something?”
“Yes,” Flynn answered through the crackling line. “Small dose of fentanyl. You need her to relax.”
Ford looked at Aurelia. “Fentanyl?”
Aurelia ran.
Eira’s voice came softly over the connection, “Ford, keep her breathing steady. If she tenses up, you’ll lose the rotation.”
Ford took the vial from Aurelia. “Copy—25 micrograms IV?”
Eira and Flynn both answered, “Yes.”
He drew medication into a syringe and leaned back toward the patient. “This is going to help with the pain.”
Her hands trembled as she nodded. “Will my baby be okay?”
“We’re going to do everything we can.” He administered the medication and waited while the tension in her body slowly eased.
“Alright,” Flynn said through the phone. “Try the rotation.”
Ford moved carefully, supporting the small foot without pulling while attempting to guide the baby’s position upward. For several seconds, the room held its breath. The monitor alarm chirped. The baby shifted but did not rotate enough.
Ford exhaled slowly. “It’s not turning.”
Flynn’s voice remained steady. “Take a breath and try again.”
Ford tried. “No go.”
“Okay, we move to surgical delivery.”
The room went very still.
Eira’s voice: “Ford… listen to him.”
Ford was glad she couldn’t see his face. “Alright.” All he could think of was the girl on the dock at Kasavoa and the girl from Tevenne in the morgue.
Flynn’s voice cut through the static on the satellite phone. “Alright, Cox, before you cut, you need to numb her.”
Ford glanced toward the tray. “What am I using?”
“You can’t do an epidural, so we’re going with Lidocaine,” Flynn said immediately. “One percent.”
Aurelia was already placing the vial and syringe beside Ford’s hand. “How much?”
“Draw up about twenty to thirty ccs,” Flynn replied. “Infiltrate straight down from belly button to pubic bone. Skin first, then deeper into the fascia.”
Eira added, “Give it a few seconds to take effect, Ford.”
Flynn’s voice was steady and calm. “Once the area’s numb, test it. If she doesn’t feel the pressure, you’re good to go. Clean her with a betadine scrub.”
The young woman on the table looked at him, terrified. “What are you doing?”
Ford leaned close so she could hear him over the storm. “Your baby needs to come out through your abdomen.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Will he live?”
Ford held her gaze. “I’m going to get him out.”
Her voice trembled. “Please don’t let him die.”
“I won’t.” It was a promise he might not be able to keep. He drew the lidocaine into the syringe. “You’re going to feel some pressure.” He injected along the incision line across her abdomen.
Flynn spoke again. “Give it about thirty seconds.”
“Copy.” He waited, then tested the area gently. “Can you feel this?”
She shook her head weakly. “No.”
“Good.”
Aurelia scrubbed her abdomen. He picked up the scalpel.
Eira’s voice came through the speaker again, softer now. “Ford.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m right here.”
He glanced briefly toward the phone. “I know.”
Flynn’s tone shifted into full surgical command. “Vertical incision, Cox. Faster access.”
Ford positioned the blade. “Incising.” The scalpel moved through skin. Aurelia suctioned blood away while the other nurse steadied the patient.
“Keep going,” Flynn said, “through the fascia.”