Chapter 36 #2
The cutter rocked once in the wake then settled against the pier. Before the gangway was lowered, Rourke climbed over the rail and dropped onto the dock. Salt water and rain ran off his jacket.
Behind him, the four pregnant women were helped onto the dock by the patrol officers. One of the women was shaking badly from the cold.
“Get blankets!” someone shouted.
Medical staff rushed forward and wrapped them quickly.
Eira barely noticed. Her eyes were already locked on Rourke. “Where’s Ford?”
Rourke ran one hand through his wet hair and looked back toward the dark harbor entrance. The only sound was the wind hitting the dock.
Eira stepped closer. “Rourke.”
Ford’s absence was written all over his face. “He stayed.”
Eira’s chest tightened. “Stayed?”
Rourke nodded. “One of the women went into labor.” The rain hammered harder against the dock. “He wouldn’t move her. She was crowning.”
Eira felt the cold hit deeper. “Did you try?”
“He ordered us out.” Rourke’s voice was rough now. “The storm turned.” He gestured back toward the ocean. “We barely made it out as it was.”
Eira looked past him toward the harbor entrance. The black water beyond the breakwater looked violent again.
Rourke said, “He stayed with the mother.”
Eira swallowed.
“The storm worsened right as we pulled away. The boat flipped. Ford helped save the four we brought in, and then he went back for the laboring mother.” He looked down at the dock briefly. “We watched a tree come through the admin building window before we lost sight of it.”
Eira’s stomach dropped. “Was he…?”
“I don’t know.”
The wind rattled the floodlights overhead. Behind them, the patrol chief shouted orders to the dock crews. The evacuation wasn’t finished yet, but the island across the water had disappeared completely into the storm. Eira stared into the darkness beyond the harbor.
Somewhere out there, Ford was still fighting to keep himself and two others alive. And there was nothing she could do about it. Not until the storm let them go back.
TEVENNE – ADMINISTRATION BUILDING
The storm hammered the broken building like it was trying to push it off the ridge. Rain blew through the shattered window and across the floor. Water crept slowly along the tiles, reflecting the weak yellow glow of the lantern.
Ford forced himself to move. The mother lay exhausted on the mattress, the newborn wrapped against her chest. “Stay with me,” he said, his voice sounding rough even to his own ears.
The birth wasn’t finished yet.
Nadya lay back against the thin mattress, in her early twenties, olive skin gone ashen beneath exhaustion, blond hair damp and clinging to her face. Her green eyes opened in brief flashes, unfocused but searching.
The baby in her arms was small. Too small. His skin was still mottled, a mix of pale and flushed red, limbs thin and fragile, fingers no longer than the width of Ford’s thumb. Dark, damp hair clung to his scalp. His breaths came shallow but steady, chest fluttering with each effort.
The placenta still needed to be delivered. “Alright, one more step.”
Another contraction rolled through her. She groaned weakly.
“Push a little… just a little.”
Moments later, the placenta delivered into the sterile tray he’d managed to salvage. He tied off what he needed to. “Okay,” he said softly. “That’s it.”
The woman slumped back against the pillow, breathing hard. Ford stayed kneeling for a moment longer, steadying himself against the side of the bed. The pain in his ribs grew sharper. He ignored it.
“We need to move you farther in,” he said. “Storm’s coming through that window.”
She nodded weakly. She pushed up to her feet, and, holding the newborn, she walked with Ford toward what was Dr. Blake’s office. Every step sent pain through his side. He gritted his teeth and kept walking.
The wind hadn’t hit the office as hard. He pushed a file cabinet to effectively block one broken window. “Better.” He grabbed two more blankets from the pile left behind by the evacuation.
“Lie back on the couch.” Ford gently lifted the baby and settled it against Nadya’s bare chest. “Skin to skin. Best heat source we’ve got.”
Ford knelt in front of her, adjusting the blankets, wrapping the newborn tighter. He tucked fabric around the baby’s small body, making sure his airway stayed clear, watching the rise and fall of his chest.
The baby’s features were delicate, not fully filled out yet, eyes squeezed shut, mouth opening in small, uneven cries that faded quickly as he settled against his mother’s warmth.
Too small. But breathing. “He’s a fighter,” Ford said.
She nodded and held the baby tighter.
When Ford pushed himself to his feet, the room swayed. He steadied himself against the wall and started searching through the scattered supplies left behind. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
He found a medical box they packed when they moved from the maternity ward. Inside, he found protein bars, electrolyte drinks, bandages, an IV set and three bags of IV fluid. He let out a breath. “Alright.”
He sank down beside the couch and pulled the kit closer. Tremors ran through him from the exposure. His hands were shaking now as he tied the tourniquet around his arm.
Nadya watched him. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine,” Ford muttered.
He slid the IV needle into his vein and taped it down. The bag held 500cc of fluid.
He hung it from a broken cabinet handle and let it drip quickly.
Ford grabbed one of the remaining protein bars and handed it to her. “You need to eat.”
She shook her head weakly. “I can’t.”
“You can.” He tore the wrapper open for her. “Small bites. He needs the calories.”
She took one bite reluctantly. Ford opened another bar for himself. He took two bites before the nausea hit him hard.
He turned his head and vomited onto the floor beside the wall. The motion sent pain shooting through his ribs. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s about right.”
Nadya stared at him now. “You’re not fine.”
Ford slid down the wall slowly until he was sitting beside the couch, the IV line running into his arm. The lantern flickered, and outside, the storm roared across the island. For a while, neither of them spoke.
The baby made a small squeaking sound against her chest. She looked at Ford again. “You’re bleeding.”
Ford glanced down at the blood soaking through the bandage he’d wrapped around his ribs. “Looks worse than it is.”
“You can barely sit up.”
He gave a tired half smile. “I’m sitting, aren’t I?”
She studied him, then whispered, “You stayed.”
Ford leaned his head back against the wall. “I wasn’t leaving you.”
Another gust of wind shook the building. Rain tapped steadily against the far hallway path.
After a moment, Ford looked over at her. “So how’d you end up here?”
She blinked. “Here?”
“Tevenne.” He nodded toward the storm outside. “Not exactly a vacation island.”
She managed a faint laugh. “No.”
The baby shifted slightly against her chest. “I came for the program. The surrogate center. I’m twenty-two, healthy, and needed the cash.”
Twenty-two. Still young, but old enough to make a choice. Ford nodded slowly. “Cash?”
“Yeah. Fifty thousand payable at delivery, plus the medical care and transportation.” She looked down at the tiny infant. “Everything was supposed to be routine, but after what we went through, I’ll be damned if I give him up.” Another small laugh escaped her.
Ford watched the baby breathe then looked back at her. “What’s the baby’s name?”
She hesitated. “I haven’t decided yet. I didn’t plan on keeping him.”
Ford nodded. “Well,” he shifted carefully against the wall, “you certainly didn’t plan on a storm like this…” He glanced toward the shattered window. The lantern flickered again. “Storm would be a cool name.”
Nadya lay her little one in the blankets and stood on wobbly legs.
“Where are you going?” Ford asked.
“You need a little help.” She looked around.
When she opened a closet, she found a pair of men’s scrubs and a lab coat.
She also grabbed a blanket and some bandages before making her way to Ford.
The room still held supplies set up when they moved from the lower ward.
Slowly, she removed his boots and wet socks. “Pants.”
“Are you always bossy?”
“You’re freezing.”
He didn’t notice his color was blue and he was shivering. Nadya helped Ford strip off his saltwater-soaked BDUs. She handed him a pair of disposable underpants.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re blue.” She shook her head. “Fine, I’ll close my eyes.”
Ford bit his lip and managed to slip out of the underwear and into the disposables. The scrub pants followed. He couldn’t believe how much better that felt.
Nadya came closer and pulled his torn shirt free. Her breath caught. The wound was long and bleeding steadily. She took a big pad and pressed it against the gash. When Ford hissed, she said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Nadya tied the bandage tightly around him. Carefully, she lifted the bag of IV fluid and slipped it through the shirt’s arm. Then she covered Ford with the lab coat and a blanket.
“Thank you,” Ford said.
She crawled back to her baby boy. She lifted him, placed him against her chest and pulled the blanket over them.
KASAVOA – CLINIC WARD
The ward had settled into a fragile rhythm three hours since the last boat. Warm air pressed in from every direction, thick with exhaustion and the faint, constant hum of machines.
Monitors marked time. Oxygen lines whispered. The soft shift of nurses moving between stations, voices kept low as if anything louder might break what little stability they’d built.
The neonatal units cast a soft, steady glow along the far wall. Babies from Tevenne lay beneath the heat lamps, impossibly small, their chests rising in uneven rhythms while nurses adjusted lines and checked temperatures with careful hands.
Eira didn’t move. She’d been sitting beside Véronique long enough that the chair no longer felt separate from her.