He forced himself to turn and walk towards the door, to put one foot in front of the other until he was in the corridor and the door was sliding shut behind him. Then he leaned against the wall and tried to remember how to breathe.
She had kissed him. Fierce, defiant, beautiful Melissa had pressed her mouth to his and ignited something in him that he hadn’t known existed. Something that burned hotter than any fire, deeper than any training, more powerful than any oath he had ever sworn. One simple physical contact and everything had changed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Robbie’s cry woke her from a fitful sleep, and Melissa knew immediately that something was wrong.
It wasn’t his hungry cry, the urgent, rhythmic wail that demanded attention and sustenance. It wasn’t his wet cry either, or his lonely cry, or any of the dozen variations she had learned to interpret over the past three months. This was different. Weaker. A thin, reedy sound that made her blood run cold.
She was out of the bed before she was fully conscious, crossing the cell in two strides to scoop him from the crib.
Hot.
The word registered before anything else. His small body was burning against her chest, his skin flushed an angry red, his dark eyes glassy and unfocused. She pressed her hand to his forehead and felt her stomach drop.
“No, no, no.” The words came out as a whispered prayer. “Not here. Not now. Please.”
A fever. Her baby had a fever, and she was trapped in an alien prison with no medicine, no doctors she could trust, and no way to help him.
Think. I have to think.
She carried him to the sink and ran cold water over her hands, then pressed them to his forehead, his cheeks, and the back of his neck. He whimpered at the contact, turning his face away, and the sound cut through her like a knife.
“I know, sweetheart. I know it’s cold. But we have to bring your temperature down.”
How high was it? She had no way to measure, no thermometer, nothing but her own terrified instincts. High enough that his skin felt like it was radiating heat. High enough that his cry had turned weak and his movements sluggish.
Febrile seizures.The words floated up from some half-remembered parenting book.Babies can have seizures if their fever gets too high.
She wet a cloth and laid it across his forehead, humming tunelessly to keep herself calm. It wasn’t working. The panic was rising in her chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.
I need help.
The thought tasted bitter in her mouth. She had spent her entire adult life solving her own problems, relying on her own skills and knowledge. Even when she’d decided to have Robbie, she had done it because she was capable of handling motherhood alone. But this wasn’t about her pride. This was about her son’s life.
She crossed to the door and pounded on it with her free hand, hard enough to make her palm sting.
“Hello? Is anyone out there? I need help!”
Silence. The thick metal absorbed her voice like a sponge.
She pounded again, harder, putting her weight behind each blow. “Please! My baby is sick! He needs medicine!”
Still nothing. She wanted to scream, to tear the door from its hinges, to burn this entire facility to the ground. Instead, she pressed her forehead against the cold metal and forced herself to breathe.
Becsul. He said he’d come back. He said?—
The door slid open so suddenly that she stumbled forward, nearly losing her balance. Strong hands caught her shoulders, steadied her, and she looked up into solid black eyes filled with concern.
“Melissa? What’s wrong?”
“Robbie has a fever.” She thrust her son towards him, too desperate for embarrassment. “It’s a bad one, and I don’t have any medicine. I don’t have anything?—”
He gently pressed a big hand against Robbie’s forehead while the other supported his small body. His expression hardened.
“How long has he been like this?”
“I don’t know. I just woke up and he was—” Her voice cracked. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying. “Please. You have to help him.”
