I leave her, alone with the dead and the bleeding, trusting that she and Leo and Heath and Zesi will get the job done.
I’m halfway up to Medical when I come out of crisis-mode fog and I realize: I’ve just put a world’s worth of trust in my short list of murder suspects.
51
A SEA OF THORNS AND GLASS
I DO MY best to block out how little time I have to prepare, how very many urgent things I’ll need to take care of once I finish stitching Haven’s wound. I set my buzz notifications todo not disturb, just for now, so I can focus while I work on her. Seconds blur to minutes, chaos blurs to blackness. By the time Zesi and Heath deliver Haven to me on that wretched squeaky-wheeled gurney, my focus is as narrow and sharp as the needle in my hand.
“Do... you need any help, Linds?” Heath looks as shell-shocked as I feel, eyes tired from taking in blast after merciless blast.
“Not a two-person job,” I say. “But thanks.”
He wants to say something else, I can tell—he hesitates, lips slightly parted like there are words on the tip of his tongue—but then his mouth falls shut. He dips his head. “Need anything, just let us know, okay?”
I give him a tight-lipped smile, the best I can muster. I’m not in the mood for small talk, or a pep talk, or any kind of talk—Ijust want to get this over with already. Heath and Zesi take the hint, leave without another word.
“Okay, Haven,” I whisper, when it’s just me and her unconscious body, which looks too much like death. “I’m going to get you through this.” I slip a tiny tablet into her mouth, under her tongue, count to ten while it dissolves; this way, she won’t wake when my needle pierces her skin.
I clean the wound, dab at the blood, which has already started to dry. The antiseptic has a strong chemical smell that brings me straight back to the day Dr. Safran first taught me how to stitch a person up. It seems like a lifetime ago that he was here with me, right in this very room, guiding my every move. My hands trembled viciously that night I first learned—we’d just sterilized the wound and were about to stitch up a six-foot-six tech who’d had a bad run-in with a low steel beam.Count to five, and slowly, Dr. Safran told me. I did as he said, and it worked, my hands steadying with each passing second.
Today I pass five—and ten—and fifteen—before the shaking stops.
I make careful stitches with the curved needle, a perfect row ofx’s sewn in dark navy thread. It isn’t a deep wound, and it isn’t a terribly long one, either—a few minutes later, the job is done. Haven breathes lightly, looking more like a sleeping princess now that I’ve cleaned her up. She’ll wake when the meds I gave her wear off.
If only I could solve all our problems so neatly: focus, plan, fix.
While she’s out, I take the opportunity to swab inside her mouth. If what happened to her is at all related to the strain that tookNautilusout, it should show up in test results. She didn’t get a nosebleed, though—and even though it looks like the deaths over there happened more immediately than the ones here, her collapse seems like it was a littletooimmediate. I prepare the test using Dr. Safran’s equipment, right here in Medical. Sit. Wait.
I lean my elbows on the cool metal of the gurney, rest my head in my palms. What are we going to do? No way our people will eat theNautilusfood now, not after what happened with Haven—even if the test comes back clean, I doubt I’ll be able to convince them it’s fine. We’ll have to stretch what little food we have left from our own shipment. And I still haven’t had a chance to run labs on thewatersample yet—what if it’s tainted? The panels looked promising back in the hydro chamber, but if there’s anything today taught me, appearances aren’t reliable. Story picked those pouches out from the shelf right before my eyes, and they looked fine to both of us, unexpired with an unbroken seal.Somethinghappened with the food, no question there. Maybe she just got a bad batch, and took it all in too quickly? Can a person pass out from simply being so disgusted that their body overcompensates to block all memories of it happening?
Maybe it really is time to swallow my pride. It seemed like such a risk before to reach out to Vonn—but at this point, whatisn’t? He could bring another shipment. Our people would eatit, I’m certain of it, because if the station on Radix is all alive and well, their food can’t possibly be contaminated. I was afraid of looking weak before, of looking like we can’t run the station every bit as well as our parents did—
But, well.
We’re doing our best. It isn’t enough.
I’m doing my best and there’s still aserial killerwithin our walls. I’ve dreamed, for so long, of running the station every bit as well as my mother did—I’ve dreamed of earning my place.
I never dreamed of this.
There’s a light knock on the glass behind me. I look over my shoulder, see that Heath has returned. He makes a motion, likeMind if I join you?
I’m too tired to tell him no.
Heath slips through the doors after I wave him in, and retrieves Medical’s second silver stool. Dr. Safran preferred that one, even though they’re practically identical—the only difference is that the wheels on his are worn down to the quick from years of use. I haven’t touched it since he passed.
“How’re you holding up?” Heath asks, pulling the stool close to mine. Nottooclose. Just close.
“I...” I look around the sterile room, look for answers on the walls. The walls are blank.
All I want is to know I can trust Heath, to know I can trusteveryoneagain. That, and I want the memory of him and Natalin, there in the hydro chamber, gone from my mind.Youhave no idea what you overheard, Heath snapped at me, just before we rushed off to the mezzanine.
“Linds?”
His eyes are like fire turned to ashes. I’ve never seen him look this... defeated.
“I’m sorry,” he begins. A second passes where he can’t meet my eyes; when he looks back at me again, they’re sparkling and sad. “In the hydro chamber—what you heard—Natalin was trying to convince me you could handle the truth, all of it.” His gaze drops again, and this time, it stays there. “I didn’t think it was a good idea. I’m sorry, Linds. I know you’re stronger than that. I just—I didn’t want you to break, is all, and I thought maybe it’d be best if we just tried to handle things ourselves.” His fingers tap a slow, nervous rhythm on the gurney near a wave of his sister’s silky blonde hair.
