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She shot me a look and raised one eyebrow. “It’s 1100,” she deadpanned. She pointed down the hallway. “Clock’s over there. We’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Is the medical bay open? Or the nurses’ station? My… husband, he’s injured.”
She gave a slight chuckle and started down the hallway with her cart. “No,” she laughed. “You’re on your own with that.” I groaned in frustration.
He’d made it through the night and seemed to have regained some strength, so I gave up on finding a doctor. Infection was the biggest issue now, and I needed to clean his makeshift bandage again. I stepped back into the room and set the bag and papers down on the small table. Sifting through, I saw nothing that would pass for bandages, so I would need to find another shirt.
I ran the water in the sink and collected what I needed. I would have to boil all of this as soon as I had a chance. I washed my hands, singing Happy Birthday to myself three times, smirking at the habits I kept, even under the strangest circumstances.
Placing my supplies on the bed, I moved his right leg out to one side, lifted his left, and laid it over my lap as I sat in between. Lifting the duct tape from his skin was easier than I expected. There was a mix of sweat and blood under the bandage, loosening the glue. The wound looked better today, clean enough, and wasn’t hot to the touch.
One spot needed a tug and would have stung if he’d been awake. I held his skin taught and yanked.
“Sorry, Sam,” I said to myself as I continued my work.
“It’s alright,” he whispered back and lifted himself to his elbows with a grin.
My body snapped straight. I moved my gaze to his, mouth agape.
“Who is Sam?” he said.
I tried to make words, but my mouth was dry, and my mind fell blank. The only noise that filled the room was my ragged breathing and the steady drip of blood that tapped the floor.
