Chapter Eighteen

Atonement

“It was a tonic-clonic seizure, Mrs. Sinclair,” the doctor said after we stepped through the door to Will’s hospital room and into the hallway.

I stared at her blankly.

“Nomenclature has changed. They used to be called grand mal seizures. Up to thirty percent of children with autism also have epilepsy,” she continued. She rattled off statistics, but I tuned them out as I stared into the room at my son. Will lay, exhausted, in the hospital bed with an IV line and monitors hooked to his skinny body. His chest rose and fell, shrouded by a gown too large for him, as he wheezed and slept.

“He’s stable, Mrs. Sinclair, but we need to keep him here for a few days to monitor him, especially because of his asthma, and well, if he inhaled any of the ash…” She drifted off.

A long, bustling, pristine corridor in the children’s wing of the hospital surrounded us. Nurses, doctors, orderlies, and various staff shuffled in and out of rooms and worked behind the central desk on computers next to stacks of folders and paperwork. The occasional Guard soldier strode past, the camouflage uniform, helmet, and holstered weapon a stark contrast to the clean, fluidly operational hospital with its white walls and colorful signs.

One such soldier brushed past me. “Excuse me, ma’am,” she said.

Will had had a seizure.

After I encouraged him to ride his bike then walk through the ash.

After I dragged him across the country.

The doctor pushed her round, black-rimmed glasses up her nose and tucked her clipboard beneath her arm. “Have you noticed any peculiar staring spells?”

“Huh?”

Reid materialized beside me and cupped a hand on my elbow. “AJ,” he coaxed.

I blinked. How long had he been standing there? I looked behind me at Will’s hospital room. No light broke through the slats between the blinds. Night was upon us.

I returned my focus to the doctor. Through grainy eyes, I read the name badge on the pocket of her white coat. Dr. Isabel Hwang. “Well, yeah, he has autism,” I snapped. “He daydreams, stares off.” I folded my arms across my stomach and cradled myself. The tingles began in my fingers. I remembered his staring spell on the highway near Greer Spring, when we had been stuck in traffic. “Seizure. He had a seizure,” I stuttered.

“Yes, he did. Any prolonged staring that you couldn’t shake him from?”

I clenched my hands tighter. “No.”

“Facial twitches?”

“No.”

“Muscles jerking, unexplained confusion, or headaches?”

I suppressed the groan. She was only doing her job. “No. If he had a headache, he’d tell me.” Jesus, would he?

“Sleep disturbances?”

Bingo.

“He has night terrors.” Dread settled within me as I averted her gaze. The thought of epilepsy had entered my mind on many occasions. Of course, in those early months I’d read everything I could about autism…its link to gastrointestinal issues, epilepsy, incidence between siblings, nutrition, vaccines (that was total BS), environmental factors, genetic factors…the list never stopped. There was always something to read.

I’d stopped reading.

“Tell me about the night terrors.”

I recounted the details. Had I denied it all along? I hugged myself tighter, as shaking erupted from my knotted stomach, quivering out to my extremities like a full-fledged tremor. “He’s had them for years, since he was like two or three years old. They’re usually triggered by sleep-deprivation, stress. They come in clusters, and then we have long stretches of none. His eyes are open when it happens. He moans, cries…” My explanations broke off. Keep it together, AJ. “He never remembers them. And yeah, yeah, sometimes he stares off into space. And lately he is more anxious about falling asleep.”

Reid’s hand squeezed my elbow. I blew a deep breath and elaborated upon his symptoms.

When I was done, the doctor said, “Well, those are definitely night terrors. They could be seizures, but I wouldn’t know unless I monitor him. There is a checklist here. I need you to read through it all. Some symptoms are usual autism behaviors, but some could be a cause for concern. You’ve been traveling. The drive, sleep disturbances, illness, allergies, diet, stress, dehydration…those things can affect seizure control. I’ve called in for our neurologist. We’ll run an EEG, but we need to catch an event. Some of the neurological abnormalities with autism may contribute to seizures. Chemical imbalances in molecules that send signals…”

Her voice faded as her mouth moved. She was speaking, but my brain wasn’t listening. I noticed all the fine hairs at her hairline, the old acne scars across her nose, the fatigue in her dark eyes…Her lips moved in slow motion.

I blinked and snapped from my daze. “I understand,” was all I could say.

Her thin, black eyebrows shot up with relief, and she nodded.

“We watch and wait,” Reid interjected, taking the clipboard and questionnaire from her.

“Yes,” she said. “This could be an isolated event. I’d like to run a few tests if possible, Mrs. Sinclair, but our hospital’s overwhelmed with people injured from the eruption. They’re still being brought in from other areas. We can’t do all the tests immediately. I can monitor him. He needs to rest. More travel right now could trigger another seizure. We will monitor his night vitals particularly right now. You’re fortunate your son has a bed, given all the—” She cut herself off. She rubbed under the bridge of her thin glasses. Weariness creased the pale skin of her forehead.

“We wait,” I repeated Reid’s words. “For how long?”

“Mrs. Sinclair, he needs rest. I can’t say how long. A few days. If he’s clear, then you’re free to go, but I urge you strongly to follow up with a neurologist when you get home. You’re welcome to stay in his room. There’s a chair that reclines.”

“Dr. Hwang.” A man in scrubs approached the doctor. “We need you in Room 203.”

The doctor gave me an undecided look. “How is your breathing, Mrs. Sinclair?”

“I’m okay. Thank you.”

“The neurologist should be here shortly.” She adjusted her glasses again and hurried off.

Finn.

A few days. Brandon’s words replayed in my mind. I didn’t even know if Finn was okay.

I turned to Reid. “Reid, I—”

“I’ll inquire about a ride to Schriever and check with local mechanics for car parts,” he said, reading my mind. “I’ll check at the desk downstairs to see if they have any other info.”

“Thank you.” I squeezed his hand for a long moment.

I returned to Will’s room with the clipboard and sat beside him on the bed. His chest moved in that deep sleep rhythm a mother loves to watch. He lightly snored. I brushed sweaty hair from his forehead and felt a warm, rosy cheek.

I pulled out my phone. Zero bars. No messages. I pulled my charger from the backpack and plugged it in with the phone.

The choices rippled through my brain while I attempted to answer all the questions on the form.

Should I leave Will here to get Finn? This hospital was sound, safe. The nurse had informed me that back-up generators weren’t in use yet. This was a solid hospital, and patients from regional health centers and smaller facilities were being brought here. Aftershocks were done, or I’d hoped. The Guard had the hospital under control and monitored entrance and flow. I had yet to see Pueblo in daylight though. It had looked horrific by night.

Will would be okay. He would be okay.

I groaned. What if he had another seizure, and I wasn’t here for him? How the hell was I to sleep tonight? How was I to leave him? I couldn’t leave him alone in this hospital. I couldn’t.

How could I not?

Brandon’s call had me rattled. Was Finn even with him?

Maybe he wasn’t? What if he was hurt? What if Brandon had been trying to tell me that my son was dead? Based on what I saw in Pueblo on our drive in, I could only imagine the cities north. Harrison’s voice poked into my mind’s racings. He’s at a base with your brother, AJ.

What if I sent Reid to get him?

Reid, my army-savior-I-wanted-to-kiss-again friend.

The maybe more than a friend, given our night together.

The guy who beat the shit out of people when he got pissed.

The philosophical heart struggling with PTSD.

I knotted my fingers together and found myself praying.

Will. Finn.

Don’t be irrational and emotional, AJ, I chided myself. This wasn’t some twisted moral choice. Both boys would be okay. There was no lesser of two evils choice with this. I regarded the obvious facts: I didn’t know if Finn was alive, and Will could likely have another seizure.

The lights in the hallway flickered twice.

Will’s snoring stopped.

“Mom?” his dry voice rasped.

I smiled. “Hi, honey.”

“Where am I?”

I rested a hand on his chest, his bony frame thinner than usual beneath my fingers. The wheezes in his chest vibrated into my hand.

“We’re in a hospital. You, you—” I couldn’t say it.

“My head hurts. My body, it went all funny, Mom. I felt like I was under water.”

“You—” I stopped to regain control. I rubbed his cheek, and then squeezed his hand. I said firmly, “You had a seizure. It’s like your brain had to shut down for a second and reboot, restart. Like when you turn off a computer.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” I said with a fragile voice. “It happens to some people.”

“Is it because of my brain thing? That you told me about. The autism?”

He struggled to sit.

“No, honey. This is different. It happens to some people with or without autism,” I repeated.

“Is it going to happen again?”

“It could, but you’re in the hospital.” I threaded my larger fingers with his smaller ones. “They’ll keep an eye on you, and if it does happen, you can take medicines and they’ll take care of you. You’ll be okay.”

“How long do we have to stay here?” He coughed.

I got the water from the bedside table and handed it to him. “A few days.”

His face crumpled. “But Finn.”

“We’ll take care of that. Don’t worry.” I turned and dug through his backpack beside me. “Here, I have Douglas. Dougie’s first time to a hospital.”

He took him and nestled the plush, golden dog on his pillow. He then laid his head down and blinked a few times. He coughed, hoarse, lungs rattling.

A hospital worker—doctor or nurse, I didn’t know, my mind a whirl of people in blue scrubs and white overcoats—entered the room pushing a cart. “We need to do a nebulizer treatment now that you’re awake, hon.” She passed a glance to me. “These are in high demand right now.”

I sat on the chair while she situated the mask on his face. I was not unfamiliar with this treatment, as we’d used it once or twice after a cold and once after pneumonia. Now, it served as treatment for those suffering from the aftermath of inhaling shards of rocks and earth innards…sharp, piercing daggers tumbling down their throat and into their lungs.

The woman looked at me for a moment. Her lips crinkled into a tiny smile. “I’m a respiratory therapist. He’s in excellent hands, ma’am. He probably won’t need an x-ray. His symptoms appear minor. We’ll monitor him and see how this goes, then determine if he needs an x-ray.”

“We wore masks,” was all I could muster. What about before that? The poisonous gases? Did the masks do anything for those? Seizures and respiratory problems. My mind jumped to the long-term effects of both, fears circling.

This was all my fault.

She nodded, her gray hair bouncing in her loose bun on her nape. “Good, good.”

I was thankful she didn’t divulge the nitty gritty—ha, no pun intended, I thought, nearly snorting—on ash and the particulates. My geologist lying in the bed was already an expert on all that, and as a result, so was I.

He fidgeted with the mask on his face. She readjusted it.

“We’ll do it for about ten minutes, William. Breathe normally, but every four or five breaths, take a deeper breath. Can you do that?”

“Mom calls me Will.”

“Okay, Will.”

He nodded. “Four or five? Which one is better?”

“You choose,” she said, cheerful kindness infused in her tone. She shoved a loose strand of hair behind her ear and pushed her glasses up on her head as she leaned in to read the monitor. I wondered how long she’d been awake. Everyone here appeared haggard.

“Okay. I will do five.”

“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” she said. She squeezed Will’s hand, then mine with a reassuring look.

I swallowed the dryness in my throat. I then coughed. Perhaps I’d need that nebulizer next.

I pasted on an encouraging smile as Will breathed normally and every fifth inhalation took a deeper breath as the fine mist treatment entered his lungs. I pulled out the two books from his backpack, holding each out until he gave me a thumbs-up. Wizard cats it was.

I read to him for a few minutes as he breathed in, then deeper, the whooshing motor of the pump and vaporized air flow the only sounds other than my voice.

The therapist returned after fifteen minutes. The clock was behind Will’s head, saving me from his keen observation that it had been more than ten minutes.

“Rest, honey,” I said after she removed the equipment and left the room.

“Sing the states song?” he requested through a yawn.

I sang it and rubbed his cheek.

His eyelids fluttered.

I hummed and then let silence settle upon us as he yielded to sleep.

I yawned, too. I could escape for a few minutes. He’d be okay for a few minutes. I needed to get fresh air. Not something I could do in a hospital or in the current atmosphere that was Colorado. Coffee would have to do. If their cafeteria was even up and running.

I left the room and glanced both ways.

“Looking for Reid?” one nurse said from the desk.

I spaced out momentarily. My wayward companion. How could I have forgotten about him? He was indeed like a ghost…He’d gone to check on a ride, my brain reminded me. “Yeah.” I handed her the clipboard with the questionnaire.

“He went to speak with the officer at the main desk, first floor. Coffee is in the cafeteria. You look like you need it. I should warn you they’re swamped, and we haven’t been able to get food deliveries in a few days. You’ll be lucky if you can get a cup. They have to save most for patients.”

“Thanks.” I halted in my step and licked my lips. When I had checked in, I had only given my name. Had Reid told her his name? That sexy smile was an asset, but…Reid’s jacket only said GREGORY on it; he had pocketed his ID. I scratched my head, dog-tired.

Still, something didn’t sit well with me. My fingertips prickled, and I shoved them into my pockets. I asked boldly, “You know Reid?” This was his hometown area after all, I told myself. Of course, he might know people, even if he lived in Colorado Springs now. Yet…I fidgeted with the key in my pocket, sensing my radar blip.

“Of course. He used to come to the hospital all the time after the accident. Everyone knows Reid.”

My mouth dropped open. I snapped it shut. I wasn’t expecting that answer. Hell, my first thought had been maybe she had dated him.

That nagging familiar uneasiness shook me. Despite my lack of sleep, my neurons were firing fast. I removed my hands from my pockets and resumed my cradling, hugging myself tightly. “Why? What accident?”

I glanced down the corridor, half expecting the subject of our conversation to be ambling toward us at any moment.

The nurse barely looked at me and continued with her work. I shifted on my feet. When I hadn’t moved yet, she tapped her pen and gave me a penetrating glare of impatience. “Is there something else?”

My pulse grew fitful. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.” Okay, yeah, I did. “This is the pediatric wing. Not sure how…”

Nurse Gail Chapman, per her badge, heaved a sigh, and her tone softened. “Everyone knows Mr. Gregory here, Mrs.…?”

“Sinclair.” Caffeine-deprivation caused me to grit my teeth. She remembered him but not me?

With a yawn, she weaved a pencil through her hair to pull the long auburn locks into a low bun. “Small towns know all the dirty secrets.”

Huh? I blinked. “This is the pediatric wing.” My jaw hurt, and I forced a polite smile. My look must have reflected my contempt.

“Of a small hospital,” Gail added, with uplifted eyebrows.

Did she want me to read her mind? Lady, I am tired.

She passed a glance to the coworker—supervisor?—behind her and then leaned closer to me, lowering her voice and finally divulging, “I know Reid from high school, too, right before it all happened,” she clarified. “Anyway, they brought his sister over from McMillian Oaks a few days ago.”

It? I was certain blankness fell across my face. So much for my neurons firing. “The accident?” I fed her a line, hoping I had heard correctly.

“It’s a long-term care facility. They had to transport many of their patients here after their generator lost its juice. He’s probably checking on her, too.”

I swallowed. Dread loomed in my throat. “What? Why?” I said, tripping on my own words.

The nurse compressed her lips and gave me a look of pity.

Screw pity. I had seen enough of that to last a lifetime.

The supervisor from behind cleared her throat and approached. “Gail,” she said sternly.

She wrinkled her brow and shrugged, then returned to her work.

I mumbled a thank-you. My head spun as I reached the elevator. Reid’s sister was here? I mentally thumbed through all our conversations like they were filed neatly in a cabinet. All the times we talked about his sister, albeit it was minimal, he’d always spoken of her in a way that implied she was okay and he was going to check on her, like any loyal sibling would do, especially since she was all the family he had. She was a teacher.

She was here. In a hospital. Moved from a long-term care facility? Why? Had she sustained an injury—a broken leg that needed physical therapy? Chronic pain associated with a disease? Cancer treatment? Autoimmune disease? The nurse said “accident,” though.

I passed the coffee vending machine, despite the allure of the brown frothy cup of java on the display. I made for the elevator and pushed the first-floor button. With each ding of a passing floor, my fingers tingled, and my heart thumped louder in my ears. There had to be an explanation.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. As they did, I almost hit the close button to hide inside.

I emerged into a swarm of people in the hospital lobby. I had blocked them out when we arrived a few hours before. Now, they awoke me like an electric zap. Much like the mobile unit in Lamar, mobs of families, uniformed Guard and army soldiers, and hospital employees moved around in a synchronized dance. For a moment, it reminded me of what Will used to say he felt like—a buzzing beehive.

With heavy steps, I treaded to the information desk, which was also overrun with people making inquiries. The Guard soldiers, one man and one woman, who looked as frazzled as I felt, were fielding questions and concerns. Reid wasn’t there in the long line. After another glance around the overrun lobby, and to no avail, I returned to the elevator, my dread not abated. I reached the pediatric floor, ignored the enticing coffee vending machine again, and was back at Gail’s desk.

“Look, I know you can’t give information on patients, but I need to find my friend.” There, I’d said it. Was he my friend? Was he more than a companion on this long hellish journey? Well, I’d slept with him! I sighed. “Reid. His sister. I don’t need to know her room. Just the floor.”

“I’m sorry I can’t,” Gail said. However, as her superior shifted and turned the other way, she held up three fingers.

I nodded.

Back to the elevator I went, after a quick check on Will. Fast asleep. Despite all the walking, which was a lovely release on my deprived muscles from days of driving, I couldn’t quiet my unease. My knees knocked.

I pushed the button, and the ceiling lights flickered again. Stairs, it was.

The third floor also hummed with activity. Extra stretchers and patients and bottlenecks of people lined the hallways, making it easier for me to slip past the primary reception and nurse station to begin poking in rooms. Most of the doors were open, and disregarding my guilt about being nosy, I went room by room. I turned a corner, down another corridor, checked all the rooms. No Reid. I made it to the end of the wing, indicated by closed automatic doors and a sign that displayed directions to other wings and wards. I turned around to give the rooms another glance.

“This is ridiculous,” I mumbled.

I continued my search nonetheless.

There he was, approaching as I’d envisioned him on the other floor, toting two coffees. One for his sister? His face lit up when he saw me.

“Reid.”

“AJ, I was on my way to see you.” He handed me one of the coffees. “For you.”

There went my theory. I took the coffee. “Thanks.”

“Coffee in the cafeteria is sludge…instant packs with bottled water. This is from a Joe’s Java across the street. They’re serving meals and drinks to any and all until their supply runs out. Most of the residents in town have been evacuated to safer places south, but the ones that remain are the mandatory workers, volunteers, and those relocated from the harder hit areas. It’s nice to see some generosity among the chaos.”

I wrapped both hands around the coffee, its heat a mild comfort to my cold fingertips. The scent of cinnamon wafted to my nostrils. “Reid.”

“Yeah?”

“Your sister’s here, in this hospital. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Despite his deeper tan complexion, color drained from his cheeks. His hand tightened around his coffee. He opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped. He blew a breath. “I…” Another exhalation.

“You can tell me.”

“It’s better if I show you,” he said, nodding toward the direction from which I’d just come. We entered a darkened hospital room that housed two beds and with what seemed like more equipment than I could imagine. A frail woman in a blue polka-dotted gown lay in the first bed. She was connected to a ventilator, eyes closed. She had long dark brown hair and tan skin like Reid, though her complexion lacked the golden luster Reid’s usually held.

“I…,” I began, wordless.

He placed his coffee on the table. Then he reached for mine, took it, and set it beside his. “She resides at a nearby long-term care facility. They lost power after the eruption. They brought her here this week.”

“Is she in a coma?”

“Yes.”

To my surprise, tears found their way down my cheeks. I’d thought I shut off the waterworks. “I don’t understand. You said she’s a teacher.”

“She is a teacher.” He shook his head. “She was a teacher.”

I grabbed his hand. “Reid.” I steeled myself for whatever he had to say. “Just tell me, okay?”

He straightened upright and drew his look away from me. In fact, it was fixed on his sister. I stared at her, too, unable to look away. Her chest rose and fell as the ventilator worked oxygen into her body. Smooth, freshly washed wavy hair cascaded around her face. She had high cheekbones, thin, angled eyebrows, and pierced ears absent of earrings. Her skin lacked the vigor I imagined she likely had, well, before. Her body was gaunt beneath the gown and blankets. Reid’s worn copy of Lewis’s The Great Divorce lay on the bedside table.

Reid swallowed. “Lily and I had our differences. She is younger, but I think we had the roles reversed. I was the rebel; she was the rule-follower and overachiever. I did a lot of stupid things before and after my military career. I made shitty decisions in the wake of my deployment.” He rubbed his chin. A ridge of ripples formed in his forehead as he gathered his thoughts.

I braced myself. I knew already.

“Guys drink and smoke way too much when we’re on base or abroad. It passes the time and helps us deal with the crap we’d seen or had to do. It’s when I began reading the philosophical greats. A deck of cards loses its appeal after a week or two, and you can’t exactly play board games by yourself. I had to escape the demons,” he said with a slight snort and dry, sad smile. “I returned home unsure what to do with myself. Books and a few classes weren’t enough to dampen the ghosts. They didn’t block the memories. I was angry. I drank. A lot.”

He stepped closer to me and reached to touch my arm, but then quickly retracted his hand. He hunched his shoulders, chin down. To my surprise, I didn’t recoil, despite the emotion that knotted my stomach. Reid had been an angry alcoholic. Was he still?

God, there was more. The evidence lay in the bed before us.

His eyes clung to mine, imploring. Painful memory filled them. “I’ve been sober for five years now,” he said in defense.

He stopped himself, brushed a hand through his hair, and continued.

“One night, shortly after I’d come home, six years ago, having completed my stint with the army, Lily was on a date with a guy I knew from high school—a guy I urged her against dating. He was a jerk. He had a bad rep and got out of a sexual assault charge in high school mostly due to who he knew, parents in the right place and all. She called me…hysterical. He’d hurt her.”

I inhaled sharply.

“No, well, he didn’t do that,” he said reading my shocked mind. “He’d come close. She got away from him and ran to the local drugstore and waited for me. She called for me to get her. I had been drinking a lot that night. My parents were in poor health—my dad’s dementia and my mom’s chronic pain—and they didn’t drive anymore. Not too many taxis run in the later hours here.” He released a throaty groan. “I wouldn’t let her take one even if they had been available. I had to get her myself. Stupid ego, I suppose,” he added quietly.

He pumped his fist, looking down at his tattoos.

Ne obliviscaris. Never forget. The idea that the tattoo wasn’t from his army days had never occurred to me before now.

“Anyway. I picked her up. I was too proud to admit that I’d been drinking, but she saw right through me. I drove to the bastard’s apartment. She waited in the car while I beat the shit out of him.”

He stopped talking, swallowed, and turned his gaze to his sister. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I didn’t know who it was for, me or Lily.

My heart raced as all the puzzle pieces found their connections, as his story came together. I now saw why he had been riled when that awful guy Dennis assaulted me and Will. It had been like something had snapped in him, and I’d attributed it to protective testosterone or PTSD.

“I refused to let her drive. I drove her home. It was my job, as her brother. To protect her, you know? I was an ass.” He stared at me, a twisted sad smile emerging as he shook his head. “She yelled at me while I was driving, wanted me to let her drive. She grabbed the wheel. I was snaking all over the place. God, I don’t remember much. I was toasted.”

He swallowed a heavy sigh. “I do remember her scream when I drove off the road and hit a tree.”

Remorse teared in the corners of his usually comforting, but now sorrowful, eyes.

I swallowed the truth, my mouth drier than ever. Even though it was beside me, I didn’t touch the coffee. I had enough bitterness swirling in my stomach. “You could’ve told me,” I mustered from the depths of compassion.

He drew his face away and looked at his sister. “No, I couldn’t. A pissed-off drunk as your companion across the country? Around your kid?” he said, raising his voice. Then, in one whoosh of a breath, he added ever quietly, “A stupid drunk who…who…”

A flash of remembrance entered my mind…the alcohol I’d smelled on him in the hotel in Missouri. He had said it wasn’t him who had been drinking. Had he lied then, too? That seemed like ages ago, yet the rawness returned in a torrent. Had he relapsed?

“Your husband,” he said in an aching whisper, refusing to look at me. Instead his stance was directed toward his sister’s frame.

“The hotel. The booze…I-I can’t,” I said, spinning to leave. I couldn’t think straight. He lied. He lied. He was a damn drunk. Or a has-been drunk. I didn’t care. His sister. Dear God, his sister. He had done this to her. And I…and we…

All the pain flooded back to me.

I gasped and hurried through the door into the corridor, my only instinct being to flee, at least while I got my head wrapped around it.

“Wait, AJ. Wait! Please! They’re moving the refugees from Schriever. I was coming to tell you.”

I froze and turned around so quickly that my right foot caught on a cart of machinery. A grisly series of cracks sounded in my troublesome ankle, sending a shooting pain up my shin. I tripped into Reid’s arms with a curse. Reflex pulled me upright, away from him, as I kept my right foot hovering while hopping on the good foot. I whimpered. “What?”

“Here, come, sit.”

“Not in there,” I said with a look to his sister’s room. I reluctantly leaned on him as he led me to a nearby empty wheelchair. Once sitting, I put my foot down to test it, foolishly, like a child told not to touch the hot plate, but who touches it anyway. Pain seared through my foot like a scorching iron.

My mind shifted gears. “What did you say?”

“Let me get a nurse for you. You might need an x-ray.”

“Reid, please.”

A five o’clock shadow had reappeared on his face. He drew his eyebrows together and cleared his throat. “When I checked downstairs with the officer on duty, he mentioned that they’re moving the refugees from Schriever Air Force Base south to various hospitals in New Mexico or west to Nevada. They can’t send them here. No more room. Mobile hospitals are also overrun. Anyone in moving shape is going south or west.”

“Do they know if Finn or my brother are there?”

He shook his head. “The man I spoke to didn’t have names, but he did mention the earthquake in Denver; some of the injured may have gone to the base.”

“Will they go through Lamar? Can I head them off there?”

He shook his head. “No. Everyone’s being routed south to several hospitals and mobile units.”

“When?” I swallowed as tingles in my hands joined the awful sensation radiating from my injured foot. Dammit, my ankle. Why now?

“Tomorrow.”

I yelped.

“Let’s get your foot checked, okay? Then we can go.”

“But Will!” I couldn’t leave him alone. He was safe here, but…what if he had another seizure? Or what if the power went out? On cue, the lights flickered yet again. They stayed out for over a minute this time before coming back on.

The minute crept by as pain vibrated in my foot, heart, and soul. I knew what Reid and I had shared was some transient connection during a time of need. That’s all. So why did I feel brokenhearted?

Suddenly, a flurry of orderlies, nurses, doctors, and soldiers shuffled in the hallway toward the main desk. Voices hollered.

Reid cut off a scrambling orderly. “What happened?”

“Another earthquake in Denver. Large aftershock.” The man dashed down the hallway.

“Maybe somebody can give me a ride to the base?” I said, sickened, my voice a pathetic whisper. The pain welling in my ankle didn’t help.

Who would watch Will if I left?

“Your foot first, AJ.”

“Okay, quickly.” I cooperated marginally. “My Finn, Reid. I must get to him! I must find him. What if he’s d-dead? I just can’t—” I broke into racking sobs.