The Comatose

by Kate Myers

  Quinn breaks the quietness. “Sanchez?”

  “You can call me Alex if you’d like.”

  “Oh,” she says, slightly startled. “Okay, Alex. I have a question.”

  “And I have an answer,” he says sarcastically, but in good humor.

  She hesitates and then responds, “Are you…alone? I mean, do you have any family?”

  Alex doesn’t speak but lets out a long sigh, clearly harboring something he doesn’t want to elaborate on. He walks a few steps ahead of us, allowing me to see the tension rising in his body, claiming a home in his shoulders and jaw.

  “I had a family,” is all he says.

  Quinn softly says, “Me, too,” and then the sounds of the forest around us become the only thing I hear.

  We go the rest of the way in silence, a heavy sadness filling the space. Once we’re in eyesight distance of the cabin, my dad breaks out in a sprint across what’s left of the gap between us. My heart nearly falls apart. I can’t bear the thought of something worse happening to Skylar. He can’t be bringing me bad news. I won’t accept it. Rushing forward with the woman between us, I urge my legs to move faster, Quinn struggling to keep up. My heart, beating so loud the sound fills my ears, almost blocking out Quinn telling me to slow down.

  My dad places his hands on my shoulders, and tears fight to fill my eyes. We come to an abrupt stop, and I’m choking on my inability to speak. His eyes, panicked and red-rimmed, scan me from head to toe.

  Visibly shaken, he asks, “Are you, are you all all right?”

  “Just tell me please,” I manage to get out, ignoring his question.

  “Tell you w—?” he tries to say.

  I cut him off. “Skylar, what happ—is she, god, is she okay?”

  His hands still on my shoulders, he shakes his head. “Yes, yes, Max, Skylar is fine.”

  I nearly fall to my knees. It’s everything I can do to stay put together, to not drop this woman and run straight to Skylar’s side. I’ve never felt weaker in my life, hanging on the thread of what life Skylar has left.

  “Why did you run? What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “When you have kids, you’ll understand.” He shifts his focus from me to Quinn. “You all right over there?”

  The weight of the woman presses firmer in my grasp as Quinn shifts slightly and mutters, “Mmhmm.”

  “Here, let me.” He reaches forward and takes the woman from Quinn. “What have we here?”

  Quinn shifts into doctor-mode. “Woman, middle-aged. She shows signs of being comatose.” She points to Sanchez. “Alex is carrying a man showing signs of being deranged. Both vitals seem stable at this point. The man has been sedated; I can show you the vial and dosage when we get inside. I’m unsure how long it will last.”

  “Intravenous or intramuscular?”

  “Intravenous,” she replies.

  His eyes go wide. “How is that even…?” He shakes his head and continues, “Never mind, good job.”

  “Thank you,” she says shyly.

  “And the supplies?”

  “Yes, we got what we needed, plus some.”

  “Good, good,” he nods. “Okay, gang, let’s get inside.”

  The urge to take off in a sprint to Skylar bubbles up, and I fight it with all my might. I remind myself I’m almost there, only a few more steps until I’m in the house, until I can see her, and see that she’s okay. Only a little bit farther until we can get her the supplies she needs, to bring her back to me, or at least help her hold on longer until Dad and Quinn figure out how to save her.

  18

  Max

  Once I’ve entered the threshold of the cabin, I set the woman gently, but quickly, on the floor. I leave the group behind and take off in a sprint to my bedroom, my stomach seeming to rise into my throat and my heart pounding, somehow faster and slower at the same time. I burst through my bedroom door and then stop completely, moving cautiously the rest of the distance to her. My gaze stuck like glue to her, searches her over for the slightest change, the smallest sign of progress or deterioration.

  Her hair is tucked ever so slightly behind her ears, the ends tangled together, in need of being brushed, and I make a mental note to do this later. The remnants of bruising on her cheek, the faintest reminder of the last few weeks events, is almost completely gone. My hand finds its place in hers, the chill of her skin seeping into mine, like fog making its way across a sleepy town.

  “Oh god,” I whisper as I sit on the bed, “I was so worried.” I’m far past the point of feeling stupid for talking to an unconscious person. “We did it,” I manage, forcing a bit of a smile. “We got supplies and we got two bodies. We ran into a bit of trouble, but we did it, Skylar.” I pause in my speech and study the way her chin slopes at just the right angle. My gaze trails her nose, rounded in the most adorable way with what appears to be a small pin-point hole right on the crease of her left nostril, almost unnoticeable if you’re not paying close attention. Did she have her nose pierced? “Please, come back.” I bring her hand upward, press it against my lips. “Please,” I beg.

  Quinn appears behind me. “Do you want to help me, or do you want to go with the guys?”

  “I’ll stay,” I murmur.

  “Don’t be squeamish, okay? If you pass out on the floor, I’m leaving you until I’m done.”

  “That seems fair.”

  She carries her bag into the room and places it next to Skylar, on the opposite side of her from me. She rummages through the contents, pulling things out and putting them on the bed. She stops for a second and glances up at me. “Go wash your hands.” She looks almost apologetic.

  “Oh, duh, of course. Be right back,” I say, making my way out of the room.

  I turn down the hallway and get to the bathroom at a brisk pace, tunnel vision the whole time. I place my hand on the doorknob and am startled when it turns, followed by Wiley emerging.

  “Whoa! Hey, buddy!”

  “Hey, I just need to wash my hands.”

  “Have you seen your dad?” Always with him trying to find my dad, what the heck.

  But then that reminds me, I really have no idea what any of them have been doing since we returned from our supply trip. And I have no clue where they put the bodies.

  I shake my head. “No. What are you guys doing?”

  “He asked us to move the bodies but then he took off after he grabbed samples. He did it so fast. Did you know your dad could do that?” His wide eyes are staring, waiting for a response.

  I shake my head again, making sure to massage the soap between all of my fingers.

  “That guy is crazy, your dad. He’s so smart, we’re lucky to have him.”

  “Listen, Wiley, I haven’t seen him. Have you checked his office or the cellar?”

  “We put the bodies in the cellar, so he must be in his office. You’re so smart, you must get it from him.”

  “Thanks, I really need to get going, Quinn needs my help.”

  “Oh, right, yeah. Such a shame…” His face goes blank for a moment. “But we’re lucky to have her.”

  “I don’t disagree, but really, I have to get back.”

  I push past him, careful not to touch him with my clean hands. I’m about to enter my bedroom but stop short to glance down the hall. Wiley is blankly standing there, one hand on his hip and another scratching his head.

  I holler down the hallway at him, “His office.”

  And at that, he snaps his fingers and points to me with a smile. I don’t continue watching but can hear him make his way down the hallway and up the stairs.

  When I enter my bedroom, Quinn doesn’t even acknowledge me.

  “What can I do,” I say, making my way to the bedside. My gaze falls on Skylar, a thin tube coming from her nose taped to the side of her cheek.

  Quinn fastens the length of the tube to Skylar’s shirt with the clothespin.

  “Wait, are you done?” And then it hits me. “You tricked me.” A silent rage builds within. “Why woul
d you do that?”

  Quinn continues to attach miscellaneous items to the tubes, one of them a bag that I assume is a food source.

  “I’m sorry, I really did need you to wash your hands, so I began without you.” She shrugs. “When I realized I could use it as an opportunity to get it placed before you came back, I didn’t hesitate. Whether you want to admit it or not, you are a bit squeamish. And without your dad here to keep you under control, it made sense. I’ve done this procedure numerous times, it’s fairly easy. Conscious patients can even do it themselves, it’s that simple.”

  “Oh,” I say, and even though it makes sense, I still wish she would have waited for me.

  “This isn’t a long-term solution,” she discloses.

  I can’t help but stare at her, pleading for the answers she isn’t capable of giving me.

  “Meaning, we can’t keep it in forever. But it should give her the nutrients she needs in the short term until we figure out the next step.”

  “Thank you,” I say in an unfamiliar voice—so small, almost a whisper.

  She removes a glove from one hand and then takes that glove to remove the other, in a motion so smooth it wraps the other glove inside it for disposal. She places a hand on my shoulder, and I instinctually flinch.

  “We’re trying, okay?”

  “I know, I just wish there was something else that could be done.” Something like me being able to take her place.

  “We’ll figure it out,” she says with a reassuring smile. “You really don’t give your dad enough credit.”

  And at that cue, he pops his head around the door. “Hey, both of you.” He points from Quinn to me. “I need blood samples.”

  “Did Wiley find you?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says, slightly out of breath, “I had them take the bodies to the cellar, figured the minimal lighting and low temperature would keep them slightly dormant. But I need the samples, come on.”

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, my concern rising as a result of his tone and pushiness.

  “Nothing, I just have a hunch.”

  I glance over my shoulder at Skylar. “But…”

  “She’ll be okay for a few minutes, this won’t take long, come on.”

  19

  Max

  I know I should look away while he inserts the needle into my vein, but the repulsion and fascination both battle each other, leaving me unable to do anything but stare. A small prick of the needle sends a chill over me, and I find myself fixated on the small tube attached to gather the blood.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I glance up, partially dazed and lightheaded but manage, “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “I forgot you were weird about needles.”

  I quickly change the subject. “What’s the hunch?”

  “What? Oh, it’s only a theory I have,” he answers, without giving me any more information. He flicks the tube slightly.

  “So…what’s the theory?”

  “I’d rather see if I’m right first. I’ve had a dozen different theories so far, but this is the first solid lead.”

  He places a cotton ball where the needle is inserted and pulls the needle out, pressing the cotton ball into my arm. “That’s it, just apply pressure.” He reaches behind him, and when Quinn hands him a roll of medical tape, they exchange a minute smile.

  “That was easy,” I say, partially lying as I feel the wooziness not wanting to dissipate.

  “You look rough, Max,” Quinn says.

  “I think my blood sugar is low or something,” I say, which at first was purely a cover-up but could actually be the truth.

  “Go grab something from the kitchen,” Dad demands without fully taking his eye off the task at hand. He removes his gloves the same way Quinn did and puts on another pair. “You’re next,” he says to her.

  She gives him her arm, and he immediately places a tourniquet around her biceps and wipes the spot with an alcohol pad. Not allowing any more time to be grossed out, I quickly make my way out of the room and to the kitchen. I briefly scan my options and settle on a fruit cup from the fridge, the same kind my mom packed in my lunch when I was a child. I open the cup of mixed fruit over the sink, because wow, they pack these things so full of juice it’s almost impossible to open without making a mess, and down the contents quickly. I figure if the way I’m feeling is because of sugar, this should kick into my system pretty soon.

  “All that sugar is bad for you,” a person calls from behind me.

  I turn to see Sanchez standing in the living room, leaned up against the doorframe.

  “I thought I was going to pass out,” I say.

  He lets out a little chuckle. “You got your blood drawn.”

  “Yeah, I can’t stand needles.” I throw my trash into the garbage can in the closet.

  He walks to the refrigerator and grabs a fruit cup, opening the top slightly and drinking some of the juice and then pulling the rest of the top off.

  “What happened to sugar being bad for you?” I ask.

  “Hey, we all have to indulge every now and then,” he replies, toasting his fruit cup into the air and then consuming the innards. “These things are good.” He smiles and wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

  I hold my hand out for the trash. “Yeah, you’re not wrong.”

  “Thanks,” he says. A second passes, and he leans next to the counter, shifting uncomfortably. “How you holding up?”

  “Me?” I ask, confused.

  “Yeah, you. I know I come across all precision and military know-how, but I do have feelings, and a heart.” He pauses and glances down at his feet. “We’re all going through something.”

  He stares curiously up to me, and I can’t help but think this is some cry for help, that maybe he’s the one who needs to be asked how he is. There are so many secrets he’s hiding, so many that we all are. We must remember this, especially now, now that we only have each other to rely on, that we need to be there for one another, checking in on each other.

  Instead of answering his question, I ask him, “Are you okay?”

  He laughs, his bright-white teeth lighting up his face, illuminating his deep dimples, the dimples I had no idea he had. “Way to change the subject.”

  I raise my hands in defeat. “Guilty.” I laugh.

  “What are you guys talking about?” Wiley says, barreling into the kitchen.

  I point to Sanchez. “Sanchez was about to tell me his life story.”

  “No way,” Wiley exclaims. “I’ve been prying, and he’s just going to give it up easily to you?”

  “No, I absolutely was not,” he swears.

  Wiley slaps his arm and for a slight second, it’s like the world hasn’t fallen apart.

  Quinn and Dad walk into the room, both muttering to each other, Quinn shaking her head, Dad talking with his hands. The tension rises thick enough to shut the rest of us up.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “There seems to be some, how do I say it…consistencies.” He stops for a second, thinking to himself, and follows up with, “I need more time, to test my theory.”

  “Sir, could you please let us know, give us some kind of insight?”

  Dad shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t think the virus effects are random. I don’t know the connection yet, but there are similarities in Skylar’s blood and the woman’s blood. The man’s blood and,” he pauses again, glaring at Sanchez, “your blood.”

  Wiley chimes in, “So, it’s like a guy thing and girl thing?”

  “No, not that at all. See,” he says, rubbing his head, “I’d rather go over this once I have more concrete info to give you.”

  “My blood also matched yours and the man’s,” Quinn gestures to Sanchez. “And Keith to Wiley.”

  Just like that, everyone turns to gawk at me.

  “Where do I fit in?”

  “That’s the thing I can’t quite figure out,” Dad wavers, clearly perplexed.

  “What
do you mean you can’t figure it out? What’s the difference?” I say, my voice growing louder.

  “I don’t have enough samples to go off of at this point. It only makes sense there’s an outlier. I don’t know if that means we don’t have a viable match to yours, or…”

  “Or what? You can’t just leave a sentence unfinished like that.”

  He looks at me, really looks at me, and replies, “Or there isn’t a match.”

  20

  Max

  Time has gone in slow motion since the talk in the kitchen. Because Dad refused to discuss the situation any further, we all split up. Quinn and I went to Skylar, me sitting by the bedside, holding Skylar’s hand, and Quinn checking her vitals.

  “I know it wasn’t the news you wanted, but it really is good news,” she encourages.

  “How is that good news?” I ask, not meaning to come across as rude as I sound.

  “It’s progress. It’s some type of information that we can work with, that can help us figure out what’s going on.”

  “Yeah,” I say, and even though it’s incredibly frustrating not knowing what I can do with this information, she’s right, at least it’s something.

  “Her vitals are stronger,” Quinn adds.

  “They are?” My mood immediately changes.

  “Not dramatically but definitely an improvement. Her body needed that nourishment. I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll be back in a little bit to check her over again.” She offers a smile, removing the cuff from Skylar’s arm and placing it on the nightstand beside the bed.

  Once I’m sure she’s left the room, I lean down closer and speak.

  “You hear that? You’re doing better, Skylar. You’re going to pull through this. I know it. Don’t give up.”

  I place my lips gently on her forehead and settle into my position on the recliner.

  Fighting my exhaustion, I doze in and out of consciousness. I don’t know how long I’ve been out when the sound of the blood pressure device wakes me. I open my eyes to find Quinn standing over Skylar, finishing her checks.