The Comatose

by Kate Myers

  Keith grabs Allen’s arm and leads him to the door. “Alex, a word in private.”

  Ohh, Alex, not Allen.

  Quinn moves toward me, reaching for my wrist. I flinch and pull away, not understanding why she’s touching me.

  “Skylar.” Max’s voice smooth like honey, “you can trust Quinn.”

  I eye her, and she offers a shy smile.

  “I’m here to help,” she adds.

  “Help with what?” I say, extending my arm to her.

  She gently turns it upward, placing her two fingers to find my pulse.

  Wiley chimes in. “Quinn here is a whiz at medical stuff. She’s been caring for you since the accident. Well, Max and Keith have, too, but Quinn has done the brunt of the work.”

  When he says the accident, my mind races around in a panic to remember what he means.

  “The accident?” I say slowly, not understanding.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” Quinn asks.

  I allow my thoughts to run wild, bouncing around trying to make sense and create a timeline.

  “I remember Max,” I say gently, my eyes wandering to meet his.

  “You remember him carrying you?” She adds the words like she’s helping to put the pieces together for me.

  “What? No,” I say, unsure of what she’s insinuating. “I remember him talking to me…telling me to hold on.” The memory floods in, pulling at my heartstrings. The desperation in his voice telling me to come back to him.

  “You-you heard me?”

  “Was that real?” I ask, pleading I didn’t just create that in my subconscious.

  “Yeah,” he says, tears lining his emerald eyes.

  “What about prior to that?” Quinn interrupts.

  “Just tell me, please. This is painful.” And although painful is a massive overexaggeration compared to what I’ve been through, this whole guessing game is wasting time.

  “There was a situation in the water. We had to cross a creek bed, and you went under. Max was able to pull you out, but before we got to the cabin you fell into a comatose condition. We’ve been working pretty much nonstop to figure out how and why and do everything we could to prolong your life. It wasn’t until Max’s blood proved vital to your progress that there was any hope. Max is essentially filtering your blood through him and pumping you full of clean blood.”

  She stops speaking, and a ton of bricks hit me as I process the information.

  “You have to stop.” I feverishly look from Max to Quinn in a panic. “You can’t do this to him.”

  “No, a little longer,” Max begs. “I have to know you’re okay.”

  “I’m okay,” I say, fighting the tears that are welling uncontrollably. “I’m okay and I’m here, just please, please stop. I don’t need any more.”

  He smiles sweetly, paleness consuming him and sweat forming on his brow.

  I take it back; I take it all back. I would return to my eternal hell if it meant not letting him suffer through any of this.

  I can’t lose him, not after losing him over and over in the past. He’s too important, he always has been. Max was my first best friend, the only person I ever truly trusted and cared for. The only person who saw me as I was and still wanted to be around. I pushed him away and I regret every bit of it. I was wrong when I thought I was doing the right thing by not letting him in. He made a promise to protect me, but who is going to protect him? Our paths have been intertwined from the start, and I can’t let this sickness take him away.

  34

  Max

  Alex’s voice carries into the room. “You could have told me. Did you even need the blood sample?”

  “Yes,” Dad says calmly. “I really do. There’s still so much I have yet to figure out.”

  Alex exhales loudly before saying, “Okay.”

  “Okay, then,” Dad adds, seeming a bit surprised.

  One set of footsteps follow the other into the room.

  Alex asks, “So, fill me in on what’s going on.”

  Skylar claims. “We can stop now, I’m fine. I’m alive and well and all that.” Her voice is still weak but such a pleasant gift to my ears.

  “I think it’s best if we wait just a little longer,” Quinn claims.

  “If someone doesn’t take these IVs out, I’m going to do it myself,” Skylar insists as she grows adorably furious.

  “Keith, can you check your numbers, see where we’re at?” Quinn asks impatiently.

  “What can I do?” Wiley questions, looking from person to person.

  The blur of him shifting to and from in my line of sight.

  “I could use some water,” Skylar says because no one seems to accept Wiley’s help.

  A scorching wave of heat takes its turn punishing me, forcing me to wince. Bile rises into the back of my throat, and I swallow it down at the last second.

  “That’s it.” Skylar yelps. “I’m done.” She places her right hand against her left arm, where the IV is placed, and dead stares at Quinn. “Now is your last chance. Either you do it or I will.”

  “Give me a second, hold on, just one second, Sky,” Dad advises.

  “I’m done waiting. You guys are killing him, how do you not see that?” She’s angry.

  I have to show her that I’m fine.

  “I’m okay,” I mutter and fight down another bout of bile that forces its way up.

  “Go ahead, Quinn. We’re right on the edge but we should be okay.”

  “No,” I say. I can’t do the edge; I need to know we’re far enough. “Please, a little m-more,” I stutter. What is happening to me? I’m so…weak…and disoriented. I imagine this is what it’s like to be drunk, but instead of booze, I’m drunk on death.

  A rush of noises fills the room. Shuffling of feet. Unhooking of equipment. Whispers and commands. The room spins like I’m being sucked up into a vacuum, swirled around violently, then thrown out into space with no life support. My head shrinks, and my skin is pulled apart, melted and frozen at the same time. My insides crushed and shaken.

  Then hands.

  Small and warm and perfect and delicate hands.

  All I can concentrate on is the hands.

  The hands attached to the soul I fought so desperately to save.

  “Max,” she breathes and places a hand against my cheek. It burns but in such a heavenly way. “What have you done, you silly boy?”

  I blink profusely, trying to clear my vision, and when I do, I notice the tears rolling down her face. I ache to take her suffering away. I don’t want her to cry. I did this for her. She has to know this.

  “I…missed you,” I admit, and it’s so pathetic and lame and probably the worst thing to say right now, but it’s what comes out.

  She smiles and tears overflow from her sky-deep eyes. My hand finds its way to her face, and I graze my knuckles along her skin before tucking that ever-persistent strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes close, and she leans into my hand, taking hers and pressing them both against her cheek. Happiness floods me momentarily, followed by another surge of agony. I flinch and she gasps, removing her hand and standing abruptly.

  “Do something,” she orders.

  “All right, Max, you have to talk to me,” Quinn instructs. “Tell me what you’re feeling.” She greets me like I’m a child who has just told their mother they didn’t feel well.

  I imagine her asking me what hurts, and I find myself unable to pinpoint the pain. My arms, my legs, my head, all of my insides, even my skin hurts.

  “Everything,” I manage to say, although I know it’s of no help. I don’t know how to describe what I’m feeling.

  “Are you in pain?” she asks, doctorly.

  “Y-yes.”

  “Where?”

  “Everywhere.”

  Skylar speaks, but not to me. She’s facing Quinn and Dad now, or at least that’s what the blur in my vision appears to be doing. “You can give him something, right? Pain medicine at least?”

  “I was ho
ping to avoid treating him with anything that has fever-reducing capabilities. We need his fever to fight the virus.”

  “That’s garbage, right, Keith? You can give him something, can’t you? He’s in pain. How can you do this to him?”

  “What about a sedative?” Wiley offers, somehow sounding both clueless and supportive.

  “That’s not a terrible idea,” Dad says, considering the option.

  Quinn adds, “We could do something very short term. Something to take the edge off and let him rest.”

  “And what happens if he doesn’t wake up?” Skylar warns. “What happens if you’ve just transferred what was wrong with me to him?”

  “Well, I mean, we have,” Quinn asserts. “But Max’s body can process and eliminate the virus, so in theory, he should cleanse himself.”

  “In theory? Are you serious right now?” Skylar barks.

  “You’re telling me that Max is the cure to the virus?” Alex questions.

  Dad’s silhouette shifts in my line of sight, facing the sound of Alex. “No, not technically. He has no impact on the deranged, only the comatose.” He hesitates and then adds, “I still need to run tests against the mind-controlled, but otherwise, this seems like an isolated and short-lived line of progression.”

  Exhaustion settles over my body, slowing down the words and movements of those around me. My eyes close on their own free will, and I struggle to sit upright.

  “Can we move him? At least get him more comfortable?” Skylar grabs under my arm and tries her best to hoist me up, but my body sags, and she makes no advance. “A little help, please?” Her voice strains, and her efforts continue to get us nowhere.

  A stronger set of hands approach, and a few seconds later I’m transported from the chair I’ve called home the last couple weeks to the bed where I pleaded to Skylar night after night. My weight settles heavily into the mattress, relieved to be horizontal.

  “Should I cover him, should I not? What am I supposed to do?” Skylar asks someone, probably Quinn.

  “Max,” Quinn’s boasts, her voice multiple notches above what it should be. “Are you hot or cold?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughs slightly, and it’s inappropriate and out of place, but I can’t help but smile, too.

  “Blanket it is,” she tells Skylar.

  “I’m going to, uh, clean up. Let me know if I can be of any help,” Wiley reveals uncomfortably. “You,” he says, resulting in me opening my eyes and straining to see who he’s talking to, “need to rest. Just because you’re awake doesn’t mean you need to be running around here trying to lift boys and stuff.”

  “Sinclair,” Alex starts, “you and I will catch up soon. We need to figure out what to do with this information and how to move forward. The Resistance will be expecting us soon.”

  “You’re crazy if you think we’re going anywhere with you anytime soon,” Quinn huffs.

  “Right there with ya, girl,” Skylar inserts.

  “As I said, Keith, you and I will talk.”

  He leaves the room, his footsteps heavy. A moment passes, and there’s a collective sigh followed by someone speaking.

  “You okay, buddy?” Dad settles his weight onto the bed, sitting next to me.

  “I’ve been better,” I manage.

  He wipes at my forehead with his hand. “Hey, Sky, grab me a tissue.”

  Seconds later, he blots my face. “You’re going to get through this, okay?”

  I nod my head as best as I can, trying my hardest to believe him.

  I don’t see how there is any coming back from this. This all-consuming darkness grabbing hold, sinking its teeth into every single inch of my body, sending failure codes and blowing all of the fuses.

  “Okay,” I say to appease him.

  Skylar sits on the opposite side of the bed, the mattress giving way slightly beneath her. What I would give for both of us to be fine, away from this continuous shitstorm we keep facing.

  She intertwines her fingers into mine, and I think that maybe dying like this wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

  Like she was reading my mind, Skylar says, “Don’t go dying on me.”

  I crack what I can of a smile. “Morbid much?”

  She sniffles and squeezes my hand gently.

  Dad removes himself from the bed, and I study the shuffling of his feet as he makes his way toward Quinn. He speaks, but I can’t seem to make out the words.

  Skylar leans down closer and sighs, “I missed you, too, ya know?”

  My heart thumps heavily, and with what last remaining ounce of strength I have, I say softly, “I need you,” and everything fades to black.

  35

  Skylar

  I’m not really sure how it’s possible to be so full of love but yet so heartbroken at the same time. I press my lips to his forehead and feel part of myself slipping away with him.

  Quinn’s hands find their way to my shoulders. “Hey.” She says the word so delicately like I’m this fragile thing that could break at any second.

  She offers a considerate smile, and I forget why I initially ever disliked her.

  “Do you mind if I check your vitals? I know you’re worried about Max, but you’ve been through a lot, too.”

  “Sure.” I reach for a tissue off the nightstand, settle into the recliner’s seat and ask, “So, you’re like a doctor or something?”

  She snickers. “No, not really.”

  “Don’t let her fool you,” Keith presses, pulling my attention. “That girl’s real smart.” He points his long lanky finger at her. “She’s the one who kept you alive when we weren’t sure how to save you. Things would have been a lot worse without her.”

  I shift my eyes to study her, and my gaze settles over her dark wavy hair and onto her bright blue-grey eyes. Her face portrays a softness, almost kind but somehow afraid and wounded like she’s hiding some horrible secret.

  She mumbles. “I know some basics.”

  “Basics?” He mocks her and chuckles before continuing. “You did a procedure that probably hasn’t even ever been done, and you did it successfully.”

  He talks like he’s known Quinn her whole life, and I can’t tell whether that makes her uncomfortable or happy. She’s humble, that’s for sure.

  “You two seem like old friends,” I say, observant yet dubious.

  “Keith is the genius here, not me. He’s the one who even figured out that Max’s blood could help you.”

  “I had a theory,” Keith admits. “Max was the one who irrationally stuck you with a full syringe of his blood without telling any of us.”

  “No way,” I say, not able to hide my surprise.

  “He’s been a mess without you,” Quinn recalls. “If we told him he had to chop off both of his arms to save you, he would have done it in a heartbeat.”

  My own heart seems to beat twice as fast with her words, and I recall his pleas to come back to him, the only hope I was able to hold on to during those dark days. I allow my gaze to fall on him, pain ripping through me at seeing exactly what he’s seen these last couple weeks—the person he cares for most, hanging on to life by a thread. His ashy locks are damp with sweat, falling limp across his forehead, stubble only barely forming, the arch of his jawline tense.

  “How are you feeling?”

  The question seems simple, but I find myself struggling to conjure words. How do I feel?

  “Tired, I guess,” I manage.

  “Are you experiencing any pain, discomfort?” Just in my heart.

  I avoid her question when I ask, “How long will he be like this?”

  “Honestly,” she says and then lets out a sigh. “I don’t know. I hope not long. The sedative we gave him will hopefully get him through the night, allow for some time to rest so his body can fight the virus.”

  “And you’re sure this will work?” I ask, not really sure if I want to know the answer.

  “Nothing is certain, but we’re counting on it.”

 
; “Have some faith, Sky,” Keith suggests while continuing to tidy up the space.

  “Do you want anything to eat?” Quinn asks.

  “I’m not very hungry.” How can I eat when Max is lying there lifeless like this? But then how can I allow myself to wither away when he sacrificed everything for me? “But I guess I could try something small.”

  “You really should get your strength up,” Keith says. “We were artificially feeding you the last week or so. It might do your body good to get something solid in there.”

  Artificial feeding? What the hell happened to me? There’s still so much I haven’t pieced together. Like who the strange guy is who’s mad at being out of the loop.

  “Hey,” I say in a hushed whisper. “Who’s the guy? Alex?”

  Quinn and Keith both stop their fidgeting to look at me

  “He’s the guy who saved Wiley. Rescued him and brought him to us.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He continues, “Do you remember that building we got supplies from, the one we stole the UTV from?”

  I rack my brain, recalling the memories flooding in, one followed by another. The men came inside, and we had to hide behind those shelves. I had thought we were goners. Max had caught the weight of my body as I leaned against him, nearly passing out from fear. Then we were nearly caught again when Keith had to fix the wires from where Max had tried to hotwire the UTV. The men ran toward us but then just stood there like statues as we drove away in their prized possession. The pieces click into place, the men, that man, the one who got closest to us. The face, so distinct and familiar.

  Perhaps seeing the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in my head, he confirms, “Alex was the man from the warehouse. Alexander Sanchez.”

  “Wow, that’s insane,” I say, almost inaudibly.

  “You’re telling me,” Keith retorts. “The night they showed up, we were all ready to throw down. Talk about a relief hearing Wiley’s voice through that door. Max and I nearly jumped each other to open the door.”

  I was so afraid I would never see Wiley again. The closest thing I have to a stable family ripped away by some freaks trying to kill us. Max held himself responsible for what happened to Wiley, and I know he would have gone to look for him at some point. We both would have, except for the whole me sorta falling into a deep, dark coma thing. I can only imagine the relief Max felt—the guilt that was lifted—when Wiley appeared out of nowhere.