Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary of the Sealed Ward
The smell of the hospital was different from the smell of the cabin; it was cold, chemical, and entirely devoid of carbon. It smelled of isopropyl alcohol and the damp linen of a laundry that processed a thousand sheets a day.
Natalie opened her eyes to a ceiling made of grey acoustic tiles, each one marked with a tiny, irregular pattern of black dots. A clear plastic oxygen cannula was fitted into her nostrils, the cool gas whistling softly against her eardrums with every breath. To her left, a heavy, electronic monitor hummed, its green screen showing two distinct lines of data: a steady, jagged line that marked her own pulse, and a faster, more rhythmic skip that sounded like a small bird trapped inside a wooden box.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
"She’s stable, Natalie," a voice said from the foot of the bed.
Dr. Claire Vance was a woman in her late fifties, with short, grey hair that looked like it had been cut with surgical shears and a pair of dark blue scrubs that were stiff with starch. She wasn't holding a clipboard; she had her hands tucked into her pockets, her eyes fixed on Natalie’s face with a level, non-judgmental intensity that was the most comforting thing Natalie had seen in three years.
"The smoke inhalation was significant," Dr. Vance said, walking over to check the line on the IV bag. "Your carboxyhemoglobin levels were at twelve percent when the forest service crew found you on the kitchen floor. If they had been ten minutes later, the oxygen deprivation would have caused placental abruption. But the baby’s heart rate is currently one hundred and forty-five. She’s a fighter, your little girl."
Natalie tried to clear her throat, but her vocal cords felt like they had been scrubbed with wire wool. "My... my husband."
Dr. Vance stopped her work on the IV line. She looked at Natalie for a long, quiet moment, her expression shifting from professional neutrality to something much older and harder. "The sheriff’s department took your initial statement from the dispatcher’s recording, Natalie. The line stayed open for four minutes after you dropped the handset. They heard the engine noise outside."
Natalie turned her head away from the light, looking at her own fingers. The skin around her nails was still stained with the fine, black grease of the pine ash, a mark that no amount of hospital soap seemed able to remove.
"Do you want us to notify him?" Dr. Vance asked softly. "He’s currently listed at the evacuation center in the lower valley. He’s been on the local television station since yesterday morning, giving interviews about the loss of the ridge properties."
Natalie heard the sound of the monitor again. Thump-thump-thump. It was the only voice that mattered now. The small, furious rhythm of a child who had survived the dark because her mother had stayed on the floor and kept her face in a wet towel.
"No," Natalie whispered. Her voice was thin, but it didn't shake. "Don't call him. If he asks... tell him the records are sealed under the emergency medical act. Tell him you don't have a patient by that name."
Dr. Vance didn't argue. She reached out and placed her palm over Natalie’s hand, her skin warm and dry against the cold grease of the ash. "We have a transition facility in the northern county, Natalie. It’s an old convent that the state uses for women who need to disappear from the ledger for a while. No phones, no public registration. You can stay there until the third trimester is done."
May you like
"Thank you," Natalie said.
"Don't thank me yet," the doctor said, her face hardening as she turned toward the door. "The hard part isn't staying hidden, Natalie. The hard part is deciding what you’re going to do when you decide to come back."
