New Flash Fiction

 “How’s she doing?” I asked.

I recognized the lead medic I’d dispatched from Lexington hours earlier. He looked like those hours had not been kind to him. “We’ve done the best we can. She’s hanging on, but we need a real surgeon.”

“Assuming he was taken prisoner aboard the lifepod, he should be sprung here in a few minutes.”

“We’ll lose her if we don’t get help.”

“It will be here shortly,” I said with confidence I didn’t entirely feel. “I need a minute with her.”

The medic shrugged. “Don’t move anything, okay?”

I nodded and made my way to the only occupied bed in the bay. Accepting that no one in a medical facility ever looks their best, she still looked pretty rough. She was bandaged below her bra, and medical monitors as well as a double-bag IV surrounded the bedside. The most worrisome was the sheen of sweat she was covered in.

Taking her hand felt like it was out of the question, so I just spoke quietly enough that only she would have heard if she’d been conscious. “We got your crew back, Allison. I need you to know that you’ve done well. Try to hang in there, help is—”

“Move now!” Shouted a thundering baritone voice from across the bay. I didn’t recognize him specifically, but the hulking man’s demeanor told me he was the ship’s doctor. 

“Excuse us,” a nurse said more kindly as she came in front of me. “We need to get to work.”

“Of course,” I said as I turned and made my way back into the corridor. I gave myself a moment to slump against the corridor wall and face the fact that I was too old to deal with crap like this anymore. Then I went back to work. What must be done. . .