Pebbles rattled like marbles against meteors as Lena's spine reacted to the contraction, which coursed through her body in electric pain radiating from her pelvis. She held onto the rusty iron lighthouse railing, and her knuckles became white as shells. The machine kept on blinking:
INSUFFICIENT CALLOWAY BLOOD SAMPLE
And Ryan was right there, cupping her face. "Breathe through it. That's it—just like we practiced." His thumbs brushed moisture off her furrowed brow.
With another crest of pain, it swept her voice. She could only shake her head toward that poor distillation chamber where their only hope of an antidote sat unfinished.
Ryan followed her gaze, his jaw tightening. "Tom's blood is contaminated with sedative. We need a pure sample." His eyes dropped to her belly, then flashed with horror at his own thought.
"No; there's another way," Lena said through gritted teeth as she clutched his wrist. "The maternity ward. Sophie's there."
A crash from below-Matthew was losing against Tom.
Ryan pressed the bone marrow vial into Lena's palm. "Take this. There's a tunnel from the old lifeguard station to the hospital," he said, brushing his cold and sweaty lips against her forehead. "I'll hold them here."
She grabbed him by his shirt. "You can't distill the antidote without Calloway blood!"
His smile was with teeth alone. "Then it's a good thing Eleanor's waking up."
Dr. Calloway came to life, and below them, the water was slashing in the sedative.
Lena ran.