Blind Vigilance

Blood. It’s blood. The dark stain circling Sydney is blood. I grab my phone and touch Mulberry's name without registering the thought. It rings. How am I going to explain knowing Sydney Rye needs help? I’m thousands of miles away, stationed on a private island in the Pacific. And yet— "Hello?" Mulberry's voice, gravelly with sleep, cuts through my thoughts. "Sydney is bleeding." "What?" Mulberry's voice clears as sheets rustle in the background. A dog barks. I focus on the live feed of Sydney's room. Blue is up and going wild. Sydney, her hair splayed on the pillow, hotel sheets only a few shades lighter than her blanched skin, remains motionless. "What’s going on, Dan?” I don’t answer. The door between their rooms flies open—I watch it on the screen and hear the hinges swoosh over the phone. I slide the stylus to raise the volume. Mulberry stumbles into Sydney's room, unsteady on his one leg. "No!" Mulberry’s voice echoes between the phone and speakers. He lunges toward the bed. Sydney lies on her back, a dark stain spreading around her hips. Mulberry drops the phone when he grabs her shoulders, his broad back blocking her face. I swivel to another monitor and bring up his phone. I dial 911. Someone has to. I can always be counted on to do what needs doing. Overstepping saves lives. "What's your emergency?" the operator asks. I clench my fist on the desk. Answer her, you idiot. Mulberry doesn’t follow my mental command. Fine. I take full control of the phone. "My wife is pregnant and bleeding. We’re at the airport Marriott, room 523," I say, voice even and clear. I say it like it's my baby. Like it's my life. Not something I’m watching on a screen. My eyes flick back to the feed. "I can't wake her." Sydney isn’t moving.She isn’t moving.Don't let her die.