The World Ends In 27 Days

Qinghe waited until the decontamination cycle, which was pretty much just a cold shower to wash the dirt off their suits, ended before opening the inner door.

"Bring her directly to the medical room," he instructed as Jingwei and Zeyu lifted the stretcher. "Keep her head level."

Hanchuan walked beside Zhiyi with one hand against her face. He had removed his gloves, although none of them had finished fully cooling after the exposure outside. His fingers trembled whenever the stretcher shifted.

Qinghe entered the medical room ahead of them and activated the diagnostic bed. By the time they transferred Zhiyi onto it, the overhead scanners were already moving into position.

Her oxygen level had fallen to 82 percent.

Qinghe opened her airway and fitted an oxygen mask over her face, but the number was raising too slowly. Zhiyi remained unresponsive while he checked her pupils and tested her reaction to pain.

"What is wrong with her?" Hanchuan demanded.

"I don’t know yet."

The answer brought Hanchuan closer. "Then find out."

Qinghe ignored the command and listened to Zhiyi’s lungs. Air entered both sides, but the movement on the left was shallow. Bruising had already begun spreading beneath her cooling layer.

"Jingwei, cut the suit away from her chest. Zeyu, connect the ventilator and prepare the intubation tray. Shichen, start the full-body scan."

The men moved immediately. Jingwei cut through the damaged cooling layer without disturbing the brace around Zhiyi’s neck, while Zeyu brought the equipment to Qinghe’s side. Shichen activated the scanner and transferred its first images to the wall.

Hanchuan remained close enough to interfere.

"I need room," Qinghe told him.

"Then you can work around me," came the immediate reply. "I’m not leaving."

"I didn’t ask you to leave. Move to the other side of the bed and hold her hand."

Hanchuan obeyed because the instruction gave him somewhere to place himself and keep touching her at the same time.

He closed both hands around Zhiyi’s fingers as Qinghe removed the oxygen mask.

Her breathing faltered when the tube passed through her throat. Qinghe secured it, connected the ventilator and waited until her oxygen level began climbing.

Only then did he allow himself to look at the scan.

Two ribs on Zhiyi’s left side were fractured, although neither had punctured her lung. The surrounding tissue showed signs of a bruised lung that was probably caused by the weight that had compressed her chest. Her right ankle was fractured, and bruising covered one shoulder and most of her back.

But none of those injuries explained why she hadn’t opened her eyes yet.

Qinghe enlarged the images of her skull and brain. A thin layer of blood followed the inner surface of her skull near the impact site, accompanied by swelling in the surrounding tissue.

Hanchuan followed his attention to the display. "What does that mean?"

"She has a subdural hemorrhage."

"And for those of us without a doctor’s degree?" snapped back Hanchuan.

"She’s bleeding between her brain and skull," replied Qinghe, not bothering to look up from what he was doing.

"Can you stop it?"

"It appears small, and there is no significant pressure shift." Qinghe compared the measurements before programming another scan in 30 minutes. "If it remains stable, her body may reabsorb the blood without surgery."

Hanchuan’s grip tightened around Zhiyi’s hand. "What if it doesn’t remain stable?"

"Then I go in and relieve the pressure."

Qinghe didn’t explain the procedure. Hanchuan did not need an image of a drill entering Zhiyi’s skull while he was already struggling to remain beside her.

Shichen understood without being told. "Do you have everything required?"

"Yes."

The certainty in Qinghe’s answer was meant for all of them. The medical room contained the equipment, medication and sterile supplies he would need. What it did not contain was another surgeon who could replace him if his hands began to shake.

He ordered Jingwei and Zeyu to remove the rest of Zhiyi’s damaged suit while he stabilized her ankle and treated the abrasions across her back. Hanchuan refused to release her hand even when they needed to reposition her.

Qinghe finally looked at him. "You can hold her, or you can make treating her more difficult. You cannot do both."

For one dangerous moment, Hanchuan appeared ready to challenge him. Then he loosened his grip enough for them to turn Zhiyi while maintaining contact with her fingers.

The second brain scan showed no increase in the bleeding.

Qinghe should have felt relieved. Instead, he found himself watching the ventilator force another breath into Zhiyi’s lungs and wondering why the absence of deterioration felt so far from good news.

"When will she wake?" Hanchuan asked.

"I can’t answer that yet," he replied shaking his head. This was the reason why the patient’s family was never admitted into the room when a doctor was tending to the patient. It just ramped up everyone’s stress.

"You know the injury," snapped back Hanchuan.

"I know what the scans show. I don’t know how long she was unable to breathe beneath the debris or how severely her brain was affected by the heat and loss of oxygen."

Hanchuan’s expression emptied again. "Will she wake?"

Every man in the room waited for Qinghe’s answer.

He could have offered hope. He could have told them that Zhiyi was young, that the bleeding remained stable and that patients recovered from worse injuries. None of those facts would make a promise honest.

"I don’t know," he said with a sigh.

Hanchuan released Zhiyi’s hand so abruptly that her arm fell against the bed. He crossed the distance between them and seized the front of Qinghe’s cooling layer.

"You don’t get to tell me that."

Qinghe’s back struck the instrument cabinet. Zeyu moved forward, but Jingwei stopped him before he could touch Hanchuan.

Qinghe held his friend’s gaze. "Would you prefer that I lie?"

"I want you to tell me she will wake."

"I can’t."

Hanchuan’s grip tightened. "Then you are not trying hard enough."

Anger rose beneath Qinghe’s fear, sharpening a voice that had remained controlled since Zhiyi disappeared beneath the debris.

"There is no medication that can force her to wake, and threatening me will not change what happened to her. I can control her breathing, reduce the swelling and operate if the bleeding increases. I can keep her alive while her brain recovers, but I cannot promise what her body has not decided."

Hanchuan stared at him for several seconds before releasing his clothing.

"Then keep her alive."

"I intend to."

"No." Hanchuan returned to Zhiyi’s side and took her hand again. Whatever anger had held him upright disappeared as he looked at her unmoving face. "You don’t understand what will happen if she dies."

Qinghe did understand. The certainty frightened him more than Hanchuan’s threat had.

Zhiyi had entered their lives less than a month earlier, yet the thought of Xiling continuing without her felt impossible. Her absence would remain in every calculation, every meal and every room she had prepared for them.

Qinghe checked the monitors again because numbers remained easier to face than that truth.

Her oxygen level had stabilized. The bleeding had not increased, and medication had begun reducing the swelling around the injury. For the moment, Zhiyi was alive.

Hanchuan pulled a chair against the bed.

"You need treatment for heat exposure," Qinghe warned.

"Treat me here."

"You also need sleep."

"I’ll sleep when she wakes."

Qinghe knew better than to argue while fear still controlled him. He connected another monitor and began preparing the next scan.

Behind him, Jingwei quietly led Zeyu and Shichen from the medical room. Neither man spoke to Hanchuan before leaving.

Hanchuan lowered his forehead against Zhiyi’s hand and closed his eyes.

"Don’t let her die," he whispered.

Qinghe looked at the woman breathing through the machine he had placed beside her.

"I won’t."