Chapter 1 - The Cold Truth of Trauma Bay 4
The sudden, chaotic frenzy that erupted inside Trauma Bay 4 at Mercy General Hospital was a stark, terrifying contrast to the eerie stillness that had surrounded the little girl in the lobby.
"Get heating blankets! We need core warmers, warm IV saline, and two neonatal resuscitation carts right now!" Dr. Arthur Vance shouted, his voice cutting through the flurry of blue scrub-clad nurses and technicians who descended upon the stainless-steel exam tables.
Colleen Foster gently scooped the first twin from the rusted wheelbarrow, cradling his shockingly small, icy body against her chest to transfer whatever warmth she had. He couldn't have weighed more than four pounds. His skin was a dusky, translucent blue, and his fingernails were tinged with deep purple. Beside him, Dr. Vance lifted the second baby.
"Pulse?" Dr. Vance demanded, slamming a tiny infant stethoscope against the second baby's narrow chest.
"Faint! Bradycardic—under sixty beats per minute!" a pediatric nurse yelled, attaching microscopic EKG leads to the baby's pale chest. "Core temperature is eighty-three degrees! They’re in severe hypothermia and advanced ketoacidosis!"
"I need intraosseous lines!" Dr. Vance ordered, his brow slick with sweat despite the cool room. "We can't find a vein in these arms; they’re too dehydrated. Drills!"
While the medical team fought a furious, second-by-second battle to yank the two newborn boys back from the edge of the abyss, Colleen turned her attention back toward the doorway.
The little girl had not moved. She stood just inside the threshold of Trauma Bay 4, her raw, blistered hands still curved into tight, rigid half-circles—the shape of the wooden wheelbarrow handles she had refused to let go of for miles. She was staring at the bright overhead surgical lights, her small face devoid of color, her chapped lips trembling silently.
Colleen dropped to her knees in front of her, ignoring the cold floor. She reached out gently, taking the girl’s bleeding, dirt-caked hands into her own gloved palms.
"Sweetheart," Colleen said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "My name is Colleen. You did it. You brought them to us. You saved them. Can you tell me your name?"
The girl blinked slowly, her large hazel eyes unfocusing for a second before anchoring onto Colleen’s face.
"Maya," she rasped. The word was barely a vibration in her dry throat. "Maya Miller."
"Maya," Colleen whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. "You are so brave, Maya. How old are you?"
"Seven," Maya whispered. "I turned seven when the sunflowers turned yellow."
A tech hurried over with a cup of lukewarm water and a straw. Colleen held the cup, allowing Maya to take tiny, measured sips. If she drank too fast, her starved stomach would reject it immediately.
"Maya," Dr. Vance said, stepping away from the warming table for a fraction of a second, his face pale behind his surgical mask. "Where is your house? Where is your mommy?"
Maya looked down at her bare, bloodied feet. The dried mud on her ankles was mixed with crushed limestone—the specific white dust found only near the abandoned gravel quarries eight miles north of town.
"Mommy is in the blue trailer," Maya said quietly. "Under the big oak tree where the red tractor broke down. She went to sleep on the mattress after the babies came out of her belly. She told me to watch them... but she didn't wake up when I called her. She didn't wake up when the rain came."
Colleen felt a cold knot tighten in her gut. Three days.
"Did anyone come to help you, Maya?" Colleen asked gently. "Did a daddy or a neighbor come?"
Maya shook her head slowly. "The man with the loud truck left before the babies came. Mommy said he wasn't coming back. When the babies stopped crying yesterday, I put them in granddaddy’s wheelbarrow. I had to walk on the big road because the dirt road had too many prickles."
Eight miles.
Colleen looked at the child’s cracked heels, the deep, open lacerations where gravel had sliced through skin, and the blisters on her tiny palms that had popped and bled onto the rusted iron handles. This seven-year-old child had pushed a heavy, rusted metal wheelbarrow carrying two dying infants for nearly eight miles along the shoulder of Highway 83 in the dead of night.
Before Colleen could speak, the automatic doors of the ER bay burst open.
Two uniformed Kansas State Troopers, their high-visibility jackets soaked from the light drizzle outside, marched in alongside Sheriff Robert Bradley—a weathered man with deep lines around his dark eyes.
"Colleen," Sheriff Bradley said, taking off his hat. "Dispatch got the call from your desk clerk. Is this the girl?"
"This is Maya," Colleen said, standing up and placing a protective hand on Maya’s frail shoulder. "Sheriff, her mother has been unresponsive in a blue trailer near the old quarry for three days. She left after giving birth to these twins alone."
Sheriff Bradley’s expression hardened into granite. He looked down at Maya’s feet, then at the blood-stained yellow sheet still sitting inside the rusted wheelbarrow in the center of the hallway.
"Deputy Miller!" Bradley barked into his shoulder radio. "Roll three units to the old Henderson quarry line immediately! Search every structure or trailer under the timber line! We have an unresponsive mother and an unattended birth scene!"
"Copy, Sheriff. Rolling now."
Sheriff Bradley looked back at Colleen. "How are the infants?"
Over at the warming table, a high-pitched, fragile, but distinct sound suddenly cut through the hum of the cardiac monitors.
Waaaaah... waaaaah...
It was a weak, congested cry, but it was a cry nonetheless.
Dr. Vance let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for an hour. "We’ve got a pulse on Twin A—up to one-ten. Core temp rising to ninety-one. Twin B is stabilizing. They aren't out of the woods—their blood sugar is dangerously low and they have severe jaundice—but they’re breathing on their own."
Maya’s head snapped toward the sound. For the first time since she had walked through those sliding glass doors, a single, heavy tear broke past her eyelashes and cut a clean track through the dirt on her cheek.
May you like
"Noah?" she whispered, her tiny voice cracking. "Liam?"
Colleen knelt back down, pulling Maya into a tight, warm hug. "They’re alive, Maya. Your brothers are alive because you were strong enough to bring them home."
