“Shall we try him against the wall?” Sokolov suggested. “Perhaps that will lend a degree of support, even if only on one side.”
It was an easy matter to roll him now that the gurney was on all four wheels. They settled him in, and then Obolensky quickly excused himself.
Kuvayev finally stopped straining and yelling. His breathing was very rapid, however. His skin was a rosy-red color and the heat was radiating off him to a point where Hamlin was certain he was warming the very temperature of the room.
“Have you taken his temp lately?”
“He’s been less than cooperative. So the answer is bluntly no. If you wish to try, please proceed.”
Hamlin looked at Kuvayev who was gasping air like an Olympic runner at the finish line of a long distance race. He looked like he was about to spontaneously combust.
“I guess not. Would you say he’s close to where Pechkin was?”
Sokolov nodded. “Yes.” His voice was subdued.
Hamlin focused his eyes on the floor. The gurney had put a small dent in the lime green linoleum when it tipped over. Too bad. They just didn’t make it like that anymore.
“Question?” Hamlin said.
It was hard to read people’s reactions when their face was primarily covered over.
“Certainly, Doctor, although in my current state I wouldn’t vouch for the quality of the response.”
“How’s everyone else feeling? Any other maladies reported?”
“No,” Sokolov answered. “I fear, before you get too excited, that an unfortunate side effect of strapping Kuvayev down so early into his diagnosis is that we have created a very viable reason for the crew to keep their aches and pains to themselves.”
“I’m still going to put a check mark in the no news is good news box. Every little bit helps.”
Sokolov grabbed Hamlin by the shoulder. “His breathing…it’s slowing.”
Indeed it was. Kuvayev was no longer gasping.
“Hey, maybe he’s turning some kind of a corner now. I wonder what his temperature is doing.”
“I have a strong feeling that we should give him more time to settle down before we try to take it. But I think the question is valid.”
A deathly silence now fell over the room.
Francis found himself leaning forward toward the unfortunate Kuvayev.
“He is still breathing, isn’t he?”
Sokolov moved in as well.
“I’m not sure. Try to get a pulse in his wrist.”
The request seemed safe enough. Hamlin grabbed it and felt. “I’ve got nothing.”
“Carefully, try his carotid artery. Mind your fingers. Remember how Pechkin went through this before bouncing back so ferociously.”
Francis reached in gingerly. The heat felt unnatural and disturbing.
“There’s nothing here either. Now what?”
Sokolov seemed to be at a loss.
“Mouth to mouth wouldn’t be an option,” Hamlin observed.
Sokolov shook his head. “Absolutely not. That would be an open channel for transmission.”
Hamlin spun around. “Where are those gloves?” He spied the box.
“What are you going to do?” Sokolov asked.
“I’m not entirely sure.” He only took the time to slip on one. He stepped up to the gurney, hesitated, and then slapped Kuvayev on the face.
“Hey! Wake up!” He tried it again. There was no response.
He took a slow step back.
“Any ideas?”
Sokolov stood motionless. “I believe we have implemented everything in our limited arsenal. I truly can’t think of anything else to do.”
“How long was Pechkin like this when we first went in?”
“Not too long,” Sokolov said. “Perhaps the maximum time would have been, what…perhaps a minute?”
Hamlin nodded. “Sounds right to me. Kuvayev is over that now.”
The room was silent again. There was a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” Sokolov demanded.
“Is everything all right in there? It got so quiet, we were starting to wonder.”
Sokolov seemed uncertain how to proceed.
“Dr. Hamlin, if you would be so good, go out and speak calmly to the crew. I will stay for a few more minutes. If Kuvayev shows any signs of returning to us, I’ll let you know immediately.”
“This is one of the reasons I resisted my parent’s urging to get into medicine. I hate being the bearer of bad news.”
“I can do it, if you prefer to stay with Kuvayev.”
Francis felt like he was one of the crew now. Surely that meant something. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Regardless of circumstances, I will join you shortly.”
Once again, Hamlin found himself addressing the group. He kept it concise and to the point. There wasn’t much reaction. Quiet resignation seemed to be the collective response. He had no clue what to do after making his unwelcome announcement. He pulled out a chair and sat. It would have to suffice. It was all he could come up with.
Sokolov joined them ten minutes later. The look on his face was enough to confirm the worst.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize in advance for this next question, but I believe it is essential to ask in order to preserve the viability of our outpost. Do any of you feel sick in any way? Please be honest. The truth is vital.”
Now they were all looking at each other. Hamlin couldn’t tell if the motivator was suspicion or optimism. No one admitted to having any sort of malady.
“Very good. Please, for all of our sakes, should your condition in any way change, let me know immediately. For now, let us make the assumption that the virus has not spread any further. Getting past that, we once again are faced with the unpleasant task of preparing one of our own for the long, cold sleep that will be their lot until spring. I know Dr. Kuvayev was well liked and well respected. As such, I am asking for volunteers to assist with getting him ready.”
Most of the staff responded immediately—more volunteers than were required. The first three to raise their hands were chosen. Sokolov gave them their marching orders with special emphasis on safety. Once they walked off to face their task, Sokolov’s shoulders slumped just a little.
“The rest of you may want breakfast. If not, then tea or some other beverage. At any rate, I am suspending our morning tasks. We will need a crew to move Kuvayev once he has been prepared. Until then, I want to thank you for your strength and perseverance through this ordeal. I truly hope better times are ahead. If you will excuse me, I think I shall freshen up.”
As Sokolov walked away, Hamlin realized, to his dismay, that he had no idea what to do with himself. He decided to start with a cup of tea. He returned to the table with the steaming mug cradled between both hands for stability, and as he sat, Lena appeared beside him.
“Is there room for me?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Please sit down.”
She sat close beside him.
“Would you like a tea?” Hamlin asked.
She smiled slightly. “No, thank you. I’ve reached my limit for the morning already.”
He picked his up and took a small sip. It was too hot for anything more than that.
She put her hand gently on his leg. “How are you faring, Doctor? Are you all right? You’ve been in close contact with some of the worst of this.”
Hamlin gave it some thought. “Well, let’s see. I suppose I would say…sad, tired, discouraged, afraid, confused…and I’m sure I could come up with a more comprehensive list of adjectives if you gave me time. How about you?”
“The same. We all liked Kuvayev. I suppose we all felt safer knowing his vocational skills. I never heard him say a bad word about anybody. He was a good man.”
The answer was a bit disjointed, but Hamlin understood.
“So he had a family then?”
She nodded. “Yes. A wife and three children. The youngest is still at home, I believe. This will be very difficult for them.”