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“I don't know, but—”
“Ask Franks, could it hurt?” I demand, interrupting him.
Micah focuses on the phone. The doctor must have heard, so at least we aren't wasting time relaying messages and repeating information.
“It's not likely to hurt, but we probably don't have enough to make much of a difference considering most of it is frozen and it'll take too long to make more before…”
My mind made up, I finally summon the strength to move. Locating three tubes of plasma, labeled with the time and date they were extracted last night before bed, I hand them to Micah.
“At least it's something.”
“It won’t be enough,” he says sadly.
“WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING. HE'S DYING. WE CAN'T JUST SIT HERE AND WATCH HIM DIE.” My voice breaks like a prepubescent teenager, the pain is too much.
In the background of my awareness, I hear Six choke out another sob.
Lukas starts an electric kettle out of the room’s kitchenette and then digs through the freezer. “He's right. We have to try something. Anything.”
Pulling some tubes from the otherwise empty freezer, I notice his eyebrow furrow in concern. He uses the hot water from the kettle to warm up the handful of tubes he found. Didn't Micah say there were more than that?
Combining the tubes doesn't give us a very impressive amount, but it's something.
Micah hangs the collection bag and attaches tubing to Bennet's IV. The dark red fluid captures my attention, and I watch it pass through the tube all the way to where it enters Bennet's arm.
“It doesn't seem like very much. Maybe we should make some more. Enough to fill a bag, maybe?” Suggests Six.
“This is a little less than half of what a normal unit of plasma is, but we saw what one shot of it did for Jackson. There's still some hope, maybe. But yeah, we can do another donation and get it started just in case.” To his credit, Micah doesn't even attempt to talk her out of it. I think he appreciates the benefits of doing anything that could help.
Five minutes pass. Ten. Six gives an impressive blood donation for someone her size. She's white as a sheet and weak on her feet, but insists she can handle it and will recover quickly. And I believe her, but that doesn't mean I like it or that I'm going to ignore it.
I pass Dr. Franks on the stairwell on my way to the kitchen. Maybe it's just my anxiety over the situation, or the mood I've been in lately, but I get the impression that he's avoiding looking me in the eye. Shaking my head, I try to let it go and focus on the task at hand.
Bennet dying. Six wasting away.
“You're in here early,” I say to Mrs. Coolson when I walk in and find her rifling through the cabinets.
“I need to get this place cleaned up before the grocery delivery arrives. But is there something I can help you with?”
Rolling my lips in, I wonder how to keep her apprised of the situation without giving her too much information. She lives here, so she's obviously going to notice something. And I know that she's worried about Bennet too.
“Six donated blood, and she's a bit pale for my liking. I thought I'd see if there's anything I can make her for an early breakfast.” Honest but vague seems like a good balance.
Mrs. Coolson’s face contorts in sadness and concern. “Oh the poor thing, I was so focused on Bennet that I didn't even ask her if she needed anything. I didn't ask any of you, I was just so shocked and worried. My apologies.” Her voice trembles.
“Not necessary,” I say, giving her a friendly one-armed hug. Not usually my thing, but Six is making me soft. And I genuinely like the Coolsons. I sometimes wonder what my life could have been if I’d had a family like them.
“We don't have a ton here until the delivery, but I believe I have some things that might work.”
She pulls together a snack for Six and a coffee tray for all of us. I don't want her to see Bennet as he is right now, so I insist on taking it myself and that she should continue with what she was doing before I interrupted.
Upstairs, Lukas has just come out of Jackson's room.
“He's not in his room and he left his phone in our room last night. Along with his shoes.”
“Shit. Where do you think he could be?”
“Who knows? I'm kind of worried about him, honestly.”
