Marauder (Oregon Files 15)

“Who’s there?”

Another moan to her left, from the direction of the galley.

Sylvia raced down the hall and entered the Empiric’s kitchen.

Sprawled on the floor was the ship’s cook, Roberta Jordan, still wearing her apron. Sylvia knew her well from her time spent on the Australian ship. The normally jovial woman’s face was a mask of pain, and she was jerking her arm. A large pot was overturned on the floor, and water was pooled around her.

A burning stench filled the room. Smoke billowed from a pan on the stove directly into the hood fan, which had to be the only reason the fire alarm hadn’t gone off. Sylvia moved the pan to the side and turned off the stove before kneeling beside Roberta.

Sylvia carefully lifted Roberta’s hand, which elicited a wail from the cook. Her arm was already blistering from the burn she suffered when she was splashed with boiling water.

“Let me help you, Roberta.”

Roberta looked at her with despair. The only sound she made was a pitiful groan.

Sylvia got up to retrieve the first aid kit hanging on the wall. She wetted a towel with cool water and took the kit back to Roberta.

“What happened to the ship?” Sylvia asked as she began tending to the wound. “Where is everyone?”

This time, the groan was more staccato, as if Roberta were trying to speak but couldn’t.

Sylvia paused. Something was seriously wrong here.

“Can you understand me, Roberta?”

Roberta gave an effortful nod and made a noise like “Uh-huh.”

“But you can’t talk?”

“Uh-uh.” No.

“Do you remember how this happened to you?”

Another No.

Sylvia ran her hands over Roberta’s skull, but she couldn’t feel any bumps. She took the injured arm, smeared it with antibiotic cream, and wrapped it with the towel from wrist to shoulder. The wound would clearly need care from a doctor.

“Roberta, do you recognize me?”

A groaned affirmative.

“Good. Do you know where you are?”

Yes.

Sylvia finished wrapping the wound and gently eased the arm down. Roberta looked more comfortable, but she didn’t move.

“Roberta, can you sit up?”

No.

“Can you move at all?”

In answer, Roberta spastically moved her arms. Her legs remained immobile.

Sylvia’s stomach knotted at Roberta’s sudden paralysis. She had to find the other crew.

“Roberta, I’ll have to leave you here for a little while,” Sylvia said, retrieving another towel and gently placing it under the cook’s head.