(This is an insert between part 13 and part 14)
PREVIOUSLY...
Clark was looking groggy, as if hardly able to keep his eyes open. “Lois, I’ve got to...”
“The only thing you’ve got to do is stay alive,” Lois said, leaning over and gently touching her lips to his. “I’ll take care of the rest, okay?”
He gave her a weak smile that faded almost at once as his eyes drifted closed.
‘Stay with me, Clark,’ she silently begged, even as she looked up into the night sky. The north star, hey? Yes. There it was. She could do this. Taking over Clark’s position at the controls, Lois turned the boat again towards the north star and prayed for land.
AND NOW... PART 13b
Lois was completely exhausted when she finally pulled the small boat up onto the shore. Barely able to keep her eyes open, she moved over to the side of the boat where Clark was lying.
“Clark?” she said softly, shaking his shoulder gently.
“Is eko andemer,” Clark mumbled.
“Clark?” she asked again. When his next remark made as much sense as the first one, she gave his shoulder another shake, noting as she did the cold sweat covering his face and arms. This time he did not respond at all.
Suddenly, the blood pumping through her veins had Lois wide awake. No. No, she was not doing this. She was not losing him now.
“Clark!” she said again, this time louder, more insistent. Still, other than an incomprehensible mumble, there was no response.
Reaching over, she touched his face. His skin was cold and clammy, the sweat beading on it. His respiration was fast and shallow. She touched his throat, looking for his pulse, to discover that his heart was pounding like a jack hammer.
What was wrong with him?
Damn it. Why hadn’t she paid more attention over the years when her father had rambled on about medicine?
Okay, he’d lost a lot of blood. So maybe... Was it possible he was still bleeding? She felt his back, but when she pulled away her hand, she didn’t see any fresh blood. Okay, so what now?
She took a deep breath, trying to calm down enough to think. Before she did anything, could she get him up to the cabin? Or what remained of it? Maybe the couch or bed had survived.
No. There was no way she’d be able to carry him. So... well, then she should make sure she had everything she might need before thinking about removing bandages and looking at his wounds.
Without thinking further, she took off at a run in the direction of the cabin. Her breath caught in her throat when she got her first sight of it. She hadn’t seen it until now. The entire kitchen and living room area were no more. The bedroom and washroom appeared to still be standing, but the one side of the bedroom was blown mostly off. On the other hand, it appeared that the bed was still in tact and the roof still looked fairly solid above it. And that had been where Clark had been when Max had blown up the cabin.
Without allowing herself to contemplate that further, she turned her mind to what she might need. Sheets. She dashed over to the bed, pushing rubble off the top before tearing the sheets off. Water. She had to walk carefully to make it to the door to the bathroom. It took a moment to get the door open. When she finally got inside, she tried the taps.
Damn. Nothing. In the back of her mind, she didn’t find that surprising, given the damage to the cabin. Obviously, the electricity was no longer working. Okay, so where... The waterfall. Still, she checked the cabinets in the bathroom, locating a number of other items she might need. She tossed them on top of the bed and then turned her mind to the question of water. A bucket. What she needed was a bucket.
It took a moment before she located a bucket that had survived the explosion. The instant she did, she was running down the path to the waterfall.
Finally, having what she needed, she rushed back to where Clark was still lying in the boat, her arms burdened with her finds, relieved to discover that he was still breathing.
Okay, so where to start?
She climbed back into the boat, lifting the bucket of water in with her. She knew how parched she was. And with his loss of blood and fever, he must be practically dehydrated by now.
She slipped her arm beneath his back as she whispered his name.
His response was nonsense, but at least he was responding.
“I need you to drink,” she said, as she levered him into a seated position. Then, reaching into the bucket, she removed the cup she’d tossed in and brought the water to Clark’s lips. “Please, you have to drink,” she said.
She was relieved when he took a sip. “Good. That’s good.” She took a quick sip herself before returning the cup to Clark’s lips. “Can you take another sip?”
She took a deep breath when his hands actually came up to the cup as he took another drink.
It was then that she noticed his hands. They were wrapped in dirty rags of some sort, but it was the skin she could see around the rags that caused her heart to leap into her throat. They were dark red and swollen practically beyond recognition and she could make out red streaks making their way up one of his arms.
Blood poisoning.
Okay, so what did she know about blood poisoning? Antibiotics or... her breath caught in her throat at the other alternative for dealing with blood poisoning rushed to the forefront of her mind.
She pushed that thought away as she concentrated on helping Clark take another drink.
“Good?” she asked as she moved the cup away from his lips.
“Mego.”
“Okay,” she said, not even bothering to try to decipher his response as she helped him move back into a reclined position once again. Once he was as comfortable as he could be in the bottom of the boat, she took a closer look at his bandaged shoulder. It had blood on it, but it didn’t look as if it was still bleeding. So...
She turned her attention back to his hands, gently taking them, one after the other, in her hands and working to get them unwrapped. She cringed when the blood caked rags coming free of his hands caused Clark to flinch and groan in obvious pain. Still, this had to be done.
She had no idea how he’d managed to get two almost identical cuts slicing into the palms of his hands. But she cringed when she first saw the angry looking wounds. Still, she refused to take time to focus on that. Instead, she scrambled from the boat to grab the items she’d brought down from the cabin, sorting through it, looking for something in particular. She felt herself beginning to panic when she couldn’t immediately locate it.
She breathed a sign of relief when it fell out onto the ground from where it was tangled between the sheets. Quickly grabbing the tube of antibiotic ointment, she directed her mind to reading the instructions. ‘Prevents infection to help speed healing.’ “Sort of like closing the barn door after the horses have already escaped,” she mumbled to herself even as she continued to read. ‘Clean affected area thoroughly. Apply ointment two to five times daily. Leave uncovered or apply bandage or gauze if desired.’
She climbed back into the boat, only noticing then that the tide must have gone out - fortunately. If it hadn’t, she’d have to worry about pulling the boat up further onto the shore again. She hoped that was a sign that luck was finally going her and Clark’s way.
“Can you handle some more water?” she asked, laying down the ointment to slip her arm again under his back.
Once he had taken in some more water, she turned her attention to tending to his hands.
* * * * * * * * *
Lois breathed a sigh of relief when she finally got Clark tucked into the bed in the cabin. After she’d finished treating his hands and changing the bandage on his shoulder, he’d revived slightly. She wasn’t certain if that meant the sun was helping him recover, or if it was the water, or if it was something else she’d done, but she’d been relieved.
By the movements of the sun, it was almost noon. And although she knew that the sun helped with his rejuvenating powers, she was concerned that without his powers, he’d get even more dehydrated in the sun. After all, she was already sweating pretty good from the sun’s hot rays beating down on them.
So when he’d first whispered her name, indicating that he was at least cognizant of her presence, she’d managed to badger him enough to help her move him into what remained of the cabin. She was relieved to realize that the movement hadn’t made shoulder bleed again and his burn marks didn’t look too bad, although she’d put some antibiotic ointment on it to ensure it didn’t get infection as well.
The main problem seemed to be his hands. They looked even more swollen and the red streaks were still prominent. If the infection continued to spread... No. She didn’t want to even think about that. He was strong. He was Superman. He’d fight off this infection. And there would be no need to even think about the alternative.
As she pulled the sheet up over Clark, she noticed the sweat on his face. Maybe she could do something to help with his fever.
Grabbing the bucket, she headed back to the waterfall for fresh water.
* * * * * * * * *
Lois wasn’t entirely certain when she’d fallen asleep. But she woke up, her head on Clark’s good shoulder, the instant Clark began thrashing about. Quickly, she scampered out of bed and fumbled around to find the lantern, for the first time glad that the lighting in the cabin was not based on electricity. When she located the lantern and the matches, she quickly got it burning before bringing it over to sit on the night table beside the bed.
Clark was still thrashing and mumbling incoherently. She quickly grabbed a washcloth from the bucket sitting nearby and began using the cool water to sooth his fever.
It was then that she caught sight of his right hand. Her breath caught in her throat. It seemed to be worse. She wouldn’t have believed that was even possible. In the darkness of the cabin, it looked almost black.
Dropping the washcloth into the bucket, she picked up the hand as if it were made of spun china and carefully turned it over.
“Clark?” she asked softly, trying to get some sort of response. But, although his mumbling continued, it didn’t seem to be directed towards her, as if he was completely oblivious as to her presence.
She looked back at his hand. She could see that the red streaks went further up his arm than they had earlier. She carefully placed the one hand down and looked at the other. If possible, it looked even worse.
Tears came to her eyes as the idea that had come to her when she’d first examined his hands pushed its way to the forefront of her mind. No. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t make this decision for him. The antibiotic cream wasn’t working. And she knew only one other way to prevent the infection from killing him. But how could she do that to him? How could she even think about cutting off his hands?
She didn’t even know how to do it. Surely he would bleed to death. How did she prevent that? And when he did recover... would he ever be able to forgive her? He might be Superman, but even Superman was unlikely to grow back severed hands.
She pushed the tears from her eyes. This wasn’t about her. This was about saving his life. And, even if it cost her his love, she would do whatever it took to save his life.
Refusing to think further about what she was doing, she directed her mind to the question of how. Picking up the lantern, she began making her way through the rubble of the cabin. Rifling through the kitchen, she located the drawer that had contained the kitchen utensils. As she sorted through that, trying to find what she was looking for, her mind flashed back to Clark’s crazy memory exercises. Kitchen utensils.
A small sob rose in the back of her throat as she fervently wished she could travel back in time to those simple days of arguing with him that there was nothing wrong with her memory, only her knowledge about kitchen utensils.
Quickly, she pushed the depression that threatened to the back of her mind. A knife. A butcher knife, if possible. Finally finding the biggest knife she could, she rose to her feet and made her way back to Clark’s bedside.
No. No, this wouldn’t work. She simply didn’t have enough strength to cut through, not only flesh but bone with this knife. No, what she needed was...
The cabin had had a fireplace. And a fireplace necessitated that there also be a wood pile. And a woodpile meant... an axe.
Refusing to allow the revulsion rising in her stomach to distract her, she headed out towards the storage shed, looking for where the woodpile might be located.
It took some time, but finally, she returned, carrying both a small axe and a large one. The smaller one was sharper, but the bigger one was... bigger. And since she wasn’t certain which one would be better, she’d brought both. Now, how to sterilize them?
Alcohol. Maybe a bottle of... something could be found in the rubble of the cabin. Or maybe she’d find something in the storage shed.
* * * * * * * * *
Her plans were complete - or at least as complete as she could make them considering she had no idea what she was doing. She’d built a fire and sterilized both the small axe and the knife, first in a fire she’d built and then by pouring some vodka she’d found in the storage shed over the instruments. She’d cut sheets and blankets into strips for use to bind his resulting wounds. She’d even managed to make him drink some of the alcohol, hoping that it would keep him from feeling the pain of what she was planning to do - and yet knowing that was impossible.
And then, all too soon, everything was ready. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she picked up his right hand, turning it gently in her hands. His beautiful hands. Hands that held the strength to lift shuttles into space or caress her cheek with such gentleness.
And almost instantly, she was lost in memories of the ways these hands had touched her. The way his hand came out, gently touching her on the small of her back when they walked together. The way their hands hand lingered, sending heat through her body when they’d shaken hands in the elevator of the Planet when they’d been planning their first date. The way his hands often slipped beneath her hair to cup her cheeks when he kissed her. It had been the touch of his hand on her cheek that had told her that he was Superman. She raised his bruised hand to her lips, gently kissing it as tears fell unheaded from her eyes.
She couldn’t do it. God help her - God help them both, but she couldn’t do it. The tears fell faster now. It was the right thing to do. It could save his life, but... she couldn’t do it. Not now. Not yet. Maybe later if he continued to get worse, but not now. Not yet.
Taking the bottle of vodka, she poured some of it over his hands, desperately hoping it might have some medicinal value. When he flinched in response, she thought that just maybe it did.
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 14...
ML
