“A Seed of Life in the Storm” The storm had a name no one would forget.

The interior of the cargo barge was a cavernous maze of steel corridors and shipping containers. It smelled of brine, diesel, and wet rust. They found the captain's quarters, which miraculously had a heavy steel door that could be bolted from the inside.

Silas collapsed onto the moldy mattress in the corner, his breathing shallow and ragged. The wound on his side was angry, red, and hot to the touch. The toxic floodwater had already set an infection into his blood.

"I need antibiotics, Elara," Silas whispered, his eyes glazed with fever. "Or I'm not walking out of this room."

Elara felt the crushing weight of being completely alone again. If Silas died, she would be defenseless against Thorne. She had to save him.

"I'll find some," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

Armed only with a heavy flashlight, Elara crept out of the quarters and into the dark bowels of the ship. Every creak of the metal hull sounded like footsteps. Shadows danced menacingly in the beam of her light. She navigated through the mess hall and down into the lower decks, searching for the infirmary.

She finally found a door marked with a faded red cross.

Inside, the room was ransacked, medical supplies scattered across the floor. Elara dropped to her knees, frantically sorting through empty bandage wrappers and broken glass. Just as tears of frustration began to blur her vision, her fingers brushed against a sealed plastic lockbox under a metal cabinet.

She used a scalpel to pry the plastic hinges open. Inside were three vials of broad-spectrum antibiotics and a sterile syringe.