E L L A R A
The lights go out two minutes after I tell Marina we’re not evacuating.
One second, the clinic is humming under emergency power with low glows in the hall, pulse lamps in each triage bay. The next, the storm roars louder than the generator and everything drops into black.
No warning. No flicker. Just gone.
“Hold positions,” I call out. My voice bounces off the tile and panics. The wind claws at the shutters. Rain hammers the roof like fists.
Asha’s flashlight clicks on across the room, shaky but solid. “Patients are stable,” she says. “Two in observation, three waiting. No trauma.”
“Good. Stay lit. No one moves unless we say.”
I cross to the supply wall by memory. My fingers find the lantern. Twist, click and dim yellow blooms in the dark.
The power grid’s been moody al
