The fluorescent light tube overhead flickered with a low, agonizing hum.
It cast a sickly green pallor over the crowded corridor of the referral hospital.
Kevo pressed his forehead against the cold, grease-smeared concrete wall.
He closed his eyes to block out the overwhelming smell of methylated spirit and cheap disinfectant.
His heart felt like a trapped bird, hammering violently against his ribs.
Every time his cracked phone vibrated, a jolt of adrenaline shot to his fingertips.
He opened the notification for the twentieth time.
It was a digital execution wall.
M-PESA Balance: KSh 142.30.
The heavy double doors of the emergency ward swung open with a sharp creak.
Dr. Njuguna stepped out, pulling off his powdered latex gloves with a loud snap.
He had the hollow, exhausted look of a public health professional surviving on a shoestring budget.
Kevo straightened up immediately, his worn sneakers scuffing loudly against the linoleum.
"Doc, itakuaje? Is Mama okay? Is she stable?"
Dr. Njuguna sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses left deep indentations.
"We’ve stabilized her for now, Kevo, but the internal blockage is severe. The infection is aggressive."
"If we don’t get her into the operating theater for emergency surgery by midnight tonight, it will turn septic."
"Once that happens, it’s completely out of my hands."
"Midnight?" Kevo’s voice cracked.
He glanced at the wall clock. It was already past 8:00 PM....