I. Chapter 10
A scream of anguish threatened to break free. The girl turned around and around, arms lifting and falling helplessly. On the far horizon, on the wrong side of the island, she imagined seeing the silhouette of the Nathan James. But how much could she trust her eyes at a moment like this? The dark clouds were settling above the island! She sat for a long moment, fighting tears, trying to catch her breath. How was this possible?
Finally she stood up, threw a last glance at the bay, and felt a faintness coming on.
Down there, where the water had calmly displayed its superiority to her wishes before, now the sinking sun's last rays glinted threateningly off the steadily broadening back of a breaching submarine.
And standing there, fighting oblivion by pressing her stiffening fingers against the sharp rock, her mind finally made sense of the snippets of information, memories and what her intuition had been trying to tell her. The list – Uncle Mike, oh God. Now, when everything was lost, now she understood the significance? What a joke.
A drop of moisture fell on her face. Perfect, rain. She grimaced, glanced down at the slender, smug torpedo-form down in the water, and turned her back. Climbing down to the still form of her charge, she noted numbly that at least the rain would cover their trails from almost all eyes. The overhang was safe and would keep them dry. She checked on the Captain, moistened a sleeve of her jacket with the last of her water and used it to wipe his hot forehead. But she could not settle down. Indefinable dread had settled on her. So she grabbed the water bottle and climbed down to the spring. While she waited for it to spill over, she searched the wet near-darkness with her eyes. Collecting a few fat leaves, she frowned. There had been a willow somewhere – right, there it was. She bent the branches so she could reach the innermost ones and cut down a few. Peeling them took long because her fingers were so bruised.
And wait, she had passed two dead birch trees, their narrow trunks dry. If she managed to drag one toward the overhang, it would shelter them from eyes. Could she do that without disturbing the floor too much? If she would try it, it had to be now, before the real downpour started.
Every bone in her body hurt by the time she was satisfied with her work.
Carefully she crept into the overhang, and put a hand to the Captain's cheek. "Sir?" she whispered. He had not moved from how she had left him, but now she felt movement under her palm. A slight mumble she could not make out lifted her heart to the heavens. She tilted the water bottle against his lips again, listening avidly to the sound of him swallowing. Nothing else happened, no word, no movement, but she was happy for the moment. "We will sort this out, Sir, I promise you. I brought a compress for the head wound. I am sorry I cannot do more. But your shoulder seems better." She used the leftovers from the leaf-pulp to wrap his left hand in gauze.
Feeling the exhaustion settle on her, she slipped under the second thermoblanket, nestled against the Captain's back, and rested her head on the backpack. The rain was a calming presence. Almost at once she felt herself slip toward sleep. On the edge of consciousness, the hard rectangle from the captain's pocket appeared before her eyes. Nestling that out of the backpack seemed almost too much for her bruised fingers. But she managed it. It was a small pager, with a one-line LCD display. There seemed to be some figures visible, slightly darker than the background, but Alviarin finally gave in to the pull of body and mind and fell into nothingness.
She woke twice during the rest of the night, intuition or some deep knowledge dredged up from her memories making her shake the captain gently until she elicited a sound, or slight movement. To her indescribable relief, his legs twitched once or twice. Ensuring herself he was warm, the fever not worse, she made him drink a sip or two and fell back into a deep slumber.
She woke at first light. The rain had subsided. She was cold, even though she could feel the Captain's warmth against her back. Slowly she sat up and turned around – he had curled up during the night, another proof that there were no significant injuries. His forehead though was still hot.
She took a sip of water. The willow bark had made it bitter, but she did not mind. Gently she nudged the tall man until she could make him swallow a few sips. He grimaced slightly, but did not wake fully.
Alviarin stood, stretching carefully. Her sore muscles protested badly, but the motion made her brain kick into working mode. Heartbeat picking up speed, she considered her next move. Slipping out of her shoes, she silently raced up to the outcrop. The submarine sat where she had last seen it, the hatchway open, a few ants could already be made out. Damn, what did they want here? Oh God, she'd forgotten all about the pager. She hurried over to the spring, pushed her pounding hands under the cold water and splashed her face. Wake up, Alviarin, there's work to do. Her hands were a sight, fingers swollen and blue. Her pants were ripped, her knees and shins looking even worse with blood crusted all over. There was a pretty horrid gash over her right shin, cutting deep into the muscle of her calf. How could she have fallen asleep like that? Now everything pulsed and stung with pain.
She picked more of the fat leaves, grabbed a handful of watercress and chewed thankfully on the sharp, tangy stalks. There must be some emergency rations in her pack, but that she would need to keep the Captain's strength up until he was well enough to eat watercress. She grimaced at herself. Slowly she walked back to what she thought of as their cave, consciously checking her surroundings. If the submarine's occupants came up here, what would they see? The birch tree from last night covered the overhang well enough, if she added a few branches from the inside they should be safe from cursory looks.
After fortifying the poor birch tree, she knelt down beside her charge. The Captain had turned onto his back and slung an arm over his eyes. Somewhat scared to touch him now he was coming awake, she reached for the pager.
'Code 128, 22-03' and some coordinates. Fantastic, she did not know the navy codes. If the Captain was lucid, he'd know.
"Sir," she whispered. "Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"
He groaned, and when she touched him gently, he moved his arm. She found his colour had improved over the night, even though his forehead was still hot. His eyes twitched, but he grimaced in pain. "Hurts."
Alviarin allowed herself a silent jubilant sigh. He was lucid. "Don't open them, then, Sir." She wet the sleeve of her jacket again, and gently put it over his eyes. "Better?"
The tall man grunted affirmatively. "Water?" His voice was barely a croak.
"Here." She tipped the bottle to his lips again. "Slowly, take your time." Gods, she felt like singing.
His mouth turned downwards. "Bitter."
"Yes, Captain, there's willow bark in the water, should help with the fever and with the pain." Then she took a breath. "Sir, this is important. Can you tell me what Code 128 22 bar 03 means?"
"Emergency. Left behind. Enemy." His voice was growing weaker.
"Please, Sir, try to…"
He murmured something that sounded like 'Nathan James', and was gone again. Biting her lip in desperation, she began to change the dressing on his head. The wound was ugly, the swelling considerable, but it smelled clean. She plastered fresh leaf-pulp on it and covered it with the bandage again. Then she repeated the same for his fingers. They too were swollen; the little one might be broken. She tried to stabilize them as best as she could with the bandage. Then finally she took care of the cut on her lower leg. It would not do to ignore it any longer, if it got infected they'd both lie here feverishly.
She sat for a long moment, thinking. The captain's words were repeating round and round in her head. So there was a protocol for this kind of being 'left behind'. What was she thinking; they had a protocol for every single mishap. She studied the map, poring over it until she felt like she could recall every single contour line. The coordinates supplied by the pager were on the south side of the island, opposite to the bay.
But the Nathan James could never ever come back to the island with the submarine lying here. Slowly understanding dawned. The navy ship had sensed the submarine coming, had hurried away, unwilling to engage in a fight. The captain would understand the code, would know how to act. There would be a time or date in those numbers…
"Sir, I will be back in a few minutes. Have to check on the enemy."
There was no answer, but it helped steady her nerves if she kept talking to him.
Up on the outcrop she realised with a helpless grin that the Submarine had come to the island for the same reason the Nathan James had – for drinking water. Or at least they were using the opportunity. What worried her was the fact that some of the ants were facing the forest as if waiting. What if they did come up here? She had no weapons apart from the two knives.
She walked to the site of the rescue operation, checking for trails, relieved to find nothing. She stood for a moment looking down the ravine, nameless fear grabbing her as she tried to imagine tumbling down with the Captain on her back. Had she been crazy to do what she'd done? But she pulled herself together and let her gaze wander over the countryside. Comparing her mental map with what she could see, she tried to find the spot the coordinates signified. The path down there did not scare her – alone. Carrying the concussed Captain would be a challenge.
Hurrying back again she refilled the water bottle, grabbed some more cress and the fat leaves, and returned to the overhang. Not much for it but to wait and hope until he woke up once more.
She found her charge moving restlessly, groaning softly.
At once she knelt down by his side and grabbed the unhurt hand gently. "Sir, I'm here." Chandler quieted almost at once. She offered the bottle and he drank. "Can you talk to me? How are you feeling?"
"Head hurts."
"I'd imagine. You had a bad fall, Sir. Can you feel your feet? Are your toes warm?" She did not want to alarm him.
"Warm. Shoulder." She could see his toes wriggling lazily.
"Your shoulder was dislocated, but it seems that the swelling is going down now. Can you move your arm?"
He lifted the left arm with a gasp. "Hurts."
"Shh, yes, it hurts, but believe me, you are moving it normally." Another stone off her chest.
"Who… where…"
Oh dear Lord. "I'm Rykers, Sir, the girl Dr Scott took on board in Baltimore. We are on the island the Nathan James-" here he made a violent move, startling her badly.
"Nathan James! My ship!"
"Shh, sir, please! She's fine! Calm down, please!" He fell back with a pained grimace on his face. She bent over him, using the short moment his eyes were open to check his pupils. Another stone off her chest – they were reacting to the light and same-sized. Thank God. "You'll be ok, Sir. We'll get back to the ship as soon as you're better." God she hoped she was not lying to him.
He moved his head away from the light, and she gently put the moist sleeve back over his eyes.
"Baltimore – my children, Darien." He groaned again, fighting against memories.
"Your children are fine, sir. You left them in Norfolk with your father. They're fine!" His wife was dead, but she did not mention that. She put her hand on his cheek to keep him from dislodging the bandage. He reacted to her touch, calming down a little.
"Cool hands." And after a while: "Keep talking?"
First she managed to feed him a little of the carbolyte drink she had found in her things. Then she began quietly to talk.
The moment she grew aware of the slight noise she had forgotten what she had been telling the Captain. She stilled completely, her hand grabbing his arm in warning.
Sound was being carried to her ears, voices, dangerously close by. Chandler, who must have picked up on her alarm, moved. "What is it?"
"Sir, please, be really really quiet. There are people out there."
He started to argue. "Help? Must call out?"
"No, sir, they are the enemy. Have to be silent, wait." She bent down to whisper into his ear.
That had been the wrong thing to say. His brows furrowed, he tried to turn, even made a move to sit up. "Russians? Have to… get to… my ship!"
"Shh, sir, please, trust me, we'll be fine, just have to be quiet for a little while." She pushed him down gently, if desperately. If ever there was a moment she would welcome him falling asleep, it was now!
The movement had obviously pained him, he was panting, grimacing, and had gripped her arm hard. "Have to – do something…"
Frantic now, the young woman put both shaking hands to the sides of his face, willing him to understand. "Sir, there is nothing we can do, just stay silent and let them pass."
Now she could almost make out the words the two voices were exchanging.
His good right hand covered hers almost gently, but when he opened his mouth again to argue, she gently put her hand over his lips. He must have felt her shaking, or else understood how imperative the silence was, or been too surprised.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She whispered soundlessly, her lips almost touching his forehead.
But it worked, he stayed silent, only pulled her hand down against his cheek again. His breath came hard.
She listened avidly, catching a phrase here and there, a name?, recognized with a start the accent of one of the men, and felt that they would for sure hear her heart hammering from where they passed by some hundred metres above her hiding place.
But it was a leisurely talk, they were not searching for anything, she thought to herself. After a long while she whispered as much into the Captains ear.
"Who?"
"One of them is german for sure, the other probably American, from the south. They mentioned Washington."
When Chandler frowned, as if confused, the young woman realised that the Captain's memory was still muddled. Maybe it was for the better, if he knew that the british Submarine lay down in the bay, he'd endanger them both.
"Captain Chandler, it does not matter. Rest, I am taking care of you until we can walk out of here."
She offered him more water, and re-moistened the sleeve over his eyes.
"Voice like honey, water like poison." A ghost of a grim smile pulled at his features.
Alviarin felt herself blush furiously. He liked her voice? He was making jokes?
"You seem comfortable?" She felt ridiculous, but anything to cover her embarrassment.
"Sleep…" he murmured, already dozing off. He reached out weakly and she caught the strong fingers in her bruised ones. Anything to give him comfort.
Not daring to leave the cave, she sat watching the handsome features relax into sleep, and remembered that she had missed the opportunity to ask him after the code.
To her surprise the watch told her it was late morning, two hours to midday. How long would the Sub stay? How long should she give the two strangers to leave the mountainside?
Finally the short night caught up to her and she gave in to the dreadful weariness weighing her down. She stretched out along the Captain, pulled an edge of the thermoblanket over herself, and promptly fell asleep.