POCKET CHANGE
by Sharon R.
Chapter Thirteen
Catch a Falling Star
His assessment of Carter was not optimistic. He was altered, his heart was racing, breathing rapid and shallow. His dehydration had become critical, and what happened next is what he feared the most.
Carter's legs and arms became rigid, then after a few moments, they started trembling violently. His eyes rolled back into his head as it jerked. He was in a full-blown seizure. Luka felt helpless as he rolled him onto his side to prevent aspiration. There was nothing in Carter's stomach to regurgitate, but a foam-tinged liquid still found its way up and protruded from between his clenched teeth. Luka frantically put his mind through the paces of the ER, but there was nothing he could do for Carter that he would normally do back home. Time slowed down as Luka watched powerlessly. There seemed no end to the seizure.
Carter's legs traveled his body sideways eventually toppling the pile of palm leaves covering the lifted medical supplies. Luka eyed the vial of diazepam – their only ticket out: the escape Luka had finally come to believe in. Grabbing the syringe package, he ripped it open, inserted the needle into the vial and, holding it up into the scant moonlight, drew out 3 cc. It would have been easier to inject it into a muscle, but absorption is poor when given IM. Not having an IV line established it would be tricky pushing the diazepam intravenously on a jerking patient. He would have to go for a big vein, one less likely to be infiltrated through to the other side. He knew that he shouldn't hold a seizing patient down, in order to prevent bone fractures. But he had to do something to get in the anticonvulsant.
Carter was on his side and Luka decided to straddle him. The neck veins were tensed and popping out. Luka got it on the first stick, drew back and got a flash. He was in. He injected the drug and quickly rolled off Carter. Within seconds the seizure stopped.
Now what? Luka questioned the differentials. Dehydration? Probably. Low blood sugar? Maybe. Low blood pressure? Probably. Head injury? Maybe. But what did it matter? There was nothing he could do. Again, he banged on the tin wall of the hut. "Get in here. We need help. Come on you bastards." He repeated his shouts and banged on the wall until his knuckles bled and his voice cracked with frustration.
Sitting in that dark hut lit by moonlight peaking through the cracks, he was absolutely useless to help his friend. The door opened and this time it was a boy dwarfed by the size of the gun slung over his shoulder. Luka screamed at him to get water, juice and salt. The language barrier was prohibitive and certainly a challenge, but Luka showed no fear at that point and the boy was obviously intimidated by his prisoner. The boy turned and ran from the hut, leaving the door wide open, the sound of the muffled nightly gunfire becoming that much sharper with the barrier gone. Squatting on the floor, his hand on Carter's shoulder, Luka looked longingly at the doorway. A brief innate need to escape fleeting through him pulled him to his feet as he tentatively took one step towards liberty. Back and forth he looked between Carter and the doorway until, finally, Carter began to seize. Again, Luka drew up the diazepam in to the syringe and injected it into Carter's neck vein, ending the seizure.
The boy had returned at that point, oblivious to the needle and syringe in Luka's hand. With another rebel and a bottle of water, he pushed Luka out of the way and tried to pour the liquid into an unconscious Carter's mouth. Luka jumped at the boy, hitting the bottle out of the boy's hand and dropping the needle and syringe.
"No, no. He'll choke."
All three were standing and when Luka caught a glimpse of the syringe and vial laying next to Carter, he pushed them with his foot under one of the burlap sacks. The new guy realized that the prisoners could see them, pointed his gun at Luka and motioned with his hands to put the sack over his head, obviously fearing the consequences should he be found to not be adhering to the orders of his own leader. Luka looked up at the ceiling rolling his eyes. Ignoring the order, he took very purposeful steps straight to the boys and made sure his nasty breath would not be lost on the moment. He screamed at them in French.
"He needs help. I can give it to him but I need supplies."
Their lives so used to following the orders of any person a foot or more taller than they, the two boys left and came back with a bag of bottled beverages and a box of rudimentary food supplies. Luka took out the water, cooking oil and salt, then yelled at the boys to get out. As the young boy closed the door, he quietly put his large flashlight on the floor and pushed it in Luka's direction.
From under the leaves, Luka took out the rigid tubing. He rolled Carter onto his back leaning down to listen to his breathing. There was blood on his neck from the injections, but at least he was clotting. At least his platelets were working. All was not lost.
The tubing was smaller in diameter than a normal NG tube, but it would have to do. He greased it up with the oil and inserted it into Carter's nostril, pushing until he was certain it had reached his stomach and taped the excess to Carter's face to keep it in place. Luka took the needle off the syringe and carefully put it in the previously scrapped packaging. He pulled water up into the syringe several times, rinsing the drug from it. He then made a mixture of water and salt and very slowly injected it into the tube. It was a gamble not knowing the correct ratio of salt to water, much less if his body would keep it down. But it was all he had. The first bit of water was regurgitated, but with time Carter's stomach eventually accepted it.
The syringe was small. The tube was small. So over the next couple of hours he slowly kept injecting the fluid as Carter lay in a state of post seizure deep sleep. Over time his breathing and pulse slowed from erratic to close to normal. He kept the fluid down and judging from the new stain on his pants, his body was finally processing it. Luka fell asleep sitting up against the wall next to Carter.
Night turned to day, gunfire ceased and faded into the distance as Luka awoke from his brief sleep to check on Carter and push more fluids via the makeshift NG tube. The water was almost gone, but there was enough for a few more hours. Not long after dawn's arrival, the rain started. It had been a couple days since they had had any, today's would be a welcome relief from the heat, especially for Carter as he lay in the tin roofed hut that so easily became an oven in the hot afternoon sun.
Without getting to his feet, without even much thought, Luka rolled over, inserted the syringe into the end of the NG tube and pulled back on the plunger making sure that extra air would not be forced into Carter's stomach. He then filled the syringe with the salt-water mixture, which by now had become mostly water. Inserting it into the end of the tube he pushed in the cool fluid, removed the syringe, refilled and pushed that in as well. Folding over the end of the tube on itself and taping it back to Carter's face, Luka wished that there was more he could do. He did a cursory exam. Mucous membranes were much improved. He had urinated and was even beginning to produce saliva. With his fist, Luka rubbed vigorously on Carter's breastbone to check for his response. His legs and arms bent inward and he groaned. As the rains crashed down on the tin roof in a sudden downpour Carter's eyes flew open.
He groaned and aggressively cleared his throat trying to rid it of the foreign intruder. Shaking his head from side to side his still fuzzy mind prevented him from reaching out to Luka, instead pushing him away as Luka attempted to keep his hands from his face.
"Carter, Carter…. You're sick, Carter." Luka held Carter's chest down pinning him to the floor. He looked him straight in the eyes. "Just lie still. You've been very sick."
Carter looked up at Luka, then around the hut as though to reorient himself to his surroundings. He reflexively tried to sit up but found his muscles racked in pain and of no use.
"Ahhhhhhh, Jesus! I hurt all over." His voice was horse and nasal from the tube. Reaching up he found the tape holding the tube to his face. Puzzled by its presence he tried to take it off before Luka pushed his hand away.
"I had to use the tubing… kind of like an NG tube." Luka took a moment to scan Carter's face to make sure he was lucid enough to understand, and then spoke in a more hushed voice, as he would with a patient. "You had a seizure. Two, actually."
"Grand or Petite Mall?"
"Grand. The clonic phase the first time around was quite long."
Carter reached up again, this time gently checking out Luka's handy work. "Is this the tubing I took from the bag?"
"Yeah. Can you swallow on your own?" Luka picked up the last bottle of water and held it to Carter's mouth, helping him to take a swig. "Okay. Let's get that tube out." Luka took the tape off and steadily pulled on the tube. The feeling of his insides being yanked through his nose was not pleasant as Carter winced and gagged.
He just laid there unable to move much, his arms rendered useless by the previous day's hanging, his other muscles sore from the dehydration and seizure. "Quite resourceful, aren't you, McGuyver?"
Luka smiled but reserved his feelings of relief, hesitant to give Carter his full treatment history.
"I feel kind of loopy." He swallowed hard, glad to get that tube out of there.
They were silent as Carter adjusted to his body on the mend. His well-trained medical knowledge kicked in, as well as his previous experience as a narcotics abuser, and the two looked at each other knowingly. "You used the diazepam, didn't you?"
Luka nodded, knowing that the diazepam that could have seen both of them to freedom had to be used to keep Carter alive, in the hut, in captivity. "I'm sorry. I had no choice. You were getting cyanotic."
"It's okay, Luka." To Carter it was more than using the stash, or even injecting him with a controlled substance. "Thank you, again. I guess it's getting to be a habit."
They spent the day alone. Nobody came by except the boy who threw in an occasional banana or bottle of water. When the rain stopped and voices were silent outside, they heard fighting in the far off for the first time in daylight. Luka kept a close eye on Carter as they traded few words, reluctant to get each other's hopes up or dash what little there was left.
Luka helped Carter sit up between two beams. He seemed relaxed.
"Are you afraid?" Luka asked.
"Nah, not anymore," Carter mumbled, "it's useless. Why waste my time."
"Yeah, I guess so." Luka sat down next to him as they listened to the rain start up again, and the guns come closer.
Several times they heard men's voices in deep conversation as they walked by the hut. Finally Luka caught a glimpse of Jules. He was outside his comfort zone, congregating with the other rebels, in his hand a satellite phone. More than once Luka spied him talking on the phone, sometimes angry, other times quite pleasant. But never without a sneer.
The last contact they had with the rebels that day was a woman. Luka's manners had not been lost as he stood for the lady. Entering with a large man, she handed each doctor a bottle of water and a large banana leaf with rice and chopped fish.
"Thank you," they both shared quietly with her.
As they were leaving, she abruptly stopped and exchanged a few words with the man - an argument it seemed, although the rough looking rebel didn't appear to have the upper hand. He took off his t-shirt and reluctantly handed it to her. She walked over to Carter and, unlike the men in camp, looked him straight in the eyes and smiled as she gave him the shirt.
After the door was locked Luka helped Carter eagerly change into the oversized, but in-tact shirt. "What do you know," he marveled, "they have Old Navy in Africa too." He realized, though, that the shirt probably was not bought.
Another night in the filthy hut. Carter's arms and shoulders seared with pain, his head hurt, ribs hurt, back hurt. Hell, his whole being was in agony. He couldn't sleep well and spent much of the night sitting against the back wall looking out of the window at the night sky. The moon was full, or close to it. He could see stars, feel the breeze as it made its way through the cracks in the boards. How he wished he were home, in Abby's arms. Closing his eyes he tried to imagine being in bed next to her, nuzzling his nose into the back of her neck - spooning. He tried but he couldn't remember how her hair smelled. Draping his arm over her side he could pull her closer into his taller frame and kiss her ear lobe just to hear her giggle. He could even hear that haunting song, the words were there but just out of reach.
(Lyrics to a few lines of Let Me Fallsung by JoshGroban and written by James Corcoran and Jutras Benoit previously properly attributed, deleted as per new regulations by site administrators 5/3/05. The complete original text of Pocket Change can be found at LUKAFIC)
He threatened once to break that CD. They were in the jeep, on their way back to work and just as the day before, Abby pushed the disc into the dash player, pressing the selection button up to number 8. Carter rolled his eyes and mockingly fought with her to keep from hearing that song again and again.
(Lyrics deleted)
But this night as Carter watched Luka sleep on the hard dirt floor, that song resonated in his head and was a comforting memory. The soft strains of the guitar, the words - he finally got what Abby saw in it.
(Lyrics deleted)
Why was he there? Luka ran away from his life. Was Carter far behind? Or had he passed Luka up? Did it even matter? Carter was sure that the chance of them getting out alive was slim. Romano, torturer of the day, had taken the sack off Carter's head. He had seen not only his tormentor, but also the men helping him. He recognized the very young man, boy, dressed in a government militia uniform who took his cell phone from him on that first day. That's how they knew who he was. All of his numbers were stored by name on the cell.
His stupidity, his naiveté was what got them there. But that little girl back at the clinic haunted him as much as that song. There was a good chance that Joseph made it back with the Vancomycin that she deserved.
(Lyrics deleted)
Abby was history. They left on terms not exactly positive. A mutual agreement, perhaps, but no less a failure. What was left for him back in Chicago was nothing more than bricks and mortar. A huge house, a bank account, a job. Nothing much worthy, at least not anymore. The question at this point in his head was, did he really care whether or not he even got back home? Either way, he was a different person now and regardless of his fate he would fight back with dignity.
The time he spent with Luka was - well - not altogether unpleasant. How many years had he known Luka? And how many times had he sat down with him and talked about who each other really was? He knew more about the nurses - Chuny, Malik, Haleh, Yosh, Lydia - than he did his colleague, the man who had been Abby's previous lover. Yet on this trip, this adventure, they shared stories and feelings, though not always over morning coffee and the financial section of the paper.
(Lyrics deleted)
He slept in stages, when he could find a way to get comfortable, something that was near impossible. He leaned back placing his head conveniently between two strips of wood framing and nodded off with thoughts of Abby, the little girl, home…
Luka rolled over to see Carter asleep, sitting up, and quietly made his way over to the other side of the hut to check on him. His breathing was fine, no fever. They were over that particular hump. Getting up and walking over to the little window they had, he could see the sky clearing and stars make an appearance. The cool night breeze pierced through the cracks in the boards refreshing him. A shooting star caught his eye above the trees, but the childhood magic that briefly touched his heart was shattered by the gunfire that took its place in the distance.
He wavered between feelings of guilt and surrender. His need to keep everyone else at arm's length while he did things his way drove him to keep Carter out of the loop about the Vancomycin. He roped Joseph and Sean into making a big production out of the transport of the drug. He risked all of their lives, including Joseph's family, yet blamed Carter. He risked the program's very existence. But was their capture inevitable? It seemed as though the safety net of the clinic had begun to collapse before their capture.
Luka took the blame and pounded it into himself with a mighty fury, sure that they would see their last days inside those filthy four walls. Carter was unusually calm and collected. Had he accepted his fate?
(Lyrics deleted)
They both drifted in and out of sleep as the lonely night became dawn once again. The usual morning voices were absent, the voices of nature, instead, taking their place. They had had enough water, bananas and stale unleavened bread through the night to make living bearable. No nighttime roustings. Even the piss bucket had been emptied. But when the camp remained quiet well into the morning, Luka and Carter became worried.
As the sounds of the critters suddenly stopped, they heard the roar of a truck engine as it made its way up the rutty jungle hill roads spinning its tires and revving the engine. It came closer and closer until Luka saw it appear from the curtain of foliage. The Toyota pick-up truck was loaded to the brim with armed men like bean sprouts. The truck stopped short of the hut, the men spilling out. Among them was Jules and an evil looking one-armed man. Four men barged into the hut, tackling Carter and Luka, binding their hands behind them. Instead of the burlap bags, this time dark blindfolds were tied around their heads.