POCKET CHANGE 2: A GAME OF CARDS
by Sharon R.
Chapter Fourteen
After a couple hours of walking, they finally got to a clearing where it was obvious by the tire tracks that vehicles frequented it. And they stood there. Some of the rebels sat on a log and lit up cigarettes. Others played with their guns - Carter hoped they were actually doing routine maintenance. But within an hour of their sitting, the larger man of the group pulled Carter over to his log and quite roughly made him sit down. Pulling his pant leg up. The man exposed a large hunting knife strapped to his calf. Further up, though, was what he wanted Carter to attend to: A blood soaked bandage encircling his leg just below the knee. The man pointed to it a couple times and poked Carter with the back of his hand which still held a pistol.
"You, you, you fix," he stuttered.
Under the bandage Carter found a superficial, but long gash that had to have been at least eight inches long.
"How did this happen?" he asked not knowing if he could be understood. Dredging up the little French he had learned, he tried again. "Comment?"
"Machete." He snorted, then let out a gut rolling belly laugh with his cohorts.
Injuries caused by machetes - mandatory jungle tools - ranked right up there at the top in the Congo. Usually incurred as jungle growth was whacked at carelessly, Carter figured this leader probably had someone doing it for him, leaving the question as to how he acquired this laceration, or better yet - how bad off was the other guy. Carter didn't want to know.
"When…. quand?"
The man looked at his watch. "Cinq heures."
Five hours ago. He flushed it out, sure that the man would yelp from the sting of the antiseptic. He didn't even flinch. Not too deep. Carter could suture it. From his bag he took out 3-0 nylon suture material and a needle driver. The man understood and leaned back to give Carter room to work, seemingly unaffected as he swatted tse-tse flie with his hand gun. But when the syringe and vial of Xylocaine came out he stood abruptly. There would be no needles. No medicine. Sutures, yes. But no local anesthesia. Creepy.
"He wants me to do this without anesthesia?" he asked Colleen as the man took his seat again on the log next to Carter.
"Sure. It's not like he's got a lot of reasons to trust you yet," she told him as though with she knew the men well.
"That's decent of him." Carter's sarcasm was a cover-up for just how uneasy he was at sewing this well armed rebel's leg up sans numbing medicine and he truly felt less compassion than he would had he been putting a button on a coat.
Without warning, the man swung his leg up and over the doctor's lap giving him an adequate, if not intimidating, position to do his work in. Carter had to admit it was more comfortable on his shoulder, but he also felt like he was way too close to the man - and his knife - which Carter was not about to ask him to remove. Or the pistol in his hand. Or the AK-47 slung over his shoulder. Or the hand grenades strapped to his chest. So on that note, Carter chose to carry on and sew the man's leg up like a turkey cavity on Thanksgiving day.
Fast, with continuous sutures. That's how Carter proceeded. He looked at the man's face as the needle pierced the skin for the first time. No reaction. He didn't know if this was good or bad. He looked with a raised eyebrow at Colleen and continued on finishing the job in record time.
"What's your name?" Carter asked almost out of habit as he worked on his patient. "Quel est ton nom?"
The guy still didn't answer, didn't even look at Carter. Maybe his French was just as rusty as Carter's.
As stoic as the man was while getting sutured, this time when Carter flushed the closed wound with antiseptic he howled and jumped up from the log. Before he had time to react, several pick-up trucks appeared and whisked Colleen and Carter away all while treating them like houseguests.
The ride took a couple hours and judging from the terrain they bumped and shook over, Carter was glad that they hitched a ride, although his ass was sprouting bruises from the metal truck bed. What a different trip than the last time he hung out with Mai-Mai rebels in the back of a truck. No blindfolds, no getting his head repeatedly slammed into the surface and no fumes forced up his nose. Instead, the weapons were pointed down and he was smiled at, even patted on the back as evidently funny stories were told. He smiled and nodded his head to play along.
They had been gone from the PCRC now for seven hours and, doing the math in his head, Carter knew that this was definitely not going to be just a quick trip. Colleen rarely even acknowledged him and instead took pictures of the men and the small groups of people they passed by. She was all work. Finally the trucks pulled into a clearing off the main road where a group of about ten families were waiting, mostly women and children. He had enough vaccine for them, but worried that if anything else came up, his supplies were limited.
First out of the truck was 'leg-wound-guy', and with smiles on his face he held his arms wide to a woman and several children, obviously his. The rest of the rebel soldiers spilled out of the trucks finding their loved ones all while Colleen snapped pictures and worked the crowd like a press whore at a political gathering. Left on his own, Carter found a stump on the edge of the clearing and set up shop. Anybody in front of him would get a vaccination. He had enough MMR and polio for everybody and just enough chicken pox for the children. The mothers loved him, the children hated him, though they didn't put up half as much fuss as kids back home in the ER getting a simple throat culture. He quickly lost track of time as he vaccinated, fixed up minor scratches and scrapes, gave out drops for conjunctivitis, and even set a broken finger with a tongue depressor and tape. The first few children were leery of the colorful Band-Aids Carter brought from home, but soon they all wanted them and the Barbies, Spidermans, Barneys, and neon colors were all gone.
He was packing up the used syringes and empty vials when Carter looked around and finally realized that there were no buildings, no campfire pit even. In fact there was no evidence of permanent living at all.
"I thought you said this was a village," he asked Colleen walking behind her as she scoped out a possible photo through her lens.
"What I said was people in a village needed your attention."
"No, what you said was you needed me to go to a village with you because the people were afraid of leaving. I gotta tell you, they don't look too afraid right now, and this ain't no village." Carter pushed himself into Colleen's space as she packed up her gear. "Did you get what you came here for? Huh?" She put the rest of her equipment in her bag as well as a notebook, but ignored Carter like a fly on the ceiling. "Because I'm feeling kind of used here."
"Look, before you smack me up side the head with your prep school white-boy better-than-you attitude, you need to take a good look at these people and realize that getting basic preventive medicine is not as easy as it is for your Conservative money hording country club elitist friends."
"That's low," Carter mocked her with an ill smile as he moved uncomfortably close to her ear, "even for you."
"Would you have come if I'd given you a travel itinerary? Would Luka?"
"That just tells you how much you really know about me," he slung his back pack over his good shoulder, then for good measure threw in, "or Luka."
The crowd had dispersed and only leg-wound-guy and a couple others were left behind to guide Carter and Colleen back to the border crossing. Carter walked to the closest pick-up truck and hoisted himself onto the back just in time for one of the soldiers to scream at him and pull him by his one good arm off the truck bed bringing him to the hard packed dirt road with a thud. Instinctively, Carter threw his arms in the air in front of him, even his left one stuck in the sling, but they weren't lashing out at him. Rather, they were keeping him from something, or someone, in the bed of the truck.
"No, no you go," the rebel waved him away from a man covered nearly all the way to the top of his head with a tarp. Curiosity got the better of Carter as he looked the rebel in the eye and reminded him that he was a doctor.
"Je suis d'un médecin." As he climbed back into the truck and pulled the tarp off of the man, he recognized the uniform of the government military… and the ropes tying his hands together.
"Colleen," Carter tried to speak to her nonchalantly as he looked over the sick man, "if you can interpret French or Lingala, now is the time." He spoke very cautiously almost under his breath. "This is a government soldier, obviously a prisoner… or something. He looks sick. I need to know how long he's been like this."
Colleen conversed with the rebel and returned to Carter. "He's been in their hands for a couple weeks. He started getting sick four days ago. What's wrong with him?"
Carter pushed her arm away as she tried to pull back the tarp to get a better look at the man. "NO. Don't get near him, don't touch him." Carter was dead serious. "Do you understand?"
Pretty soon 'leg-wound-guy' was at their side wondering about the commotion. When he saw it involved their prisoner, his face became hard and he too attempted to get the two Americans away from their secret.
"Go… GO. No more doctor, no more photo," he forcefully ordered, but Carter sat down in the truck and refused to move, instead opening his pack and donning a surgical mask and exam gloves - doubled.
"Colleen, we need to get this man and anyone who cared for him to a hospital."
"Go now," the leader continued this time poking his gun at Carter.
"NO. Look I know you don't care if he dies, but if he has what I think he does, you are all at risk and need to take medication I don't have." Colleen tried to keep up translating into French what Carter was saying, but lost track as Carter and the leader spoke on top of each other with increasing anger and urgency. "He has to go to the hospital. He has to… Il a de la fièvre. Il faut vous transporter à l'hôpital." He figured it wasn't quite grammatically correct, but it's what he knew and he was trying to make a point.
The leader continued to rant about the two Americans seeing what they shouldn't have, making even Colleen jittery as guns were waved around haphazardly and voices raised.
"I think it's Hemorrhagic fever," he told Colleen, but she didn't seem to hear him over the voices of the ranting rebels. "Ebola."
Suddenly the voices quieted as the seriousness of the man's condition sunk in. Ebola - a universally feared disease. No translation required. As Carter surveyed the eyes of the men standing around he knew that control of the situation had suddenly fallen on him.
Colleen cleared her throat before being the first to ask questions. "Can he be saved?"
Carter shook his head. "He's already bleeding from almost every cavity. His organs are essentially melting away inside of him."
"Then can't we just leave him and get the families to a hospital?"
"No. I have to make sure that this is definitely what we're looking at. If it's something else, they might give them the wrong medicine. I can't do that without him… or his body. And if there is a chance he'll live, I'm not leaving him here to suffer."
'Leg-wound-guy' was still marinating the 'ebola' jinx word and, only understanding bits of Carter and Colleen's conversation, took out his pistol and aimed it at the half-lucid man's head.
"NO." Carter pushed the gun away as it discharged into the woods. "Jesus!" Carter jumped and angrily grabbed the gun from the man's hand ignoring the fact that he was still armed enough to take out a small town. The rebel leader was just as surprised as the doctor was and stepped back, giving him some room before raising his voice again and pulling his AK-47 around to his front.
"Tell him," he ordered Colleen over the top of the leader's thunderous voice, "tell him that if he wants to live, and if he wants these other people to live, we have to get them to a hospital… with this man. Tell him."
"Calm down," she briskly told Carter under her breath as she put herself between the two angry men and gently relieved Carter of the gun.
Carter shot Colleen a snotty look.
"I'll tell him, I'll try to convince him. But you have to let me do it my way. Understand?"
Colleen gently put her hand on the rebel leader's arm and began talking to him, mostly in French but with the occasional Lingala word thrown in.
"Ask him who had contact with this man. Who may have been in contact with his bodily fluids - his saliva, blood, urine, feces, vomit," Carter threw out.
"He says just his wife and his oldest son here. There were others who guarded him, but they're not here."
"Well, there's nothing we can do about the others, but he and his family will have to come with us. How many kids?"
"Seven."
Carter looked up and did a quick count. One woman, two teenage boys and five younger children, all looking towards their father for direction. Finally the man talked to his people. Two men stayed on and drove the two pick-up trucks down the road. One with the family, the other with the rebel leader, Carter, Colleen and the patient.
It was a sparsely moonlit night as the small caravan made it's way out of the jungle haven, sometimes driving at an excruciatingly slow speed to get around the roots and huge holes in the dirt roads. Carter was alone in the truck bed wondering what the hell he had just gotten into. He could have kept his mouth shut altogether and have been back at camp by now. But that ignorance could have just as easily caused them to take back whatever disease this is to the PCRC. They were just as exposed as the rebel family was. He was hungry and thirsty and exhausted. As he dropped his head in sleep the trucks stopped.
"Carter, we have to get out."
He looked around but saw no hospital. Only the road in front of him and the same jungle around. "Where are we?"
"I don't know, but from what I can gather," she swiveled her head from side to side quickly taking in her surroundings, "this is as far as the trucks can go. I think we're encroaching on unsafe territory."
"Unsafe for who?"
"Considering our company and what we're doing, I'd say we're as good as them right now."
After the trucks emptied out and drove away, the large family and two Americans took off on foot down the road to complete their journey with the sons and leg-wound-guy taking turns carrying the litter. Suddenly from around the bend, a caravan of government soldiers appeared, making the rebel leader particularly anxious. He stopped dead in his tracks and backed into the foliage at the side of the road where his family quickly joined him, the sick soldier in tow.
"What?" Carter asked Colleen, "What's wrong?"
Colleen had a quick conversation with them, then turned back to Carter. "In case you haven't noticed, those troops headed our way are the enemy - at least theirs," she said nodding her head towards the family. "And we're hauling one of their own, sick and dying, with a heavily armed rebel gorilla bringing up the rear. Your ID only gives you clearance for Uganda and when they get to us they may decide to shoot on the offensive. It's not pretty."
Carter exhaled nervously as he searched his head for ideas, none of which there was any time to implement. "Oh shit, we're toast."
Luka didn't know who to be more angry with: Carter for going back into the Congo, Colleen for misleading him, or both for keeping it all a secret. With almost twelve in-patients at the clinic, two in labor, he and Maggie alternated caring for them and staring at the gate from the Midway porch as if the white Land Rover would suddenly appear in the gray haze of pre-dawn, but they hadn't seen any activity there since Bob's tail lights faded around the corner.
"What are we going to do about Norman?" Maggie asked. The muted haze of dawn was just casting its glow on the camp. It was a nice time to be awake as the insects and creatures of the night tucked themselves in and the daytime shift had not yet crawled out of their nests. It was quiet. Too quiet.
"Keep him in the dark, for now." Luka rubbed his eyes trying to take the sting of sleep depravation away. "If he asks, tell him Carter is away for a couple days setting up the satellite clinic for the Alliance."
"Dr. Maggie," a nurse called from around the corner, "she's crowning. It's time."
Maggie drew in a deep breath before getting to her feet hoping to gain some temporary strength. Before she went in she gently laid her hand on Luka's shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze and was somewhat surprised when he reached up and patted her hand in return. "Get some sleep, Luka. I've got this."
Luka got to his feet and nearly tripped on the stairs as his worn-out body lagged behind his brain. Hoping to avoid going through the busy clinic area of the hanger, he hung a right and aimed himself towards the back door near the doctors' bedrooms. But before he got away from the Midway, he caught sight of Toomay through the screened in kitchen door. Maybe she had a bit a food.
"Toomay?" he called as he opened the squeaky wood framed door. "Mrs. Bisango, I'm looking for a morsel of food. What do you have for a poor hungry soul like me?"
The woman sat motionless on a bar stool in front of her work table. Instead of starting the morning coffee or scraping and cleaning the cassava sitting in front of her, she stared blankly at a section of newspaper, her head tilted to the side.
"Toomay," Luka gently called again, sensing that something was bother her, "what's wrong?"
Finally realizing that she was no longer alone, Toomay took in a slow deep breath and let it out as she raised her head, smoothing the newspaper out in front of her. "The children wore hats for the party the other night, made from newspaper." She nervously laughed as she played with the corners of the paper. "They are always leaving a mess. I tell them to pick up their things, but they don't listen."
Luka remained silent, letting her have as much time as she needed to talk.
"I cleaned up the dining hall this morning and found their hats. They worked so hard on them." Her voice cracked as tears she had fought back finally rolled down her cheek. "I opened them up - thought maybe the workers would like to read the news." Turning the newspaper over, Luka finally saw what had affected Toomay so much: the headline and large picture of Jules. "My children don't know him, yet he haunts them still."
"I'm sorry, Toomay." Luka reached across the table and picked up her hand. "I saw this last week and threw it away. I didn't know someone took it out of the garbage."
She smiled, hoping to comfort his guilt. "That man had my husband murdered. He tortured you and John. And my people are hailing him as their next exalted leader? My people?" Her anger brought her hands to her face where she hurriedly wiped her tears away. "That man is evil."
"Yes, he is," Luka agreed, not quite sure how to console her other than to just listen.
Toomay got to her feet and threw the paper into the wood stove. "I will put that animal where he belongs, but burning in hell is too good for him." She resumed her morning duties trying hard to put on a valiant face, but when Luka stood and wrapped his arms around her, she broke down and wept. It melted his heart to be the one to comfort her, instead of Joseph, but he knew what it was like to have a spouse taken so violently. And he knew the man who did it. He knew him all too well.
"I will see you all at breakfast," she mustered as she gathered herself together, "even your pretty red-head."
"Colleen is on assignment and John is working at the satellite clinic." He didn't have the heart to tell her where they actually were. "Maggie's delivering babies and I'm going to get some sleep." Luka's appetite was suddenly gone. "So there's more food to go around." Toomay turned around and started in on the coffee. "You going to be…?" He caught himself. She'd never be okay. But she'd manage. "Promise me you'll come get me if you need someone," he whispered in her ear as the kids bounded into the kitchen.
Although he could fall asleep within seconds, peaceful sleep had been eluding Luka for a few weeks now and his mood was indicative of it. On the other had, as he became grumpier and Carter more distant, Luka was actually coming to appreciate Maggie. It boggled his mind.
Turning over on his stomach, he could smell Colleen. She lingered in his bed, even when she was away. As small as it was, Luka's bed easily accommodated the two as they snuggled together. He missed it - even that morning. It was so comforting… just so comforting…
Soon he was walking down the cobblestone streets of Rovinj overlooking the Adriatic Sea. He twirled around and took in the beauty, stopping to gaze all the way to the top of the cathedral of St. Euphemia's church. Luka stepped back as a large group of Italian tourists from Trieste came down the narrow curved street laughing and talking loudly as they made their way to the beaches. Under his feet, a trickle of used laundry water disposed from one of the cozy apartments at the top of the hill skirted around his shoes as it made its way over the bumpy cobblestones. No sooner than he had stepped out of the way of the tourists, he had to hop back up onto the curb as a little car racing down the hill tooted at him.
A wind blew in off the water pushing a salt water mist across his face - so refreshing. Even the occasional smell of the fish as they were brought in by the big fishing boats didn't bother him. The stickiness of the salt water, smell of the oleanders, cypresses and myrtles, sounds of tourists and local children, the feel of the sand dappled cobblestones under the soles of his sandals - all placing him where he was the happiest in his life.
As he passed the bakery and turned the corner, a voice called out to him from the alley. The skies grew dark as a storm approached from the sea, the wind whirling around the constricted streets. The voice called to him again. It was smooth and deep. It was smooth…
"Dr. Kovac."
He set his eyes on the wall that separated the road from the beach and tried to get to it, but his body carried him backwards to the alley.
"Dr. Kovac."
Looking down the alley he saw a dark figure lurking in the shadows walking towards him.
"Dr. Kovac, we had an understanding."
The crackle of gunfire jolted him awake as he found himself wrapped in sweat soaked sheets, his heart rate bordering on tachycardic. His stomach was growling, he was in dire need of a shower, his face held a few days worth of stubble and when he raked his hand over it to wake himself up completely he experienced a déjà vu moment.
"Dr. Luka," Othiamba called out with urgency bounding into his room, "Dr. Luka, we need you in the perimeter. Someone's been shot."
Slipping into his untied sneakers, Luka ran from the hanger and towards the jungle stopping abruptly as he got to the edge of the foliage. He hadn't been in the jungle in a few months and, considering where his mind had just been, he wasn't keen on going in anytime soon.
Othiamba looked back at his missing doctor and waved him on. "Hurry, Dr. Luka. They need you."
Luka cleared his throat. "I can't." Luckily nobody heard him as he immediately felt self conscious and drove forward trusting Othiamba implicitly. Having spent the last couple months walking the grassy fields and hard tarmac of the abandoned airfield, the terrain under his feet took some getting used to. Further in, branches and huge frons slapped him in the arms and face as he tried to keep up with Othiamba.
Finally, they came upon three Ugandan soldiers who routinely guarded the camp. Pushing through them, Luka had to grab onto one of them to steady himself when he saw who lay bleeding on the ground in front of him.