CONTINENTAL DRIFT
An Epic Overseas Carby
Exploration
(Post-"Now What?")
CHAPTER FOUR: A ROCK TO THE HEAD
Rating: PG-13 (or the new equivalent)
Summary: Abby gets acquainted with Kisangani and bonds with an orphaned newborn she delivered, while an entourage that includes Carter searches for Luka outside the remote village of Matenda. Sometimes new friends help see the world clearly—sometimes not.
Disclaimer: Of course, I have no rights to the ER characters, but I claim copyright to the story and dialogue. Thanks.
Author's Note: This is not an easy story—but it is not all about angst. It's about learning. And, most definitely, it's about love. Settle in as these middle chapters will have adventure and set the stage for the drama to come.
Thank you again for your interest. I hope you can feel my gratitude.
CARTER SAT IN the front passenger seat of the tan Land Rover on the bumpy road to Matenda. It was evening, and they had been in motion for hours. Driving was Debbie, a Red Cross worker well known in these parts. She was strong, blond, and pretty—"outdoorsy," one might say. She didn't know what to make of Carter, but she watched him from the corner of her eye as they rolled toward Matenda. Carter sat sideways with his back to the door. His left knee rested on the bench seat, and his left arm embraced the headrest. He was keeping his eye on the back seat where Gillian sat. She was weepy and depressed at the thought of claiming Luka's body. Carter, in turn, didn't know what to make of Gillian, though he noticed she and Luka had gotten close during his recent visit to Kisangani. They were close enough that at the end of each night, Luka would rub out his cigarette and follow Gillian into her room—but not close enough that he wouldn't offer Carter a turn.
"Thanks for the ride," Carter said to Debbie. Not one to be complimented, she explained she needed to deliver supplies to the Matenda clinic anyway.
"So who is the dead guy?" she asked.
Gillian began to sniffle, but Debbie was oblivious.
"A friend," Carter said, looking at Gillian. Debbie got the message and glanced at Gillian through the rear-view mirror. "Sorry."
She spoke to Carter in slightly lower tones: "Did he have a death wish?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean these parts have been overrun by soldiers for the past week. I thought everybody split from here the other day."
"I know. I was here."
"So why'd your friend stay?"
"He's a doctor."
"You are too, aren't you?"
"I am."
"But you don't have a death wish like he does?"
"Who knows?" Carter replied. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
ABBY SAT IN a wheelchair with a broken footrest as she fed the tiny baby she delivered late that afternoon. The wheelchair was part of the furnishings she assembled for the makeshift nursery created in what was the hospital's storage room. Fortunately, it was bright, and the cinder block walls were painted a happy shade of yellow. In the center was a small, high bed on wheels. Abby used it as a crib for the newborn by folding a standard bed sheet many times to fit the tiny mattress, which was surrounded by low metal bars that would prevent the infant from falling out.
In a supply closet, Abby found a few disposable diapers, several old-fashioned cloth diapers and safety pins, as well as a few tiny undershirts that were still too big for the newborn but would have to do. She found a lightweight blanket and came across a couple of plastic nursing bottles. Abby spent the early evening washing and sterilizing these by hand in hot water, and then finally sat down to feed the baby some more of the powdered infant formula that Angelique provided. Abby prepared it carefully using her own ration of bottled water from the cafeteria and prayed the formula would agree with the little one's tiny tummy.
The relative peace of the hospital that evening was shattered by the wails of a woman out in the main ward. Abby stood to go help just as Damon Albrecht stepped in.
"What's going on out there?" Abby asked.
"They brought in another rape victim."
"Rape?"
"It's rampant around here. Husbands go off to fight, others feel they can . . . take their place," he explained, trying to pick delicate words.
Abby looked toward the direction of the cries. "I don't understand," she said softly, shaking her head and refusing to let the information enter. She held the baby closer.
"Many of the women feel powerless to do anything. That poor woman must have fought back. Sounds like she's hurt."
"Are you going to treat her?"
"I try to let female staff treat rape victims. I just think it may be more . . . comfortable . . . for them. Angelique is checking her out. If the woman's okay, she'll send her home."
"Until the next time some guy decides to—"
"Unfortunately," he said a little too casually for Abby.
"You sound like you accept it—like it's a fact of life." She snapped at him and inadvertently pulled the bottle from the baby's mouth.
"No, Abigail. It's a fact of war."
The infant started to squeal. Her hands formed little fists, and she shook them. She looked as angry as Abby felt. But Abby was ashamed that she took it out on Albrecht.
"I'm sorry, Damon. I didn't mean to—"
"Don't worry. I understand," he said and touched her arm.
"How's your patient?" Abby asked, changing the subject and placing the nipple of the bottle back in the baby's mouth.
"What?"
"You said earlier you were going to the refugee camps to see a patient. How did it go?"
"Oh. Not well—10-year-old with polio. How are you doing?"
"I think the other nurses think I'm incompetent. I can't seem to find anything. I'm better off in here with her," Abby said, rocking the baby who suddenly seemed more interested in sleeping than in eating.
"What about a name for this little girl?" Albrecht asked. He leaned over and placed his hand on the baby's forehead. With his thumb, he quickly lifted each of her tiny lids to check her eyes.
"Oh, I couldn't."
"Why not? She doesn't seem to have any family."
"I don't know—"
"Go ahead."
"Okay, I'll think about it," Abby said, smiling down at the little girl.
The noise out in the main ward subsided. Abby looked out of the storage room and could see Angelique sending the rape victim on her way. The woman's sobs turned to sniffles and then grew fainter the farther she walked from the hospital.
"Seems like Angelique has everything under control," Albrecht said, trying to get Abby's attention again. "I could use some help in the main ward. Why don't you give me a hand?"
Abby removed the bottle from the mouth of the baby, who had fallen asleep anyway. Abby held the girl on her shoulder and rubbed her back to try and raise a bubble before returning her to the makeshift crib. Then she set the baby down—reluctantly. She already felt empty without the tiny girl's warm body in her arms.
DEBBIE AND CARTER spotted the site at the same time—in the evening light, the one-room A-frame clinic looked intact from the road, but as they pulled closer, they could see that the rear of the structure was fully collapsed. Two shirtless men were pulling wooden planks away from the damaged part of the building. As the Land Rover pulled up to the wooden steps leading to the front of the clinic, they were met by a man.
"Are you from the hospital in Kisangani?" the man asked in beautiful, melodic English embellished with French and Swahili.
"Yes—what happened here?" Carter responded.
"Where is everybody?" Gillian insisted on knowing right away.
"Who are you?" Debbie chimed in.
"I am Bendu Nyobi. My men and I were hired by the Alliance du Medicin to check out the aftermath of the firefight on the clinic here."
"Firefight?" Carter asked, his anxiety level rising.
"It's all over now, but rival factions plowed through here a few days ago. They had rockets and other heavy weaponry. They did a lot of damage to the back of the building. Most of the patients were removed from here days ago. But we were told a doctor stayed behind with three criticals. The patients are out back—they didn't make it. I'm sorry."
Gillian started to weep. "Where is the doctor?"
"We found him under the rubble. It took my men a day and a half to get him out. He's on a stretcher just inside."
Gillian asked through her tears: "Is he alive?"
Carter didn't wait for the answer and ran for the door to check for himself.
Inside the room on a narrow cot lay Luka, eyes closed, face bruised, hands and neck cut.
Debbie followed with Carter's bag. He grabbed it from her and pulled out his stethoscope and a small flashlight.
"Luka," he said. "Luka can you hear me? Luka!"
There was no response.
"Resps are a little weak," Carter said with the scope in his ears. "Heart rate's good."
Gillian stood at the door, and Carter nodded to her that he was alive. And she slid down the wall in relief.
"Luka, wake up!" Carter shouted at him.
This time, Luka's lids fluttered at the sound of his name.
"I thought you left," Luka said in a whisper.
"Apparently nothing I say means anything. I asked you not get yourself killed, remember? Hours later, they are ready to bury you."
Luka smiled and slipped out of consciousness again. Carter put his hand on his forehead: "Good to see you, my friend."
Bendu Nyobi entered. "How's he doing?"
"Looks like he's had a rough time, but I think he's going to be okay."
"That's good. When we dug him out, I couldn't even tell if he was breathing."
"I'm John Carter. I want to thank you," Carter said. He stood and held out his hand.
"For what?"
"For saving my friend—this is Luka Kovac. He and I are doctors in the United States."
"It was one of my men that saved him really. The Alliance hired the three of us. I have a small plane tied out in the clearing about half a kilometer from here. Dr. Kovac was lucky. We pulled out the third body from under the debris just before you arrived."
"Did you say you have a plane?"
"Yes—single engine, two-seater with a cargo hold."
"Do you think you could fly Dr. Kovac back to the hospital in Kisangani?"
"Already taken care of. I radioed the hospital before you got here that I'd be there tomorrow with the doctor."
"Mind if I tag along?" Carter asked.
"The pleasure will be mine."
"Are you and your men still working on the debris pile now?"
"Around the clock. I need to be finished before I leave here with Dr. Kovac tomorrow."
"Come on, I'll give you a hand," Carter volunteered.
"It's a tough job, Dr. Carter. We're pulling boards one by one and it is hot—even though the sun is down."
Carter unbuttoned his shirt, removed it, and threw it on a cot next to Luka where he would later spend the night. Bendu gave Carter gloves and thanked him.
"It's my pleasure, Mr. Nyobi. I owe you."
"It's Bendu, please."
"WHAT DO YOU think?" Albrecht asked as he and Abby leaned over the bed of a young man 18 or 19 years old.
"What do I think?" Abby looked surprised.
"Yes, what's your diagnosis?"
"Well the diagnosis is really for a doctor—"
"I've seen you with these patients. You move like a doctor. Go ahead. Give it a try."
Abby sighed deeply but took a stab as long as he was interested in her opinion.
"Well, judging from the painless diarrhea, muscle cramps, cold skin, sunken eyes on top of the vocal changes, I'd say . . . cholera? But is that even possible?"
"Not only possible—likely. Very good, Abigail."
Abby smiled at her small victory.
"Beautiful and smart. I knew it."
The compliment embarrassed Abby a bit, and she withdrew.
"Well, if you don't need me anymore, I'll peek in on the baby."
CARTER WALKED AROUND to the front of the clinic after the last board was removed from the debris pile around back. Sweaty and exhausted, he leaned against the wooden fence that ran alongside the clinic and rested his chin on the back of his hands.
He didn't hear Debbie come up behind him, but he felt her use the towel in her hands to wipe the perspiration from his back. Then she flung the towel over the fence and stood next to him.
"Bendu's men will keep me and Gillian company on the way back. You can fly with Kovac if you want."
"Okay."
Carter was far off. The toweling helped but he needed something different—like an ice pack on the back of his neck. He forced away the memory of Abby breaking open a pack that day in the hospital. She had wrapped it around his neck and held it there. He liked to imagine it was an excuse to encircle him with her arms. He tried to erase the memory of her mouth right there in front of him—an easy target. The day the city feared smallpox had been released was the first time he ever kissed her. And that was the moment he chose: She was looking to him for reassurance; he was looking at her lips. She wondered if they would be okay; he wondered what her mouth felt like. He couldn't help himself, and he finally kissed her. And when he pulled away, she seemed a little reluctant to release him—or maybe he'd imagined that, too.
"How come you came back for him?" Debbie's voice interrupted.
"Huh?"
"Kovac—Must be like a brother to come all the way back here for him."
"Actually, for a long time I wanted him out of the picture."
"Why?"
"Luka and I were sort of . . . rivals," Carter said. He laughed and shook his head remembering a time that seemed so long ago.
"Who won?"
"Well, I got the girl, if that's what you're asking."
"So you won."
He gazed through the trees beyond the tall, swaying grass out onto the dark horizon.
"It's all the way you look at it, I suppose."
"Ouch," Debbie said under her breath.
Carter swept his eyes along the purple night sky. He found himself squinting to stretch his vision beyond the curve of the globe to the edge of the continent and across the sea to where Abby probably lay sleeping in a nest of steel and concrete.
"It's so beautiful here," he said, his eyes on the sky, his mind in Chicago.
He pictured Abby asleep on her pillow—the way he saw her several mornings ago when she awoke filled with anger. Now that he was foolish enough to leave her in a Paris hotel room with a note and a check, he was sure she emptied her mind of him once and for all.
"Maybe you ought to think about staying," Debbie suggested and moved closer to him.
"Maybe I should," he said to the air.
"We had a really long drive today." She put her hands on his shoulders and began kneading.
"Yeah, and I'm tired—it's been a rough few days," Carter said turning toward her, which forced her to release her grip on him.
"Oh . . . " said Debbie. "Well . . . okay . . . good-night."
"Good-night. Thanks for the lift."
Debbie watched as he walked up the steps to the clinic.
ABBY CHANGED THE baby's diaper once more, did her rounds in the main ward, and then went outside in the muggy evening air. She folded her arms across her chest, and rested one hip against the side of the building and wondered how she ended up in this place.
Albrecht came up behind her holding an open pack of cigarettes in one hand and two open bottles of beer in the other.
Abby slid one cigarette from the pack and reached for one of the bottles by the neck.
"It's sad here," Abby said into the breeze.
Albrecht assumed she was making conversation, but only she and her conscience heard the faint sound of an excuse for a smoke and a drink.
"You're helping to make it better."
"One person can't do anything."
"That's the only way to do it. One person, then another and another . . ."
"You're one of those optimists, aren't you. I've heard about people like you," Abby teased.
"You don't look for the silver lining in the cloud?"
Abby exhaled loudly and thought a minute with pursed lips. Then she looked at him and said, "I wouldn't know what to do with the silver lining if I found it." Truer words were never spoken.
"Nah, that's not me," Albrecht explained. "If I ever feel helpless like that, I do something to remind myself that I am powerful and in control. You ought to give it a try."
"I'll do that," Abby smiled.
"Do you have family?" Albrecht asked.
"Mother and a brother."
"Miss them?"
"They don't know I'm here."
"No husband? Boyfriend? —If you don't mind my asking." He smiled boyishly and shook his blond hair from his green eyes.
Abby suspected he got away with a lot of things that way. But she didn't answer.
"Kovac? The doctor friend that's missing?"
"No."
"That 'Carter' guy?"
Once again she didn't answer, and he knew he struck a chord.
"He'll be worried to know you are here, I'm sure."
"I don't know about that."
She saw his face in her mind. She looked at the cigarette between her fingers—poised for lighting but as yet unlit. And she swirled the beer around in the bottle—open but as yet untouched.
Abby handed them both back to Albrecht. "Thanks anyway. Good night."
THE MORNING IN Matenda was bright and crystal clear, oddly free of the curtain of haze that usually hung in the air. When Carter opened his eyes he was surprised to be met by the sun—he expected to wake up earlier. As his head cleared he realized what kept him in bed longer then he expected was a vivid dream.
"You said her name."
"Huh?" Carter looked over at Luka, who appeared conscious, though his eyes were closed and his voice was weak.
"Abby."
"What?" Carter was confused.
"You said Abby's name in your sleep."
Carter stood and grabbed his stethoscope and listened to Luka's chest.
"I did?"
"Yes. Is she okay?"
"Well, she thinks you're dead, so she can't be that okay. But you can take comfort in the fact that she probably wishes it were me."
"Sounds bad."
But Carter didn't respond. He busily assessed Luka's condition, which was weak but more stable than the night before.
"We're getting you out here today, my friend," Carter said.
But Luka once again drifted into sleep.
Carter walked outside to spend a few moments alone in the warm sunshine over by the fence. Luka confirmed for him that even his sleep was occupied with thoughts of Abby, even though she seemed to push him out of her head so easily.
GAMMA DIED, AND the feeling of loss was
compounded by Abby who, instead of helping him through the ordeal,
ran to her brother's side when he called from a truck stop in Des
Moines. She expected to be back that night. He waited for her—until
he received a message from a motel that they'd missed their flight
back to Chicago. Her voice was breezy and casual as if her presence
could wait another day. As if it wouldn't matter to him. As if he
didn't need her to be there with him. As if . . .
She called when she returned to Chicago the next day—several times in fact. But Carter was busy making arrangements—though he could probably have stopped for a moment and spoken to her. Finally, Margaret, the housekeeper, brought the phone to him, and there was nothing he could do but talk to her.
"Dr. Carter, please. Miss Lockhart has called four times. I don't know what to say to her anymore."
He took the phone and rubbed the shoulder of the woman, who herself was dealing with the loss of someone who clearly was more than an employer to her. Carter took the call more to ease Margaret's stress than to hear Abby's voice.
They spoke for a few minutes, and Carter was polite but distant. The harder Abby tried to make up for her "misdeed," the harder Carter pulled away.
"Can I help with the arrangements?" she offered.
"No, it's tomorrow at 10."
"What about picking out a casket . . . clothes?"
"Dad and I went yesterday, and the staff at the house will dress her."
"How about flowers…?"
"Nah, I did all that. Lilies."
"How about you?"
"I'm okay."
"Well, do you need some company?"
"Nah, I'm staying at the house with my father."
"What about your mom?"
"Couldn't reach her."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well, that's typical of her—she's never there when she's needed."
"Maybe you . . . you and your dad . . . would like to get some fresh air. Want to grab a bite?"
"There are people coming to the house all day—people from the Foundation and the Board, everybody trying to pay their respects. I can't really leave."
He could feel that he was hurting her, punishing her . . .
"Do you still want me to come tomorrow?" she asked tentatively.
. . . and he tried to fight it.
"Yes, of course I do. I'll send a car for you—say, 9:30."
"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Bye."
"Bye. Call me if you need—"But he had already hung up.
It had worked. He had succeeded in making her feel bad, making her regret that she didn't ignore Eric to stay with him.
So why didn't he feel better?
Because all he succeeded in doing was pushing away the one person in the world he needed most. The part of him that loved her so deeply battled with his spiteful spirit and made sure his conscience hurt. Nevertheless, his spite stood strong, while his heart missed her kiss and the touch of her hand on his arm.
"WHAT IS IT—a woman?" Bendu Nyobi's lilting accent jarred Carter back to the present. Bendu was younger-looking than his 50 years, owing to his large strong frame and imposing muscular physique that put younger men like Carter to shame. His dark-brown skin was pulled taught over every muscle, and the hot Congolese sun reflected off every one. His melodic form of English almost sounded like singing rather than speaking. His voice was a deep baritone, which added to his strong presence, as did his smooth, hairless torso.
Carter turned his head toward Bendu, who spoke from inside the screen door of the clinic. He smirked at Bendu's uncanny intuition.
Bendu stepped out onto the porch of the clinic. He filled his lungs with the clear air, came down the steps of the clinic, and sat near the bottom.
"Ahhh. It is a woman," Bendu perceived and smiled broadly. "I've seen that look on the faces of many men." He let loose a hearty laugh that Carter found irresistible. He turned away from the fence and sat down on a tree stump across the way from Bendu.
"She is . . . was . . . my girlfriend."
"You're not sure?"
"Well, she broke up with me . . . I think. And then I left, so . . ."
"This 'maybe/maybe-not' girlfriend—do you love her?"
Carter looked down and couldn't answer.
"Does she love you?"
"No."
"So where is she now?"
"I left her in France. I'm sure she's back in America by now."
"You took her to France only to leave her there?"
"I didn't take her there—she followed me to Paris to stop me from coming here."
"Let me understand." Bendu rubbed his chin and furrowed his brow, feigning confusion. "This woman who does not love you dropped everything and left her home to fly across the ocean to you?"
Bendu's voice sang to Carter in so many ways.
"When I was 11 years old, I did something stupid," Bendu recounted in his beautiful accent. "My sister held a toy that my grandfather had given us. I was too impatient to wait my turn, and I grabbed the toy from my sister with such force that I cracked it into pieces so neither of us could play. My mother grabbed me by the hand and brought me to our drinking well and made me swallow a ladle of water in front of her. I said, 'Why Mama, why?' She said, 'Drink it, Bendu, I want to see where the water leaks out.' And I said, 'What do you mean, Mama?' And my mother came close to my face and said, 'Son, I am looking for the holes in your head.' "
"Dr. Carter," he continued. "I'd like to give you a glass of water right now." Bendu's laugh sent birds from their perch.
Carter smiled, and his face turned a little red. He admired Bendu's wisdom and had to admit that for first time in weeks the vision of Abby's face made him smile again. But how could Bendu know the depths of her disregard? At first he had no intention of sharing his pain with this stranger, but then—
"A few weeks ago, my grandmother died," Carter began. He picked up a small rock and pounded it on the side of a tree stump as he told his tale. "She was more like a mother to me than my own mother. I was the closest person to her, and I had to make all the arrangements. I needed Abby—that's her name. I needed here there—just this once. I needed her there for me the way I was always there for her. But she went to him instead. I mean, she just left—"
Carter choked. The pain was still fresh for him.
"Oh, so she made a choice and you lost? Who is this man she chose instead?"
"Her brother."
"Her brother? Well, then I see why you'd be threatened." Bendu laughed ferociously.
"You don't understand. He and her mother suffer from a mental illness that makes them behave—erratically. Her brother had disappeared. Of all days, he resurfaced that day. She went to get him and try to coax him into treatment."
"Big responsibility."
"Her family's been her responsibility her whole life, since she was a little girl."
Bendu could see Carter's face soften when he pictured Abby as a child.
"I don't think she ever got to be a little girl," Carter said softly, caressing the rock in his hand now instead of pounding it against the stump.
"Sounds like she learned pretty early how to protect herself from the sadness. She learned to take charge—do what needs to be done without asking questions."
"I suppose," Carter said.
"The lessons of childhood are the deepest," Bendu observed. "They are automatic—like reflexes."
"And I'll be back tonight—the flight's only an hour," she had said.
"Go get your brother. My grandmother will still be dead when you get back," he answered.
He could make it hurt again just by thinking about it.
"Still—she should have stayed," Carter mumbled.
"Is that right?" And with that, Bendu reached down with one hand and grabbed a large rock as big as his huge palm and lobbed it directly at Carter's head. "Catch!"
"Hey!" Carter shouted and then dove to the ground. The big stone sailed passed him, narrowly missing his skull. It struck the fence behind him and gauged out a chunk of wood.
"What are you doing? You could have killed me!" Carter yelled as he sat in the dirt. He was breathing heavily from the near miss and began brushing the sand from his pants.
"No, your instincts protected you. You learned early—big rock, big 'ouch.' "
Bendu walked to Carter and towered over him on the ground.
"When your instinct is to protect yourself, it is not a choice."
He reached a hand down to help him up.
"You did not lose the competition, my friend," Bendu laughed as he walked away back up the stairs to the clinic, leaving Carter to shake the sand from his pants. "There was no competition to lose—the instinct to protect yourself is not a choice."
Before Bendu's words could sink in, Gillian was in front of him.
"John, do you think this is a good idea—to let Mr. Nyobi fly Luka to Kisangani?"
"Yes, I'll look after him. You drive back with Debbie and meet us at the hospital."
Gillian looked at the ground and sniffled a bit.
"He's going to be okay, Gillian. Don't worry."
Carter followed Bendu back into the rickety building. They gathered their belongings and placed Luka on a primitive stretcher—nothing more than a sheet woven around two wooden poles. They carried him half a kilometer through the grass to the piece of land least covered by foliage and thus deemed "the airstrip." The single-engine plane engine sputtered, and soon they were airborne and on their way to the outskirts of Kisangani, where Carter's recent journey had begun.
BACK AT THE hospital, Abby's eyes opened at dawn. It was not the first time she had awoken since she went to bed the night before. The time difference, impulsiveness of the journey, and the unfamiliar bed took their toll—as did the heat. So she found herself out of bed many times during the night and seized the opportunity to hand-wash her few articles of clothing in the tiny bathroom sink. Several times during the night, she stared outside the door of her bungalow and raised the courage to run at full speed through the darkness over to the hospital to check on the baby. She wasn't confident that anybody would feed her, change her, or hold her when she needed it.
This morning when Abby arrived at the makeshift nursery, she found the baby awake and fidgeting badly in the arms of Damon Albrecht.
"Ahhh. I think she wants you," he said, and he handed Abby the infant.
Abby took her, and immediately the emptiness of the long night disappeared.
"So what have you decided to call her?"
"I can't—really, I can't."
"Please."
"I shouldn't . . ."
"Yes, you should."
"It's not right."
"Not right? What's not right is that a living soul shouldn't have a name because of the misfortune of being born an orphan."
Abby thought about his words. He made sense.
"Well, her mother's name was Nicolette . . ."
"Wasn't very lucky for her though, was it?"
"No, but it would be nice for a daughter to keep part of her mother with her. How about just . . . Colette?"
"Baby Colette, nice to meet you."
At first, Abby wasn't even sure she liked the name. But as she looked at the infant, she thought it suited her well—it was dainty and feminine yet not so cute as to be weak.
"Colette," Abby repeated, rocking her.
"I thought I would find you here—I have news."
"News?"
"About your friend, Luka Kovac. The team the Alliance dispatched found him yesterday—alive. We heard from one of the contractors via radio during the trauma yesterday. I'm sorry the message sat until this morning."
Abby was elated, and her eyes smiled as widely as her mouth. "How? What?"
"Dr. Kovac was working at the clinic in Matenda. There was a lot of fighting in the area, and the clinic was abandoned, but Kovac remained with a handful critical patients who couldn't be moved. Apparently, there was firefight that damaged the clinic. The Alliance hired a team to dig through the debris. They recovered three bodies—a woman and two children—and they found Dr. Kovac, who survived. The contractor radioed yesterday that he'll airlift Kovac here to the hospital today."
It was just like Luka to stay with the critical patients. Anger at him fought with her admiration, while relief spread through her body.
"I thought you might like to know," he said.
"Thank you."
"When you're through here, Abigail, I need temps and pressures on all the new ones in the ward."
"Sure—but . . . uhhh . . . Damon? Was there . . . anyone else . . . with Luka when he was found?" Abby asked tentatively.
"Not that I know of. The message just said the contractor found him and would fly him in."
She gave him a quick tight-lipped smile, and he left. She was alone again with the baby. She liked it that way—even though the infant's soft smell and even softer skin made her think of Carter whether she wanted to or not. It was a strange uncontrollable feeling—strongest when the baby was hungry, and Abby could feel the tickles of her tiny mouth and little soft tongue against her neck or shoulder or chest. Abby's anger at Carter waned a little every hour simply because it was replaced by worry. He was still out there out looking for Luka. She was sure he wouldn't stop until he found him. He could be relentless that way.
THE MILITARY POLICE snatched Eric from under
her eyes, and she was helpless to do anything but watch. What was
worse—Eric blamed her. Worse than that—he was right. But Abby
could see his illness building. She knew he was sick, just like
Maggie. And she needed to find where they took him. She got a flight
to his Air Force base near Omaha, Nebraska, and left directly from
work. She didn't know how to negotiate a military installation, but
as it turned out, she would have help. Carter, who had a shift he
couldn't switch, asked Michael Gallant to accompany Abby. Gallant
was an officer in the Army as well as a med student and could help
her by "speaking the lingo" to the other military folk.
As they walked to the taxi, Abby asked Carter to pack a bag with a few things for her before he met her in Nebraska the next morning. She needed a few T-shirts and also some underwear. She was careful to caution him to "pull from the top" where she kept her "respectable" undergarments. Of course, the discussion evoked thoughts of the silky things she kept on the bottom, which he forced out of his mind.
A sweet hug, and she was off. He'd have to memorize what she felt like for a night. He slapped the roof of the taxi, signaling they were ready to move, and he watched as the cab pulled away—just in time for the first snowflakes of the season to fall. And they fell and fell and fell until the next morning. The city awoke under a blanket of white. The trains and planes stayed tucked in an extra day, and the pilots rolled over and went back to sleep.
When she arrived in Nebraska, she found Eric—and Maggie—and sent Gallant on his way. She stayed behind to struggle with Eric, suddenly on the inside of bipolar disorder, and Maggie, suddenly not.
How lucky could she be? She sat on the steps of the military facility, and he surprised her by driving up in a rented car despite all the talk of snowed-in Chicago. A smile of disbelief crossed her face. He was so pleased with himself that his surprise worked. He walked over to her. She stood on the step where she had been sitting, which put her face to face with him, though he normally towered over her. She hesitated a minute and just looked at him, and then slipped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. He couldn't stop smiling. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder, grateful for his friendly face in the line of enemy fire. She held on tight and didn't let go until she heard Maggie's voice over her shoulder.
"John!"
They pulled away from each other at the sound of his name. It hurt a little.
"How are you, Maggie?" He kissed Abby's mother on the cheek as she approached him on the stairs. "You're looking very well."
"Thank you. I'm sorry to interrupt," she said and turned to her daughter. "Abby, I got us a room at the Holiday Inn just outside the base."
Maggie looked at Carter.
"It was nice of you to come for Abby, John."
"I'm sorry that Eric's having a rough time now," he answered.
"Thank you. Look, John, why don't I call back and get a room for you, too, while Abby fills you in."
"That'll be good, Maggie."
"Thanks, Mom," Abby said.
"Okay, I'll be right back."
When she was gone, Carter and Abby resumed their hug. She told of her frustration in his ear.
"Eric's sick, Carter, and he knows it, and he's mad at me for seeing it."
He pulled away to look at her. "It's going to be hard for him now. You think they'll Court Marshal him?"
"No, they'll probably discharge him, though, on the condition that he gets treatment," she explained and then turned the subject to him. "How did you get a flight?"
He looked at her with a smirk. "I didn't."
"Then how—" She thought a minute. "Did you drive all the way from Chicago?"
"The highways were pretty clear. Once I got out of Illinois, there was hardly any snow. Only took about eight or nine hours."
"Only eight or nine hours?"
He tilted his head from side to side meaning more or less.
"How much more?"
"Never mind. I got here. That's all that matters."
Perhaps another woman would have smothered him with kisses and cried at the beautiful gesture. Not Abby. She looked at him with wide eyes, forever surprised at any kind gesture someone presented her with—even Carter.
Later, when Maggie was asleep, she slipped out of the sliding glass doors of their second-story motel room and rendezvoused with Carter on their adjoining balconies. She sat on a patio chair and recounted how Gallant struggled to cajole superior officers out of information. How Eric refused to see her. How she couldn't get clear information from the Air Force attorneys and doctors. And of course, she told him of Maggie.
Carter sat on the wooden wall separating their balconies, his legs dangling a bit. He listened to her every word.
"You must be exhausted," she said finally. She got up and stepped between his legs and wound her arms around his waist. "Thank you for coming," she whispered against his chest.
He whispered back, "You're welcome." He pulled her close against him, stroked her hair, and kissed the top of her head. "Everything's going to be okay."
He would have walked the 500 miles.
"You'd better get some rest," she ordered and pulled away.
"Okay. I brought your bag, by the way. I'll get it for you. It's out in the car." He spun his legs around and dropped onto his side of the wall. "Meet me out front."
He went back in his room, grabbed his keys, and met her a few minutes later at the front door of the room she shared with Maggie.
"Thanks," she said. As she reached for the blue canvas bag, he reached for her wrist and pulled her outside the room with him onto the second-story walkway. He stepped backward until he was up against the railing overlooking the motel parking lot. He lifted her wrist up to his shoulder—she didn't need any more coaxing after that. She lifted her other hand until both her arms encircled his neck, and she gave him what he wanted—a proper good-night kiss. She leaned her whole body against him. As they kissed, he clutched her tightly. With her arms up around his neck, her shirt lifted and he rested his hands up under the material. He caressed the skin on her back and the curve of her waist, tickling her slightly. She let her head fall back and her eyes drift closed, and the tension waned from her body.
"Abby?"
It was Maggie's voice.
"Abby is that you out there?" She yelled from her bed inside the motel room.
Carter had to lean his head all the way back to pull his lips away from Abby's. She wouldn't let go.
"Your mom's calling you," he informed her.
"I know." And she reached up to reconnect with his lips.
"Abby!" Maggie yelled this time.
He pulled his head away and laughed. "Aren't you going to answer her?"
"No." And she stood on her tiptoes to make up the distance between her mouth and his.
"Abby, come on," he said, only half teasing. "Answer her."
She let out a big sigh. "Yes, Mom. It's me."
"Abby the door's open, and it's chilly. Don't you think it's chilly?"
"I'll be in a minute!" Abby answered, feeling 16 years old. She aimed for his mouth again.
"Oh. Hello, John," Maggie appeared at the door, tying her bathrobe.
"Hi, Maggie," he said, righting himself after leaning on the railing and releasing Abby's arms from around his neck. "I brought Abby a bag of some things she may need . . . from home . . . from her home . . . from Chicago . . . just things . . . things she may need." Carter suddenly felt awkward as Maggie took on the mother role, and Abby smiled at this side of him she'd never seen.
Maggie smiled. "That was nice of you, John. I'm sorry I didn't know you were out here with Abby. I thought she came out for a cigarette. She still has that nasty habit, you know."
"Okay, Mom! I'll be right in." She rolled her eyes, and Carter caught it.
"Good-night, John. Thank you again for coming." She flashed him a charming smile that he returned.
Maggie closed the door.
"I'd better go in and keep an eye on her."
"She seems like she's doing well."
"We'll see."
Carter noticed that Abby did not seem comfortable with her mother medicated and rational. "I'll see you in the morning," he said. He kissed her forehead and touched the tip of her nose with his finger.
"Good-night."
"Hey," he said to get her attention as she reached for the doorknob to her room. She looked over at him.
His eyes lingered on hers a moment, and then he reminded her, "I'm here if you need me."
Now she was the one to flash the pretty smile. She wanted so much to sleep next to him that night, but the other side of the wall would have to do.
Maggie quickly fell asleep again on one of the two full-size beds in the fairly large rectangular room. Abby turned out the lights, and the room was bathed in the gray-blue light of the television screen. She took the bag Carter brought and tiptoed into the bathroom. She flicked on the light, turned the water on in the shower, set the bag on the toilet, and opened it. He did as he promised and packed her a few T-shirts and underwear—respectable white and pink cotton numbers, as she asked. But at the bottom of the bag she noticed a plain manila envelope—the type in which you'd find business correspondence. Only this one was filled with something soft. She tore it open, and turned it over to empty the contents. Out slid her lavender bra, the one with the tiny white satin butterfly between the dainty cups. She shook a little harder, and out slid the matching panties and a slip of paper. It read: "Oops. I pulled these from the bottom."
ABBY HELD THE warm little baby close to her neck, her little round head in her right hand and her little round bottom in her left. Abby kissed her soft small cheek and the infant snuggled against her shoulder. Abby touched a little whisp of the baby's hair with her fingertips, closed her eyes, and spoke under her breath, "Where is he, Colette?"
IT WAS DARK in the windowless rear cabin of the small cargo plane, which made it a challenge for Carter to check Luka's eyes and ears. Luka lay on a stretcher strapped tightly, and Carter sat next to him on a wooden box. The rickety plane was small—a seat for the pilot and one next to that. The rest of the plane was dark and empty, and the noise of the engine made every word a shout.
Luka woke up about half an hour into the flight.
"I thought you left days ago," he said, struggling to push out the words. His eyes were barely open.
"I did," Carter answered as he checked Luka's pulse.
"Then what are you doing back?"
"A friend needed my help."
Luka smiled. "I thought maybe you had a fight with Abby," he teased.
"That, too." Carter smiled, but Luka could see it hid something bitter.
"Call her," Luka said.
"Lost my cell phone," was Carter's excuse.
"Don't make a mistake, John. Call her." Luka was serious this time.
Carter reached into his duffle bag and pulled out a pen-size flashlight to check Luka's eyes. Click. It didn't light. Click, click. Nothing. Click, click, click. It wasn't working. Yet suddenly, Luka's eyes were bathed in a bright, narrow strip of light. Carter looked to his side and followed the light and saw the source was a small, round hole in the hull of the plane. At first, it puzzled Carter, but in an instant, there was another hole just like it and another and then another, another, and another. Until he realized the plane was being sprayed by bullets.
"Hey! They're shooting at us!" Carter yelled to Bendu, who was piloting. He ducked to the floor and covered his head with his arms. "Heyyyyyyy!"
ABBY SAT ON the edge of the bed of a 6-year-old boy and fed him water one spoonful at a time as he recovered from surgery to remove a bullet from his neck. Then she took the temperature of a woman being treated for a bacterial infection and dressed the wound of an elderly man cut with a farming tool. In between her work in the ward, she scrubbed her hands clean and spent every moment she could with Colette. She held her and changed her cloth diaper and then washed the old one by hand in a kettle of hot water. She'd linger over her feeding to play with her and watched her as she fell asleep in her arms. Abby thought Colette got more beautiful with each passing hour as her newborn puffiness subsided. Her skin stayed the color of coffee with lots and lots of cream. Her dark eyelashes were oddly long for such tiny baby and they hid her unusually light eyes. Her sweet lips were the color of cherries.
Abby was busy kissing Colette's tiny hands when she heard a commotion outside.
She tucked her back in the makeshift crib. The baby was fully awake but in good humor, so Abby was able to step away and see what the stir was all about.
"ARE YOU OKAY?" Bendu yelled to Carter.
"No holes, if that's what you're asking, " Carter shouted back.
"How is Dr. Kovac?"
"Out cold but in one piece," Carter yelled back. "How's the plane? I smell smoke."
"I think the wing's on fire," Bendu said as he tried to peer out the side of the plane.
"We've got to land," Carter yelled.
"We are almost at the hospital in Kisangani," Bendu yelled to Carter. "Three kilometers or so. I am going to try to keep us the air until then."
"We've got to land NOW!" Carter voice was shaking with fear.
Bendu shouted back: "Believe me, you don't want to be stuck in the jungle with a sick man and a sick plane."
Bendu struggled to keep the plane in the sky, but as the earth pulled it nearer, the plane bumped into treetops.
"Dr. Carter, hold on!" Bendu yelled. "Hold on!"
"WHAT'S GOING ON?" Abby asked as she came down the wooden steps of the hospital with her arms folded across her chest. She walked out into the sun over to Albrecht. He and the rest of the staff were outside looking skyward, their hands shielding their eyes from the sun. Abby followed their gaze and her eyes fell upon the smoky injured plane in the sky.
The ambushed craft wafted along the trees struggling desperately to maintain altitude.
"Oh my God," Abby gasped.
"It's the plane from the clinic in Matenda, Abigail. Looks like it's been hit," Albrecht said and put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"Hit?" Abby asked, suddenly shivering despite the blistering sun.
"Fired on. Machine gun—turret-mounted probably. These plane don't fly very high."
"Luka," Abby whispered to the air and took a few steps forward. She felt helpless as she watched the aircraft sail through the sky like a paper plane.
Albrecht yelled over to some of the men watching with them. "We're going to need stretchers for the pilot and Dr. Kovac." And they ran inside at his orders.
They all watched as the plane dropped from the sky about a kilometer from where they stood. And when it fell, Abby's heart fell, too. All was still, hearts stopped, breathing ceased. And then in a moment an explosion could be heard, muted by the dense jungle but identified by the large plume of smoke and fire that trailed up to the sky.
"Come on!" Albrecht yelled and the whole staff followed him and ran toward the crash site, including Abby.
Albrecht stopped, grabbed Abby's arm, and pulled her back. "No, Abigail, stay here with the patients."
"No!" she yelled, anxious to get to Luka.
"Abigail stay here!"
"You're going to need help!"
"Somebody needs to watch these patients."
"But I want to—"
"Stay here with Colette . . . please."
He looked deep in her eyes and gripped her wrist tightly. He breathed deeply, and the scar that ran from his hairline to the corner of his eye grew a darker shade of red. She nodded and obeyed and just watched as they ran over brush and grass and through the trees toward the plume of smoke.
Abby walked back into the main ward shivering. She crossed her arms hard across her chest to keep herself from shaking. And as she walked toward the back of the long ward, each patient to the left and right of her lifted their head and followed her with their eyes as she passed them. They were all curious about the commotion and frightened by the absence of personnel in the already sparsely staffed hospital.
When she reached the end of the long row of beds she turned around and began checking I.V.'s one by one, but she saw the patients' nervous faces and stammered through an explanation.
"An airplane . . . it crashed." She said to her captive audience.
"They were flying a patient—a doctor—who was sick."
Her English puzzled them.
She spread her arms like the wings of a plane.
"But they shot at the plane. Pow, pow." She made the sound of the gun and they all noticed her shaky voice and watery eyes.
" . . . and the plane came down." She grabbed an emesis basin, held it up, and let it drop to the floor with a crash.
They understood.
She let no tears fall in front of the patients—people who had far more misfortune than she. But she struggled to hold them back and contorted her face to contain them so she could attend to the patients. And as she adjusted the I.V. on an elderly woman, the patient reached up and took Abby's hand and bid her not to cry, "Ne pas pleurer, cher."
Abby was touched by the gesture, but the woman's kindness only served to release her sobs. With the ward quiet, Abby excused herself and went into the makeshift nursery and saw Colette had fallen into a peaceful sleep. Abby knew she shouldn't disturb her, but she picked up the infant and woke her nonetheless. The baby squealed at first and then began to shriek. She locked her tiny knees in protest and flexed her heels. She waved her quivering arms in fury. Knowing no one could hear her over the baby's wails, Abby cried, too. Far from home in uncomfortable heat with horrible food surrounded by dying patients, an orphaned baby, and Luka likely dead—again: It was all too much for her—especially since Carter was nowhere in sight. When did it happen? When did she grow accustomed to leaning on him? She couldn't remember. All she knew was that she needed him now.
As she soothed the baby, Abby comforted herself: "Shhhhh. It's going to be okay. Everything's going to be all right."
Colette quieted down and fell back to sleep in Abby's arms. She tucked her into the bed just as shouts approached the building. She went to the door and was met by two young men carrying a stretcher. Angelique was behind. "Bring the pilot to the trauma room," she said to the men. Abby stepped aside to let them pass.
Behind Angelique, Guillaume, the driver who picked her up at the airport along with Albrecht and Claire, carried a stretcher with the help of another young man. On the stretcher was Luka.
"Put him in the isolation ward," Angelique told Guillaume. It was the little room off the main ward with its own separate entrance courtesy of a broken screen door.
"Luka," Abby whispered when she saw him. He was unconscious, unshaven, and bruised—a far cry from the handsome, well-groomed doctor she dated for a year.
"He's okay," Angelique said. The pilot said he was under the rubble of the damaged clinic for a couple of days. He's dehydrated and banged up. But he was strapped down tight and the pilot managed to drag him out.
Abby mouthed, "Oh, my God."
Explanations over with, Angelique began barking orders, and everyone obeyed.
"Abby, I need some 5-0 silk for the pilot's forehead and mwah bwah mah mwah wah . . . "
Angelique's voice became a muffled swirl of sound in Abby's mind as something caught her eye outside the doors of the main ward. She watched carefully and tilted her head curiously. She caught sight of Albrecht approaching the wooden stairs of the hospital. His knees struggled to manage the weight of a man in his arms.
"Get me a stretcher!" Albrecht yelled. "He's not conscious, and he's got a chest lac."
Abby's feet were stuck to the floor and wouldn't let her move. She studied the picture carefully, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. But when Albrecht reached the top step, her fears were confirmed, and a wave of nausea flushed over her: The man Damon Albrecht carried in his arms was Carter, and the "chest lac" was a deep and bloody gash over his heart.
He fell out of the sky.
Next—
Chapter Five: Tell Me, Can You Feel Me?