Good Men

"The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." John Dewey

Chapter 6: "a long time dying…"

Although he was strong for his size, Cloud was a thin child. Ordinarily, Nelson would have found it easy to drag him through the water, but burdened with a full pack, a medical kit, and his boots, he weighed enough to drown even a swimmer of the admiral's caliber.

When Nelson first slithered down the muddy bank to the child's side, he dreaded what he would find. Cloud lay on his side twitching feebly, his clothes soaked in blood. The bullet had struck his hip, but Nelson couldn't spare the time for further examination to see how much damage it had caused.

As the child moaned softly, fingers digging in the wet earth, the admiral cast about anxiously, trying to decide what to do. There was no way he could get Cloud back up the steep bank under fire, which only left one alternative. Ignoring the boy's soft cries of distress, Nelson grasped his shoulders and dragged him into the river. It ran deep and swift, swollen by recent rain. The admiral struggled to keep his footing as he ventured out until the water lapped his chest. This was madness, he knew, but even drowning was preferable to falling into Wilson's hands.

The first things to go were their packs. Heavy with food and extra ammunition, they sank quickly into the dark water. The medical kit was indispensable, so Nelson hooked it around his neck, hoping to keep it as dry as possible. With only the kit, his rifle, and the clothes on their backs, he rolled into a lifesaving sidestroke, holding Cloud securely as he set off downstream. Behind him the jungle still reverberated with gunfire. He fervently hoped Lee could keep Wilson's men busy until he reached the opposite shore.

The midstream current was strong, quickly carrying him away from the fighting. Although he needed to get Cloud to safety as soon as possible, Nelson let himself relax in the river's flow. Slowly and surely, he angled towards the far bank, finally feeling the bottom rise under his feet. He staggered onto the shore, water pouring from his clothes. Kneeling for a moment in the mud, he gathered the boy in his arms and dove into the jungle.

When he was once again in the safety of the deep underbrush Nelson halted, depositing Cloud carefully on the ground. The child's eyes were closed and he seemed to be only vaguely conscious of his surroundings. Hoping he would remain oblivious, the admiral steeled himself to examine what he knew would be a serious wound.

He had just started to unbutton the child's trousers when Cloud came alive and twisted in the dirt, trying to escape. Nelson was amazed by the sudden, vicious energy of his defense. The child's first kick caught the admiral in the thigh, knocking him off balance. "Cloud," he said urgently, "it's Harry. Be still!"

He thought his words would help, but the boy fought harder than ever, pushing Nelson away with surprising force. "Leave me alone," he panted. "Let me die!" In the moonlight his eyes were wild, pain-glazed and desperate.

"Stop this at once! Be reasonable!" Nelson caught the flailing hands in his own, immobilizing them. Using his leg to deflect the child's kicks, he struggled again to uncover the wound.

"Don't touch me!" Cloud tried to roll away, but lacked the strength to break free. "You don't understand!" The cry was low and despairing. "I'm not a boy!"

"I know." Nelson released Cloud's hands and grasped her face, forcing their eyes to lock. "Cloud, listen to me! I know."

"You do?" She went limp then, all resistance abandoned. "How?"

"It's obvious." He flushed as he realized he was pinning her to the ground and quickly moved off, sitting back and running his hand over his face.

She lay quietly, her eyes closed. "You knew the first night, when you asked me if white men were the only ones with secrets."

"I suspected. As I spent more time near you, my suspicion changed to certainty." He looked at her sharply. "How old are you?"

"Eleven." Her voice was emotionless again, flat and hopeless.

Nelson muttered a low oath, one he didn't usually allow himself. "This is Hurricane's brilliant idea, I suppose? How long does your father think this masquerade can continue? Six months? A year at the most?" She made a sound of quiet distress and a thought struck him, simple and horrible. "That's why you're determined to put yourself in harm's way, isn't it? You want to die before you're discovered because the truth will embarrass your father."

"Partly." Cloud closed her eyes, but tears rolled out beneath her lashes. "He wanted a boy so much. When I was born, he decided I'd be one. I want to be buried as Lord Hurricane's son and a soldier. I don't want to live if I have to be a just a woman!" She spat the word out like an insult.

"It's not so terrible to be a woman. This can be worked out, your father can be made to realize…"

"What do you know about it? When I was five, Wilson's men broke into my aunt's house. They held her down and pulled her clothes the way you were pulling mine. She was a long time dying…."

"Cloud," Nelson began, "please listen. I know you don't trust me. I've lied to you and I still can't tell you the whole truth about myself. I will someday, I promise." He drew a deep breath, keeping his voice low and steady, trying to soothe her. "I'm sorry I frightened you. I didn't realize I might. I'm good at solving problems, child. An offline computer, a broken engine— these are things I can fix. I don't fare as well with people." In the first light of dawn his face was weary, lined with care, and she could hear her own pain in his voice, reflected back. "If you don't believe anything else I say, please believe I would never harm you. You're a very clever, perceptive girl. Trust your instincts and let me help you. The longer we argue, the more blood you'll lose."

This time Cloud didn't stop him as he carefully bared her wounded hip, moving slowly to keep from alarming her again. "You held that man's hand—Patterson—while I sewed him up," she said quietly. "My father wouldn't have done that." She dug her fists into her soaking shirt as Nelson gently probed the wound. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"Bad enough," he said truthfully, "although it could be worse. It looks like the bullet went into your muscle and exited again." He strained his eyes in the dim light. "I think it missed your hip bone, but it's left a sizable hole. I need to put some pressure on it."

"My kit!" Cloud struggled up, alarmed. "It's still on the river bank."

Nelson shook his head. "No, you held onto it. It was still in your hand when I found you. I'm afraid your supplies are wet and ruined, though."

"Doc taught me to keep everything in plastic bags."

The first genuine smile in two days broke on Nelson's face. He searched the contents of the kit, drawing out a dry roll of gauze. He made a pad and held it firmly in place with the heel of his hand, trying to ignore her pain. "Here," he said, placing her hands on the pad, "you keep the pressure on. I'm going to give you an injection. I think I saw morphine in here." He drew out a syringe and a small vial.

"No, you can't!" She made a feeble move to take them from his hands. "It's too hard to get more."

He pushed her back gently. "This is what it's for." Nelson wasn't sure of the dosage so he erred on the side of giving her too little. All things considered, he'd rather have her in pain than dead.

He waited until the drug started to take effect before cleaning the wound. "Have you ever done this before?" Cloud asked drowsily.

"Once." Nelson swabbed the wound with alcohol, grateful that she barely flinched. "I'm not a physician, if that's what you're trying to find out."

"Did your patient make it?"

"He's living to tell the tale."

She regarded him with bleary surprise. "You?"

"It was during the war," he said, as if that somehow explained everything. "It's not simple to remove a bullet from your own side and stitch the wound." Nelson smiled at her reassuringly. "I imagine I can do a better job this time and give you a slightly less alarming scar." Despite his teasing tone, he frowned as he made the first stitch. Although he'd done his best, the wound was deep and still far from sterile. His efforts might stave off sepsis for a few days, but he feared for Cloud if she didn't receive proper medical attention after that.

He saw her watching him and made an effort to even out his expression. "You did a fine job on Patterson," he commented.

"Doc taught me."

"He knew you were a girl, didn't he?"

She nodded. "Yes, he was the only one besides my father. I got very sick two years ago and he took care of me. That's how he found out." Cloud shook her head, closing her eyes. "I thought he was the smartest, strongest man. I believed in him, but it was all a lie. Just a lie." Tears coursed down her cheeks again and Nelson glanced at her in alarm, not sure if she was gripped by genuine emotion or experiencing an adverse reaction to the morphine.

"How did he lie to you?"

"He always told me to be strong. He said anyone could be strong if he tries. Then Wilson's men got him three months ago. They executed him in the capital. We were watching but there wasn't anything we could do to stop them. Lord Hurricane said it wasn't the right time." Cloud took a deep breath. She seemed unaware of Nelson stitching her wound or of her surroundings. "They made him kneel to them with his face in the dirt. They made him crawl around like a dog, licking the dust off their shoes. And he did those things. He did whatever they said, just like he didn't have any strength at all! Then they shot him." She was sobbing now, her body shaking so much Nelson had to brace her leg to keep it still. Cloud didn't notice. She just kept repeating, "He did what they said and they shot him! They shot him," until she drifted into unconsciousness.

His lips clamped in a thin line, Nelson kept working.

X X X

They slept most of the morning, Cloud in a drug-induced stupor and Nelson propped against a tree, his damp rifle in his hands. As the adrenaline of their ordeal wore off, the admiral realized how hungry and exhausted he was. With a wounded child to care for and scant supplies, Nelson felt more vulnerable than he would have thought possible. It was imperative they move on and find Crane as soon as possible. If Lee's alive, he thought grimly. The alternative was a possibility he couldn't bring himself to contemplate.

He rose stiffly, swinging the medical kit onto his back and the rifle onto his shoulder. Then he lifted Cloud onto the other shoulder and set off, following the course of the river.

He trudged through the jungle most of the afternoon, resting frequently. When he halted in the early evening and gently placed the child on the ground, she moaned and opened her eyes, blinking up at him. He held his canteen for her to drink. "There's a little morphine left," he offered.

"No, I might need it later." She looked around, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "We're in a different place." She regarded him wonderingly. "You carried me."

Nelson nodded. "And will again." They were silent then, each looking out into the shadowed depths of the jungle.

"Harry?" Cloud's voice quavered. "Harry, I see a light."

He crouched beside her, his gaze following her pointing finger. In the grayness behind them, two yellow points of light moved slowly and inexorably in their direction, just as they had the night before. Except, Nelson thought bitterly, then we were a company twelve strong, heavily armed. He looked down into Cloud's worried face. She was enough of a soldier to be thinking the same thing he was: burdened with her, there was no way they could move quickly enough to even hope to escape.