Scramble the Jets and Bring in the Sky Pilot
Sam had just emptied a third basin full of Nargratûrz's vomit when she heard the distant thrum of an incoming helicopter. Had her ears not been straining to hear it, she might not have, as hard as the wind pounded the cabin walls and rattled the glass panes. She knew she'd have to thank this Marty guy from the bottom of her heart; a storm like this couldn't be easy to navigate.
For a moment, she stood in the center of the room and stared at the ceiling as if she could see through it to the sky, listening. The sound got louder, and she could imagine the copter coming closer.
"Almost here," she said out loud. Glancing at Nargratûrz, she struggled once more against tears. She'd piled every blanket in the place on top of him, and built the fire up to generate a stifling heat, and he still shivered. His face was contorted in pain, and she knew he clutched his gut under the covers.
"Hurry," she whispered to the ceiling, hugging herself and trembling.
Unexpectedly, the whap-whap of the copter blades began to fade away. They passed over the cabin completely! Beginning to panic, Sam reached for her phone, but it went off in her hand before she could frantically punch in her cousin's number.
"What's wrong?" she said immediately, not even waiting for Dale's greeting. There was a great deal of background noise from the copter's engine and the storm, making it hard for Sam to hear her cousin's shouted reply.
Don't worry, we're looking for that clearing me and some of the guys made a few years back. I hope to hell there aren't any big trees fallen into it. It's about a mile from the cabin, so just be patient, all right? We're coming; Dave's got a huge bag of stuff. How's the Orc?
"His name is Nargratûrz," she told him on a relieved sigh. "He's doing..."
No way, Nargratûrz? What the hell kind of a name is that?
"His kind of name," she growled. "That's what he told me it was."
Stupid name. It means 'worthless.' What kind of mom names her kid 'worthless'?
Wrong-footed, Sam frowned. "Well... we haven't really talked much. It's such a huge pain in the ass and takes a long time to translate... Look, if you want to delve into his family life, get your ass over here and fix him."
You said he came from the mountain?
"I'm guessing," she said, worry about the Orc making her snappy. "The way he acts, he's not some kind of experienced mountain man who's been living rough for years or something. He seems more like someone who... got dumped... maybe left to die..." Her voice faded as she looked at the Orc. "You said he didn't... act like an Orc because... he didn't do anything to me," she said hesitantly. "Maybe... he's... so unlike an Orc, the other Orcs... kicked him out."
There are others? What, my dad's back yard is a dumping ground for misfit Orcs?
Rolling her eyes, Sam snarled, "Stop thinking about you for a minute, will you?"
Sorry, sorry. We're almost there. Marty's cursing a blue streak, but I think we'll make it once we get below the tree line, get some cover from the wind. Dave's never done this kind of thing before; he may join your friend in the puking competition.
"Be careful, all right?" Sam said urgently.
Doing the best we can. Listen, I've gotta go. I'll call you if we run into any trouble getting to the cabin. Should only take us about a half hour more to wade through the drifts. We'll be there as soon as we can. He hanging on?
Nodding as though her cousin could see, Sam forced herself to reply, "Yes, he's... he's okay. Sort of. Alive, anyway. Breathing. Still... still puking and..." Her voice shook as tears once more bubbled to the surface, and she sobbed, "He's lost so much blood, Dale, he's almst as white as me. When he got here, he was so dark and sort of brownish-green, but now he... Oh god, hurry, please. He can barely move, and won't talk. I can't do anything and he's in pain, and..."
Hey, sshh sshh, it's okay. We're on our way. Professionals, remember? It's gonna be okay.
"Dale, he needs to go to the hospital," she whimpered, "but how can we take him there? They'll take one look at him and start asking questions, they'll cut him open to find out what he is, they'll do experiments on him, they'll put him in a cage..."
None of that's going to happen. Dave'll fix him up. He probably ate something he shouldn't have. His body's getting rid of it. He'll be fine. We'll be there in a little while. Be strong, Samantha. He needs you to be strong. Don't scare him to death, and don't scare yourself. We'll be there in a bit. I can see the clearing now. Almost there... Marty says it looks good. We're coming down. Can you make it? Are you gonna be okay?
"Yes," she said shakily, taking deep breaths to calm herself. "I... I think so."
Be strong, now.
"Right. Strong." She took an even deeper breath and let it out slowly. "Strong. For him."
Right. I'm hanging up now. Everything'll be fine. Remember that.
"Everything'll be fine."
Atta girl. We're touching down. We'll see you in a bit.
Sam continued to breathe deeply after she ended the call. There was nothing she could do for the next half hour except try to make Nargratûrz comfortable. Fetching another basin, she filled it with lukewarm water from the tap and soaked a clean cloth in it. She sat once more on the edge of the couch.
"Nar," she whispered, caressing his face. He slowly opened his eyes and turned his head toward her. "Hey, there. I'm just... I'll just wash you a little, okay?" She peeled back the covers, down to his waist, and sponge-bathed his chest. The Orc's rasping breath calmed somewhat, and he closed his eyes again.
"That was my cousin Dale," she said conversationally, her voice only shaking a little. "He's almost here. You know, he's a dad. He has a couple of daughters and a son." Nar's eyes cracked open to look at her. "Yeah, I know. Someone let that man breed. Tells you what kind of crazy, mixed-up world we live in, huh? I think Andrea just felt sorry for him. I mean, honestly, he runs around in latex prosthetics all the time, waving a sword in the air and scaring kids. I've only met a few ladies that run in his circle, and even they wouldn't have him. Definitely a pity marriage."
Nargratûrz returned her wan smile with a weak one of his own. He loved to hear her voice; the rich, unbroken tones, so different from those of his own people. She didn't sound like them at all.
He supposed he would never again hear those sorts of voices, but found it difficult to forget them. Listening to Sam's voice made him think, oddly enough, of his dam when he was young, how she eased his loneliness with her singing. He wished the strange visions that plagued him would bring her back. Just for a moment...
Bûrzum-ishi graz, bûrzum-ishi quiil, kul-izg tul
Fiith naakh-izub, ash gaz, kul-izg tul
Mog quiil, Bûrgul mat, agh kul-izg tul
Thag hontniinu-labu, ash-izub gaz, kul-izg tul
[In the cold dark, in the quiet dark, I am here
Take my hand, little one, I am here
The Voice stills, the Shadow fades, and I am here
Dry your tears (literally 'eye water'), my little one, I am here]
"That's... that's lovely, Nar," Sam murmured, caressing his face. "I didn't know your people sang songs." She found she couldn't say more; maybe it was just his rasping, halting voice, but the song felt sad. Like a lament for the dead. "Why won't they hurry?" she whispered desperately.
As if in answer, Darûk's head shot up and her ears pricked toward the door. Sam's breath stopped for a moment; there were voices outside. She shot off the couch like a bullet from a gun and wrenched the door open.
"Fuck my auntie!" one of the men barked as he entered the cabin in a swirl of snow. His face was partially hidden by a thick visor and a scarf. In his wake two other men, just as covered in thick down coats and powdery whiteness, hurried through the door. Sam slammed the door behind them.
"Thank god!" she cried with relief, but didn't know who to hug first. Preferably her cousin, but she couldn't tell which of the eskimo-bundled men was Dale. "I thought you guys would never get here."
"Holy crap, it's cold out there," Dale said once he'd peeled away the layers. "Good thing there's wood piled..." He was cut off by his cousin's desperate hug, nearly squeezing the air from his lungs. "We made it. Everything'll be fine now," he said quietly, stroking her back as she wept with relief.
"Where's the patient?" Dave asked, brushing the snow off his old-fashioned medical bag. He'd gone old school when he started his training, getting a vintage country doctor's bag. Though modern bags held more, he preferred the traditional approach.
"Over here," Sam sniffled, disengaging from Dale's arms to lead the EMT over to the couch. "He hasn't puked since you guys flew over."
"Whoa," Dave said, blinking as he looked down at the Orc. "You, uh... you weren't kidding, Dale. But if that's a bodysuit, I'm Chinese."
"Okay, forget whatever cockamaimy crap Dale told you," Sam snapped impatiently. "He's an Orc. Not human, Orc. Get over it now, because he is dying and debate will only make it worse."
"She's right," Dale said sheepishly. "I thought... well, shit, I didn't think you'd believe me. Jesus, though... look at him." He gazed down at the pale figure, utterly transfixed. "God damn." He stumbled out of Dave's way, moving around to lean over the back of the couch, and just stared at the Orc.
"Wait a sec, did you say Orc?" Marty said as he hung up his coat. "Like real Orc, not Dale's gang?"
"Yes," Sam replied. "Real Orc." She hovered anxiously over Dave, now sitting on the edge of the couch and fitting a stethoscope to his ears. "Fangs and claws... the whole package."
Frowning, the pilot slowly approached the group huddled around the couch and peered over their shoulders. "Anybody... else know he's here?"
Sam shot him a startled look. "No. Just you guys. Why?"
"Huh," Marty said. "Weirdest thing; there was this old man in town yesterday, just before the storm really got goin', asked me if I'd seen an Orc hereabouts. Thought he was cracked or somethin'. Either that or he saw that bit in the paper about Dale's gang hittin' the SCA whatsis and took it serious." Marty couldn't seem to muster a chuckle over it, though. Whoever, or whatever, this guy was, he was in sorry shape.
"Likely on crack," Dave muttered as he listened to the Orc's heartbeat. "He look like he was using?"
"Nah," Marty shook his head. "Didn't look crazy. But I guess the craziest ones don't always look so crazy, huh?"
Sam shook her head. "That's... okay, whatever. Did you say he was asking if you'd seen an Orc? Like what, wandering the streets, window-shopping?"
"Yeah, maybe," Marty shrugged. "He gave me his card, in case I tripped over one in the alley, I guess." Fishing in his pocket, he withdrew his wallet and started digging. "Got it right here, somewhere." After a few moments, he produced a brown card with silver lettering and handed it to Sam. Looking it over, she frowned.
"It's just a phone number," she said suspiciously. "No name or anything?"
"Just said to call'im if I found an Orc," Marty shrugged. "Weird, huh? Like he knew or somethin'."
"Did he look like he was with the government?" Sam probed, and the pilot snorted with amusement.
"Hell no. Looked like a damn hippie. My pa woulduh run'im off the property with a shotgun if he'd seen'im."
"Yeah, well your pa still checks the woodshed for revenooers," Dave chuckled.
"Real funny," Marty replied witheringly.
"Lat kul-izishu-sha dâl?" Dale ventured cautiously, reaching down to gently prod the Orc's shoulder, and Nargratûrz's eyes fluttered open. [Are you still with us?]
Nargratûrz looked at the unfamiliar face above him, then realized he was surrounded by shara-hai. His breath quickened for a moment in panic, but quickly lost its steam. It took a moment to register that this one was speaking words he recognized.
"Tugl-izgu ghûlbat lat," the shara told him. "Shakrop âmul." [We're trying to help you. Stay calm.]
"Sam, right?" Dave asked, glancing over his shoulder. "What are the symptoms? What's been happening here?"
Swallowing hard, she hugged herself as she ran down the list, noting the vomiting, the diahrea, chills and fever. The EMT nodded through the descriptions, his brow furrowing.
"Could be any number of things," he muttered, and checked the Orc's pulse. "I don't like the black vomit, though. What, did he eat a shit-ton of licorice Twizzlers or something?"
"No," Sam replied impatiently. "That's his blood. His blood is black."
"Come on," Dave replied. "Nobody has black blood. That's impossible."
"I'm serious," she insisted. "He was bitten by a wolf, and it came out of his leg." Seeing the EMT's skeptical expression, she said, "I'm not making this up! Run a test or something; it's blood."
"Well, whatever color it is," Dave said, still not entirely convinced, "he's lost a lot of it. Did he eat anything out of the ordinary? Anything you know of?"
"I don't know," she replied, exasperated. "All I know for sure is the raw meat, but I got it fresh from the grocery store before I came up here, and it's been properly stored, so I don't think that's the problem." Casting about, her eyes fell on the cup she'd left on her desk that morning. "Here, I think he might have eaten these. They were in his pocket." Fetching the cup, she handed it to Dave.
Dave's eyes widened, and all he could do for several moments was stare unblinking at the little seeds. "Ah shit," he muttered.
"Whatcha got there?" Marty asked, craning his neck to peer into the cup. Dale likewise arched over the couch, straining to see.
"What?" Sam asked, her eyes darting from one man to another.
"Sweet Mary, mother of God," the pilot breathed. His eyes met Dale's, just as stricken.
"What?" the woman barked even louder.
"If he ate these," Dave said in carefully measured tones, "there isn't anything I can do. If he ate more than one, he's... he's fucked, Sam." He slowly raised his eyes to hers. "This shit's deadly as hell."
"No," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "No. Something like that... doesn't grow here. What is it? How in the hell could he have gotten a hold of something..."
"It's a weed, Sam," Dave said patiently. "This shit's all over the place up here. Most people know better than to mess with it."
"What is it?" she whispered.
"Ironically enough, they're called rosary peas. Thing is, they've got this pretty outside, but inside they're stuffed full of abrin." Dave looked down at the benign-seeming seeds. "One's all it takes to kill you."
"I read somethin' somewhere 'bout this shit gettin' used for chemical weapons, like ricin only twice as bad," Marty said quietly. "Send yuh to the next world in a few days of seein' weird shit and your organs shuttin' down, blowin' chunks all over, wishin' you'd die quicker'n the poison lets yuh..." Seeing Sam's horrified face, he mumbled an apology.
"Oh... oh... my god," Sam whimpered, sinking into her desk chair.
"Do we take him to a hospital, then?" Dale asked tightly. Watching his cousin slowly come apart was gut-wrenching, nearly as bad as having to stand by helplessly while this Orc suffered the sort of agony he knew came from this particular poison. "Is that the only thing that'll save him?"
"I can't do anything," Dave said, his own helplessness apparent in his voice. "Against this... I don't have anything... Even if I was in a hospital, I wouldn't know what to do." Spreading his hands, he added, "Shit, I don't even know if taking him to a hospital now would make any difference. If he's to the point of puking up blood... he may be dead already."
"We can't," Sam sobbed, tears streaming down her face. "We can't take him to a hospital." The men all turned to look at her; none voiced a protest. "They'll take too long asking questions and... Christ, if they're not hung up on what he is, they'll go batshit over insurance claims and liabilities and... and shit that doesn't matter. If he needs blood, where will they get it? If he needs... anything, where would they get it? Then they'll want to do 'research' on him, and cut him open..."
"You've been watching too many movies," Dave said half-heartedly and unconvincingly.
"She's right," Marty said. "That'll happen, I promise you. Don't think for a second the government won't step in and haul'im off to Area 51 in a heartbeat. He won't be thankin' us for savin' him."
"No. No, he didn't ask for this shit, all right?" Sam said, roughly wiping tears away and mustering some measure of defiance. "We have to do something. We have to do something. Please."
"Gimme that number," Marty said firmly. Sam handed the brown card back. "He seemed to know 'bout Orcs. Maybe... maybe if we bring'im in... you know?" He held Sam's gaze with his own, waiting for her permission. After a moment, she nodded. He immediately pulled out his cell phone.
It took a few rings, then the old man's gentle voice answered.
"Hey, are you the guy who gave me his card?" Marty blurted. "The one askin' 'bout an Orc?"
Yes, most assuredly. Have you found him?
"Yeah," Marty replied, inexplicably relieved. "Look, he's dyin'. We need help. Can you help'im?"
Yes, I can. You will need to fetch me, and bring me to the cabin.
"Right. Where are you?"
I will meet you at the heliport in town.
"He's sick; he's got abrin poisoning," Marty told the man. Glancing at Sam, now sobbing in her cousin's embrace, he added, "Can you do somethin' 'bout that?"
I understand. I am prepared to deal with it. Fly swiftly; I will be waiting.
Hanging up, Marty told the anxious group, "I gotta go get'im. He said he could do somethin'."
"Be careful out there," Dale said. Marty just nodded as he pulled his coat on.
He was halfway to the clearing where he'd landed the chopper before he wondered how the old man knew they were in a cabin.