by Tony Lavely
She waited while he started it and steered around the end of the dock toward Port Cay. “Don’t head for the dock. Let’s land… there.” She pointed to the section of shore closest to the back corner of the hangar. “We can see what damage they did to the generators and maybe the cell tower.”
“The plan?” Mike prompted.
“The plan is to get ashore and, without getting caught or killed, find out how many there are and if any of the team are there. I can get the report to Ian.” She tapped the sat phone.
“No details on how we avoid getting caught or killed?”
She gave him a look she instantly wanted to take back. Mike wasn’t the cause of all this and of the three, she was the professional. “Sorry. No, no details. Keep your heads down and know the situation before you break cover. Follow me, and watch out for the other guy, too.”
The sun had been up for almost an hour when Greg nosed the boat to the shore and Beckie splashed to the beach to find a place to secure the boat’s painter. She glanced at the sat phone: seven thirty. Damn. We’re moving too slow.
Mike investigated the beach away from the hangar, toward the one hill on the cay. While he slunk toward the peak, Beckie grabbed Greg’s shoulder and pointed him at the small steel building that housed the Nest’s diesel generators, used for Port’s equipment as well as for emergencies when the solar and geo-thermal units on the individual islands were insufficient.
He nodded and, crouching, stole the twenty feet to the open door. Beckie watched him all the way in, then looked for Mike.
The bright blue shirt and shorts Mike’d grabbed showed up against the sand like a beacon. For the second time, she made a full circle survey of the area. Nothing out of place. Mike was now lying with his head at the peak, under a stray bougainvillea growing next to the tower. As she watched, he wriggled back down the small slope. She did another circuit waiting.
However, Mike didn’t return. Instead, he made his way to the beach and a few feet into the water. Beckie stopped herself shouting at him to get back. He waded further away from her, not even gracing her with a look so she could wave him back. Damn! What the fuck’s he doing?
She could feel her tension increase as Mike kept on, disappearing behind the slope of the beach and the hill. Impotent, Beckie stamped her foot. Though it didn’t help, she did it again.
The second time, Greg walked up and scared the life out of her when he touched her arm. The reaction took her five feet sideways in a single bound; if she’d been closer, she would have slugged him once she recognized him.
“Sorry,” he said.
“No, no.” She took a deep breath. “My bad. Mike walked outta sight over there…” She waved indiscriminately. “… and I was a little tense, I guess.” She shook herself. “What’d you find? Anything?”
“My experience as a senior EE major tells me indisputably someone beat the shit out of the switch box connecting the generator to the rest of the system. It looks like they tried to whale on the fuel lines, but those are better protected. I doubt it’ll take long to fix, so most likely, they wanted to cut it off while they were here.”
“Makes sense,” Beckie agreed. She spun to make another survey, but stopped when a boat appeared in the water headed toward them.
She didn’t recognize it, which meant it wasn’t one of the team’s inter-island skiffs. As she dropped to the sand, pulling Greg with her, she wanted to scream for Mike, “What happened—”
When it got within five-hundred feet, it was obvious it was running at low speed, not what she’d have expected from invaders, who would want to clean up as quickly as possible. And then, as she lifted her head, she saw the bright blue of Mike’s shirt under the white of his hair.
“I’ll kill him,” she muttered.
“After me,” Greg responded. “He ruined my news!”
Beckie rolled over to gape at him; together they broke into smothered laughter. As they recovered, Mike ran the hijacked boat gently onto the sand beside the skiff.
“I found it up there, round the point. It was all lonely—” He ducked as Beckie threw a mock punch at his arm. “What? Not good?”
“It’s fine as long as you’re safe,” she admitted. “What’s it got we might use?”
“A radio, but it’s built-in, so we’d be stuck here to listen. Mostly it’s about pictures of the hangar and the airstrip. And the two islands to the north.”
“Nord and Cottage.”
“I guess. They aren’t using names. The cables up the tower have been cut, accounting for cell phones and WIFI. Radar, too, if I remember what Kevin said.” He reached into the cockpit and came up with a handgun. “One of you would be better with this.”
Beckie glanced at Greg, who gave a little nod. “You,” he said. “My limited experience is with long guns.”
Mike leaned over the rail to hand it to Beckie. She smiled when he turned it butt first. “Good job. Maybe I can forgive you for running off by yourself.”
As he clambered out, he said, “It was just there, waiting.”
Beckie looked at the weapon more closely. “Glock 30S. Nice feel. I wonder why…” she mused.
“Huh?”
She looked into Greg’s eyes. “Why’d they leave it?” Holding it pointed out toward the ocean, she released the magazine. “Full,” She handed the magazine to Greg and pulled the slide back to make sure the chamber was empty. After releasing the slide, she checked the trigger and then with a look down range, dry fired it. “Feels okay and the safeties all clicked.” She took the magazine and inserted it. “Well, I’ll hope it’s okay if I need it, until I can get Pieter to check it out.” She slid it into a back pocket. “Did you see anything else?”
“Three sets of footprints, headed up toward the end of the runway. I didn’t follow them.”
“Thank you!”
While Beckie was examining the weapon, Greg had grabbed the boat’s bow line. “Do we want to tie it up, or turn it on and let it go?”
She looked up. “Tie it up. Can you find the fuses for the radio? I’m gonna head up toward the runway.”
When both men’s attention snapped to her, she pointed to the space between the hangar and the shack. Greg finished tying the boat off while Mike dropped back below the rail. She made her way away from the beach, then turned back.
Mike brandished something at her; she smiled, guessing it was part of the boat’s electrical system. With a wave, she drew them up beside her and with a shushing motion, led them toward the expanse of runway just ahead.
She kept them against the metal wall of the building as she approached the front. Across the runway and a little to her left, something moved. Trillian? After a gesture to Greg, directly behind her, she took a step past the building to survey the field and surrounding area.
She swept the arc from her left, lit by the rising sun, around to her right, backlit and difficult to differentiate things against the bright solar disk. She took another small step, turning toward the motion she’d seen before when simultaneously she realized she was now perfectly highlighted in her bright yellow shirt and the hardest blow she’d ever felt hammered her left arm, flinging it back and pitching her off her feet.
Screaming something unintelligible, she fell, but her head bouncing off the pavement cut it off. “Damn! This’ll hurt!” A moment later, someone moved. “Stay back!” she commanded Greg and Mike, both leaping forward into the kill zone. “Get the fuck back!”
At least they dropped, she thought, but the pain now took all her attention. She reached for her arm, but when her hand touched it, she only felt it in her right hand. She pulled it back to see more blood than she thought she had covering it. This time, she reached and tried to clasp the wound, but her arm felt really funny, like it was all wobbly. Fuck, she thought, I’ve seen that. It’s broken. Ian will be so mad. She felt herself drifting into blackness and bit her lip to stay conscious.
She felt a tug on her leg and opened her eyes to see Mike pulling. As she watched, Greg gra
bbed her other leg and helped. Between them, they got her behind the wall.
Gasping with the pain, she choked out a thanks, then, “My shirt. Rip it up for a bandage. I think it’s broke, so try not to wiggle it too much.” She closed her eyes, but when she felt them trying to lift her, she opened them again. “Cut it off. Hurts too much to pull it over.” Another session of panting and whining. “Greg, keep your head down. I saw someone over there…” She rolled her eyes back toward the runway. “Not where the shot came from. See if you can see anything, okay?” As Mike bared her torso, she let go the arm and made a gesture to Greg. “Head down, hear!” She forced the words out between gasps. “I don’t want to explain anything to Marla. Or Lissa.”
Mike had cut her shirtsleeve off and slid it to expose the injury. Beckie forced her eyes open again; the dismay in his expression was disheartening. She gasped again as he made pads from the shirt and wrapped them on either side of her arm with the last piece of fabric. Her eyes closed again.
This time she tasted blood when she came out of the dark; she could almost feel pain in her lip.
“… get something for a splint,” Mike said as he scurried back the way they’d come.
She rolled her eyes when Greg skittered back beside her head. “There was a scuffle over there. Two people. Looked like one had a rifle, but he was getting the worst of it. Then two others running this way. Do you think they’re friends?” He took off his shirt and laid it over her bare chest.
“Thanks. I’ll be right pissed if they’re not friends,” she gasped. “Don’t feel much like fighting, right now.” The pain is so intense. But what about Amy… Her mind closed again.
Friday
Beckie opened her eyes. If she’d felt better, she’d have thought she felt like crap. The deep, dull ache in her arm, a twitchy uncomfortable feeling, and an unwelcome smell that, in a moment, she realized was her.
Events seeped in from memory: Ian’s wild look from she didn’t know when, concern on Mike’s face, the tense, focused stare in Shakti’s eyes, but they weren’t focused on Beckie’s look. She figured she was completely back when the memory of being spun by the blow on her arm resurfaced.
She tried to look around without moving her head, since it was connected to her neck, and thus to the ache that was her shoulder and arm. Well, if I want to see the clean white ceiling, I’m okay. She tried to rock her head; it didn’t move. The pressure on her ears was more substantial than she’d thought. Before she could attempt to raise her head, a hand reached in and as it touched her forehead, she saw a nurse’s face at her side.
“Hello. Don’t move, please. I’ve called Doctor Krishna.”
“Okay, thanks.” The nurse was one she’d met while sitting with Ian. Mid to late forties, Beckie thought. She tried to dredge the woman’s name from her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember…”
“Josie,” the nurse said. “Don’t worry about it. The sedatives haven’t worn off, yet.”
Beckie heard the door click, and people scuffling, moving.
“Good job,” Beckie heard Millie say. She rolled her eyes around to see what the doctor meant, but nothing seemed different. Wait, Shakti’s right there.
“What?” she mumbled.
“You be still.” That was Shakti. Her voice was softer than Beckie’d expected; it was a welcome surprise. Maybe I’ll be able to move.
She felt the restraints slide away at the same time the sheet lifted away from her chest. “Hey—”
“Be still! Just a couple of minutes while Shakti checks your arm. Hush!” Millie commanded as Beckie took a breath.
“I don’t feel much,” Beckie said. “What’s that mean?” She rolled her head so she could see her hand, proving her arm was still attached.
Shakti was again not interested in Beckie’s question; her eyes and hands were both at Beckie’s biceps. However, as she worked, Beckie heard her soft voice, “Good. The anesthetic is still blocking most of the pain. Don’t worry…” She gave Beckie the briefest of quick glances. “… you’ll miss it when it’s gone.”
In another few minutes, Shakti asked Josie to help her help Beckie sit up while she examined the back of the arm. “Well.” She came around to stand beside Beckie’s hip. Millie was across the bed. Beckie smiled at them and at Josie, at the foot. Shakti returned the smile. “Everything seems just as we wish. The incisions are healing, well, for twelve hours old, at least.” She faced Josie. “If you roll the portable X-ray in, we’ll make sure the bones haven’t moved.”
As the nurse left, Shakti said, “I remember how much detail you like with your treatment…” Beckie blushed at the big grin both the doctors gave her. “… so I’ll keep this low tech. Since the wound went through, the tissue damage isn’t as bad as it would have been with a soft-nose bullet. I can’t tell if the bullet hit the bone, or it broke when you hit the ground, but Millie thinks the fragments argue the bone was hit. By the bullet,” she answered Beckie’s look of confusion. “We cleaned everything up as best we could and put an external fixator on it. That will allow me to make sure the wound heals while still supporting the arm.”
“What’s an ext… what did you call it?”
“External fixator. This.” Shakti lifted the sheet covering Beckie’s arm from shoulder to forearm.
Beckie gasped. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. A piece of metal like an i-beam stood about an inch and a half from the skin of her arm. Where the skin showed, at least. But the part that turned her stomach was the half-dozen pins driven into her to hold the beam. Or really, I guess, she thought, fighting the nausea, it’s holding them.
“Oh.” She gagged once before Millie waved and Shakti dropped the covering green cloth. Millie placed a hand behind her head and offered a cup with a mouthful of water. She sipped and swirled the cool feeling before swallowing. “Thanks. Seriously. How long will I have to be a Transformer? And will it heal right?”
“Being a Transformer has some advantages. So far, we haven’t put any plates or rods inside, because when we got everything lined up, the fragments moved into place, except for a couple we removed, and with Mathilde getting the splint on quick and Jan being careful, well, my expectation is you’ll heal just fine. Several weeks for the fixator, though. Another thing. With it, you’ll be able to move more. That’ll help the rehabilitation.”
“Wow.” Beckie took a deep breath, which reminded her she wanted to smell better, and soon. “Can I lie back now, for a second? Then—”
Josie opened the door and rolled a portable X-ray machine in.
“In a minute,” Shakti said. “This will be faster while you’re sitting up.”
“Okay.” She sighed. “I guess I won’t be sleeping on that side for a while.”
The doctors snapped several pictures before leaving Beckie in Josie’s care.
“You know there are a bunch of people waiting to see you?”
“And I’m waiting to see them, too! But, can I get cleaned up some, first?”
The nurse laughed. “The women, it’s always their first question. However, no, you can’t. I will take you in and wash you top to bottom, keeping the arm dry.”
“But…”
“No buts, Miss. Doctor Ardan would hand me my head if I let you do anything more strenuous than breathe today.”
“Tomorrow?”
The nurse pulled the lovely green sheet off, exposing the shorts she’d dragged on when…
“What day is it?” Beckie asked.
“Com’on, slide into the chair.” As Josie settled her in the wheelchair, she said, “Friday. About lunch time. Which reminds me, After we get you presentable, you need to eat.”
Beckie had never been an invalid; she was thoroughly embarrassed for the whole of the next forty-five minutes. She was stripped, allowed to relieve herself—about the only thing I could do, she admitted later—helped to the seat in the shower and washed. That required perhaps twenty-five minutes; washing dried blood from her hair took the rest. That and dressing i
n one of the ugly pajama tops. The bottoms were pull-on drawstring pants, but the top went over her head and then around her belly. Velcro closures held it together, and Josie stuck one sleeve on her right arm. The bandaged left arm, mechanical contraption and all, hung out for everyone, including Beckie, to see.
“How shall we do your hair?”
Beckie snorted; she almost spit the mouthful of water she’d just taken. Here I’m worried about the Tin Man being jealous and Josie wants to put up my hair! “Can you pull it into a ponytail? We did get it all clean, right?”
“I’m sure we did.” She quickly pulled the long chestnut tresses back and captured them in the elastic Beckie had worn before. She dropped it over Beckie’s shoulder. “Here. You can check.”
Beckie blushed. That’s what Mom would have done, too. “I’m sorry, Josie. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Good thing I didn’t take it that way, then.” She stepped back and cast a discerning eye at her charge. “You all covered up and ready to meet your public?” Beckie smoothed her pajamas and nodded. “Let’s go.”
As Josie pushed her out of the bathroom, Beckie noticed the bed had been remade with clean, though still green, linens and had been cranked up so she could sit. It took a minute and heavy breathing on Beckie’s part to install her and pull the sheet over her legs.
As she relaxed, eyes closed, the door snicked and she heard people enter. She opened her eyes to see Ian’s face. And Mike coming up on her other side. Lissa peered in behind him; Beckie felt her lips curve automatically in response to Lissa’s faint grin. Her eyes swung back to Ian. “Sorry I screwed up, love.”
Ian said nothing. She allowed her eyes to close, to keep her tears inside. With them closed, she felt something brush her lips; she peeked to see Ian kissing her. The hand on her forehead kept her from joining as forcefully as she wanted, but her tongue wasn’t restricted. After a moment, Ian pulled back. There’s the smile I love!