by Alan May
Melissa and Pierre soon dived in, too. The sea lions nudged them, darting in and out of the water and peering at them with their bewhiskered, inquisitive faces, as if daring them to hop aboard for a ride—which they were only too happy to do. It reminded Melissa of Sea World back home, where she had watched trainers get towed around by whales and dolphins. But this was infinitely more fun, because she was not just a spectator and the animals were wild and in their natural habitat.
They students swam and frolicked with the sea lions for over an hour. The guide then ferried them to another spot close to some cliffs where they were able to beach the boat. They climbed up the cliffs with the intent of jumping into the water about forty-five feet below. Pierre was the first to jump. The others, except Melissa, soon followed. As they jumped they let out the loudest roars they could, probably to overcome their fear of the descent. Pierre tried hard to persuade Melissa how much fun it would be to catapult herself off the cliffs to what she was sure would be her certain death.
Eventually she agreed to try it, provided he would jump with her and hold her hand on the way down. At least, she thought, it would make for an interesting obituary in her hometown paper. She could see the headline already: Pickering Girl—no, no, she amended it, Pickering Woman and Boyfriend Lose Lives in Galápagos Island Tragedy. As their feet left the firm foundation of the cliffs Pierre let out a Tarzan yell, but Melissa was holding her breath so tight she couldn’t make a sound.
Afterward, surprised to find herself still alive, Melissa felt a rush of triumph. She had done it! She had conquered her fear—well, perhaps not, but she had done it anyway. And thank you, no, she had no interest in repeating the feat.
The final destination of the tour was one of the spots where Charles Darwin’s boat, the Beagle, had anchored. Here they went ashore and enjoyed a late lunch—they were ravenous by now—of fish rolls and tea in a tiny restaurant, which was actually a house that served simple meals. The Floaties exchanged addresses with Asher and Ari, promising to keep in touch; they felt that the shared experience of this incredible day had forged a bond with them far beyond what you’d expect from such a short acquaintance. It had been, they all agreed, one of the most exceptional days yet.
A few of the Floaties and teachers had stayed near Puerto Ayora that day. Some had wanted to return to the Darwin Research Station, others to explore the little town and shop for souvenirs and postcards.
Mac, who had seen all of the sights on Santa Cruz Island several times by now, headed straight for a restaurant with a bar. Three students joined him, ordering sandwiches and beer for lunch and listening with rapt attention to one of his tales of adventure. Mac had so many extraordinary stories the Floaties were never quite sure how many of them were true; indeed, by now, Mac wasn’t always entirely sure himself.
He was just in the middle of one about his days working in the copper mines in Zambia when Mary Wilson and Tom Michaels walked into the restaurant—and immediately spotted the beer on the table. The students were all over nineteen, so of legal drinking age, but the BWA rules were absolutely clear on this point: No alcohol whatsoever for students in the program. Mary and Tom hated to do it, but they would have to tell Anika.
What made the situation even stickier was that Mac was with them, too. By rights, he ought to have enforced the rule even if the kids were willing to flout it. But he had been so involved in his story, he’d never given it a thought.
“At home in Scotland, the legal drinking age was sixteen,” he said. “It didn’t seem out of the usual to me for these young adults to be havin’ a beer or two.”
Silly rule, anyway, he thought, while apologizing profusely. It had been his responsibility, and he had blown it.
“Ye couldn’t blame the kids for seein’ what they could get away with; that’s the way of kids. If there was to be any disciplinary action, it should be taken with me.”
Mary and Tom were in full agreement with that. However, there wasn’t anything they could do other than give him a light reprimand. Mac was an independent contractor, hired directly by Captain Marzynski, so he was not directly accountable to the BWA program. And the fact was, he was such a valuable member of the crew, such a steady and capable workman, with unparalleled skills and ingenuity, there was no way they could do without him.
In the end Anika decided to give the students a port suspension, meaning no shore leave at their next port of call. It was a lesser penalty than the usual two-week suspension at home but one she still hated to levy on the students. The next port of call would be Easter Island, another high point of the voyage and a fantastic educational opportunity. Why couldn’t the kids have had their beer somewhere else on the trip? It wouldn’t have been so bad for them to miss the sights of Puerto Vallarta, but Easter Island?
Easter Island was thirteen days away, she thought. A lot could happen in that time. Maybe the thought that they were going to miss out on seeing Easter Island would be punishment enough for the kids. It certainly was punishment enough for her.
16
Jon Tun Aung, crewman of the MV Great Princess, was brimming with good cheer this morning at breakfast, as he had been every morning since the oceangoing freighter had left from Taiwan twelve days ago.
The Great Princess was headed for Lima, Peru, fully laden with a cargo of textiles and electronic equipment. At six hundred feet in length, she was a modestly sized cargo vessel, with a crew of twenty-two, most of them from the Philippines. Her skipper was Captain Than Hun. She was now roughly three hundred and seventy-five miles west of the Galápagos Islands, about eight hundred and seventy-five miles from her final destination.
The reason for Jon’s cheerfulness was simple: The day before the Great Princess had set sail, he had at last persuaded his sweetheart of several years to be his wife. The marriage was to take place as soon as it could be arranged after his return from Lima. He’d been grinning from ear to ear, unfazed by the teasing of his crewmates, ever since. This morning, as on every other morning, he was ravenously hungry. He could never seem to get enough to eat.
He was reaching across the table to pour himself a third cup of tea, imagining what his fiancée, Lili, might be busy doing today in preparation for the wedding—another fitting for her gown, perhaps?—when he suddenly felt as though someone had plunged a dagger into his back.
He collapsed against the table, struggling for breath, the pain radiating from his back through to the left side of his chest and all the way down his left arm.
His crewmates sat agape for a moment, unsure what the jovial Jon was up to now. Then, realizing the man was not joking, they laid him out on the floor and called for the captain.
Captain Than found no obvious external reason to account for the pain; no blood or signs of trauma anywhere on Jon’s body. He ordered two crew members to get a stretcher to transport Jon to the ship’s hospital room, where he could do a more thorough examination.
Like most merchant vessels of its type, the Great Princess had no doctor onboard. Both captain and first mate had to undergo a rigorous four-week course in first aid. The ship had a small hospital room, just big enough for a bed, a washroom, and four cabinets stocked with basic medical supplies. The ship’s bible—The International Medical Guide for Ships, published by the World Health Organization and mandatory equipment on all ships—lay open on a shelf for quick reference.
Captain Than’s first thought was that Jon was having a heart attack, even though he was only twenty-seven years old. He summoned the first mate, and they went down the list of symptoms: shortness of breath, rapid heart rate, continuing severe pain on the left side. They referred to the medical guide under ”Chest pain: Associated signs.” A number of possibilities existed: coronary thrombosis, pleurisy, pneumonia, pneumothorax. They made Jon as comfortable as possible without giving any medication or fluids until further direction could be provided from a doctor via satellite radiophone at a coastal station.
Captain Than reached Dr. Patrick Herrigan at his Philadelph
ia office, and described the symptoms.
“Is there any coughing?” the doctor asked.
“No,” Captain Than replied.
“Any pain in the abdomen?”
“No.”
“Continuing pain in the left arm?”
“No.”
“Does he have tightness in the chest?”
“Yes. It hurts when he breathes, so he is making short gasps for air.”
“And his heart rate has been consistently high?”
“Yes.”
“Any skin discoloration?”
“Yes, his skin seems to be turning a little blue.”
“How about his back, any pain in his back?”
“Not now, but at first he had a stabbing sensation in his back on the left side.”
“All right. I want you to listen to his breathing with a stethoscope. Check the right side of his chest first, listen to a few breaths and then do the same on the left side and tell me if they sound any different.”
Captain Than got his stethoscope. He heard movement of air when he listened to the right side of Jon’s chest, but nothing on the left side.
The doctor said, “Okay, I’m ruling out a heart attack. If he were coughing it could be pleurisy or pneumonia, but he’s not, so I’m ruling those out too. Is he tall?”
An odd question, the captain thought. Jon was a little over six feet, he told him.
“Does he smoke?”
“Two packs a day.”
“What I think we’re dealing with here is spontaneous pneumothorax. It’s far more common among tall people than short, and especially if they are smokers. How far from land are you?”
“We’re about nine hundred miles from Lima—that’s almost five days.”
“No good. He needs to have the pressure in his chest relieved as soon as possible. Is there nowhere closer?”
“If I alter course, we could get to the Galápagos Islands in just under two days. We’re around four hundred miles away.”
“This man needs a chest-tube insertion right away to allow air to be released so the lung can re-expand. I’m going to contact the Automatic Major Rescue System to see if there are any ships in your area with a doctor onboard. What are your coordinates?”
Within ten minutes Dr. Herrigan was back on the satellite radiophone.
“Captain Than, there is a doctor onboard the tall ship Inspiration, which is currently a little over sixty miles from your position. His name is Dr. Elliott Williams. He is going to contact you directly in the next few minutes. I’m strongly recommending you rendezvous with the Inspiration ASAP so he can do the insertion. He has the necessary equipment onboard to do it properly once he confirms the diagnosis. If he can solve the problem with a chest-tube insertion then you can likely proceed to Lima with no further delay. Good luck.”
The radiophone soon came alive again.
“Captain Than, this is Dr. Williams on the Inspiration. We have been advised of your medical emergency and are prepared to offer assistance if you wish. We are currently sixty miles northwest of your position. We are altering course and heading toward your position. Will you do the same?”
“Yes, I have already asked for a course change. How long is the Inspiration?”
“One hundred and eighty-eight feet.”
“Okay. We are six hundred feet long, so I would propose you approach us on our starboard side. I’ll slow down to three knots and you can come about and run on our lee side about three hundred feet away. I’ll need to keep three knots on to maintain steerage.”
“We have a fifteen-foot hard-bottom Zodiac that we can easily launch. We’ll transfer to your vessel on your starboard side.”
“We will lower a pilot ladder.”
“I will bring what I need to treat a spontaneous pneumothorax. Have you any anesthetics?”
“Only topical. We have sterilization equipment, an administration kit, and a catheterization kit.”
“Captain, have the cath kit and administration kit ready but don’t open them. I should be onboard the Great Princess in two and a half to three hours.”
“Roger.”
17
Phillip sat listening to the radiophone in the engine room of the Coincidence, not quite thirty miles southeast of the Great Princess.
He waited until the Great Princess had left the area, then waited an hour longer for good measure. He had not told Stefano his plan. He and Juan had agreed it was best not to. The guy was probably too far gone to understand, anyway, he told himself. And if this didn’t work out, well … Best not to tell Stefano.
He picked up the radio mike.
“Inspiration, Inspiration, this is the Coincidence, over.”
A few moments later Matt, the Inspiration’s first engineer, turned to Sam, the second engineer.
“Can you believe this?” he said. “We’ve got another medical emergency call. I don’t remember this ever happening before, and now two on the same day. Some guy on a boat called the Coincidence. See if you can scare up Dr. Williams again, will you?”
In less than a minute, Elliott Williams was on the radio. Phillip described Stefano’s wound as a “puncture wound,” and was careful not to mention that it had come from a gunshot.
“It sounds badly infected all right,” Dr. Williams said. “He’ll need antibiotics right away. Have you any onboard?”
Would I be risking everything by calling you up if we did, ass-hole? Phillip thought.
“No,” he said.
“How far away are you?”
“We’re about an hour away if we alter course. We have you on our radar. How should we approach?”
“Captain Marzynski will change course and head in your direction. Not much wave action today, but it’s still not a good idea to come alongside. Why don’t you approach on our port side about a hundred feet off and stop in our lee? Is the patient transportable?”
Phillip hesitated. He sure as hell didn’t want anyone boarding the Coincidence. Much too risky.
“We believe we can transport him, so we’ll bring him to you,” he said finally. “I’m not sure how we can get him aboard your vessel, though. Do you have a stretcher that can be lifted aboard?”
“Sounds like I’d better make another house call,” Dr. Williams responded. “I’ll come to you in our Zodiac.”
Within an hour the boats were stopped one hundred feet apart from each other. Phillip told the others to stay out of sight while he dealt with the doctor. Juan didn’t like the way the little cabrón was taking charge, but he had to admit Phillip would make the most respectable-looking front man, so he let it go.
Dr. Williams boarded the Zodiac and, as before, two members of the Inspiration crew took him over. They stayed in the dinghy while the doctor climbed aboard with his bag.
Dr. Williams was alarmed at Stefano’s appearance. His face was a pasty gray, he was soaked with sweat, foul-smelling pus was leaking through the bandages, and he was thrashing from side to side in delirium.
“What happened?” he asked as he began to remove the dressings. He noted the swelling, the shiny, hot flesh, and the red streaks surrounding the wound.
Phillip chose his words carefully.
“Just before we left port, something hit Stefano in the leg. We have no idea what it was. It didn’t bleed much and he was able to hobble around. We cleaned him up und and I picked away some pieces of cloth from the area with tweezers and then applied a dressing. He was fine for a couple of days but has been going downhill rapidly since then. What do you think it is?”
Dr. Williams gently wiped away the yellow-green pus with an alcohol pad. Stefano’s whole body went rigid and his face contorted with pain. A high-pitched moaning came from between his clenched teeth.
“This man is in serious trouble and needs immediate medical attention. This is an acute missile wound. Was he shot?”
“I told you; we don’t know what hit him. I was not aware of any shooting.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure this is a bullet
wound and that the bullet is still in his leg. Obviously it didn’t hit a bone and it didn’t hit the femoral artery. It must have embedded itself in muscle tissue; that’s why it didn’t bleed much. In a way that’s too bad, because the bleeding would have flushed out any debris.
“My guess is that the bullet took some of the cloth from his pants into the wound. Dirt on the pants introduced pathogens, and we now have a pretty bad infection. This man needs attention right now. If he doesn’t get it, gangrene will set in and he will lose his leg.”
“Okay. Do whatever you have to do.”
“There isn’t anything I can do to help him. He needs to be in a hospital. He needs a general anesthetic and a surgeon to get the bullet out. He needs to have a drainage tube inserted to get the pus out of the wound and he needs antibiotics right now. I’ll use the satellite phone and talk to a doctor at the coastal station to see if there is any way this man can be evacuated. It has to happen quickly, otherwise he’ll lose his leg. If he doesn’t die first.”
“But wouldn’t he be better off if you did it yourself right now? I mean, surely you have the equipment and supplies on the Inspiration.”
The doctor shook his head as he gathered up the soaked dressings and tossed them in the trash.
“You don’t understand. Even if we had everything we need onboard, which we do not, I’m not an anesthesiologist and I am not a surgeon.”
He squirted some antiseptic wash on his hands and rubbed them together briskly.
There was no way Phillip was going to let anyone on shore know about the injury. That would jeopardize everything. He thought for a moment, then said, “You must have had some training in medical school for situations like this.”
What was the matter with the man? the doctor wondered. Did he not understand the danger his friend was in? Why was he dragging his feet? He mustered as much patience as he could, but there was still a sharp edge to his voice.
“Certainly, I’ve assisted in this kind of operation, but assisting and doing are not the same thing. I’m going to get hold of the coastal station right now and see what we can do to save this man’s life.”