Emotionally Bulletproof--Scott's Story (Book 1)

by David Allen

  Jerry shook his head. “I don’t understand. What about Janet?”

  Scott turned away. “Sometimes only time can heal things. I can’t talk about it right now.” He leaned on a concrete pillar to steady himself. “I’m sorry about my outburst.” He rubbed his face and turned. “The sharks should be coming soon.”

  *****

  The sun was beginning to set, a huge, glowing red ball in the west, its red and orange reflection inky across the lagoon. A pelican flew over the pier. The darkening water lapped at the concrete supports. Sundown in the Pacific fell quickly.

  “Good thing we have our mosquito nets.” Jerry swatted an early arriver. “The buggers will soon be here in full force.”

  “I wonder what the Japanese thought when they saw the sun like that.” Scott pointed at the setting sun.

  “You still thinking about that Zero on the reef?”

  “Yes.” He squinted at the sun. “I just can’t imagine what it would be like to be shot down.”

  “He could have run out of gas,” Jerry suggested.

  “I don’t understand why people have so many wars.”

  Jerry turned. “That’s kind of a strange thing for you to say, considering what you just did to Tony.” He wished he hadn’t said it as soon as he saw Scott’s expression.

  Scott shook his head and turned away. “You don’t understand.”

  The darkness came quickly, but soon a bright moon rose. Scott saw the tide returning. Now they stood with flashlights, scanning the water for sharks. The scent of blood had drifted far in the ocean.

  “Hey, look right there!” The two flashlights converged on a slim shadow. “I think that’s a shark,” Jerry said excitedly, “See he’s checking out my bait — I think he’s coming back.” The shark’s silhouette reappeared, making a darting run at the bait.

  “Wow! Got ‘em!” The pole jerked, whizzzzz! The spinner rotated as the shark dove for the bottom. “Come on, play him! Bring him in!” Scott yelled. “Don’t let him get wrapped around the pier!”

  The shark’s tail flailed the water. He moved to the side.

  “That’s it, tire him out.” Scott held his pole in one hand and shone his light where Jerry’s line jogged crazy patterns in the water.

  “Get him over on that side, okay now.”

  Wham! Scott’s pole was nearly wrenched from his hand. A school of sharks must have come in. Scott jerked back for all he was worth.

  “This bad boy’s huge!” Scott grunted. He didn’t know if his thirty-pound test line would hold. The shark rolled. Scott could see grayish stripes in the moonlight. “I think it’s a tiger shark!” he yelled. “I can’t get him.” The pole was almost being yanked out of Scott’s hands by the powerful fish.

  Scott let the shark take his line. There was no way he could bring it in without tiring it first. Jerry seemed to have his shark under control, but Scott was being jerked around the dock.

  “I can’t stay on the pier, I’m going on the beach!” Scott jumped as he was half-yanked from the pier. He landed on the sand, both feet planted in a brace. “Help me, Jerry!” Scott yelled, “You’re gonna have to club this guy when I bring him in.”

  The surf was black and the shark made yet another run to shake the line. Scott felt the powerful pulling and felt his sandals twisting on his feet. He didn’t want to trip, so he kicked them off with quick jerks of his feet. He took a couple of steps to balance. Suddenly a sharp pain shot up his leg.

  “Umph,” Scott gasped, staggering onto his other leg. He was hobbling while still trying to hold onto his rod. He felt the sting of salt water and rough sand in his foot. He must have stepped on something sharp. He winced. It was still in his foot. Zing! The line fell slack and Scott could hear a distant splash. The shark had broken his line.

  Scott limped out of the wet sand. He walked on his toes because he couldn’t put the back of his right foot down. He pulled himself up on the pier and lifted his foot.

  “I got him, he’s a nice four-foot white tip,” Jerry yelled, running up to Scott in the dark. “Hey, what are you doing? Did your shark get away?”

  “Yes.” Scott grimaced and gripped his foot. “And I stepped on something in the surf, my foot hurts.”

  Jerry whipped out his flashlight and shone it on Scott’s heel. A piece of glass stuck out of an ugly cut on his heel. Red blood dripped from his foot and sand stuck to the wound.

  “That’s bad. You need to take care of that!” Jerry looked worried.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Just looks bad,” Scott grimaced as he jerked the glass free. He quickly stuck his thumb on the gash to slow the bleeding.

  “There’s sand and junk in that, man, we need to clean it.” Jerry reached for Scott’s foot.

  Scott winced. “Let’s just rinse it and put a rag on it, don’t scrape it!” He jerked his foot away.

  “There’s sand in there,” Jerry protested.

  “Look, it’s not that bad.” Scott pulled himself to a standing position and limped down the pier. “I can walk on it now since it doesn’t have glass in it.”

  “Let’s call it a night.” Jerry slapped a mosquito. “You can’t fish anymore and the bugs are getting worse. I’ll release my shark and let’s call it a night.”

  *****

  The next morning, Scott looked up at the yellow dome of the tent. He could feel the rising sun’s heat through the polyester. A few bugs buzzed and hummed noisily around the outside of the tent. He turned toward a snoring sound. Jerry lay half naked on his side of the tent, mouth open. Scott glanced at his watch—6:43a.m. The sun rose early.

  He yawned and unzipped the tent as quietly as he could; no use waking Jerry. Scott stepped one foot out and felt an immediate angry throb. He saw that his foot was red around the wound.

  “Ouch!” He hopped on his left foot into the sand. Maybe he should have taken better care of it. Scott unscrewed his water bottle and poured some on the wound. He wrapped his heel in the duct tape he found in the almost empty first aid kit and then slipped his sandal on.

  A few minutes later, Jerry crawled out of the tent to find Scott poking a coconut husk fire and eating a banana. “I’ll take the breakfast omelet with all the fixings, please, and a glass of orange juice.” He stretched.

  “Would you like that with ramen or bananas?” Scott asked. He flipped Jerry a ripe banana. “Help yourself, it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

  Jerry sat on a small log and chewed his banana contentedly. “Why don’t we hike across the island and look for shells on the ocean side? Abra won’t be back until this afternoon.”

  “ I can’t.” Scott held up his foot. “The duct tape won’t hold it together.” He grimaced at his attempt at humor.

  “What happened?” Jerry asked. “Oh, that’s your foot you cut. I told you, you should have taken better care of it.”

  Scott shook his head. “No, it will be fine. There’s a great deal to be said for the body’s ability to heal itself, and my foot is no exception.” He said with conviction.

  “Have you ever heard of matter over mind? Well, sometimes nature gets over your mind’s idea, especially without help,” Jerry quipped.

  Scott ignored Jerry’s twist of words and watched him rummage in the duffel bag.

  “Where’s the first aid kit?” Jerry dropped the bag, impatient.

  “Right here.” Scott pointed to the roll of duct tape. “It’s all we have to fix my malady.”

  Jerry shook his head in disbelief. “Good thing Abra’s coming today.”

  “Let’s just pack up camp, maybe Abra will be here by then.”

  *****

  Two days later…

  The iridescent clock hands glowed in the darkness: 3:04 a.m. Scott groaned and shook his aching head. What had awakened him? What a horrible dream. Some man, maybe Tony—the face wavered in his tired mind—had punched him just below the waist. It was almost like he really had. Scott reached a hand down and touched it. A painful lump protruded. It throbbed when he put pressure on it,
and he drew his hand away.

  “Maybe I should just go back to sleep.” Scott lay exhausted and sweating in the darkness. He didn’t want to wake up the other guys in the apartment.

  He touched it again. “Oh.” It really hurt. Scott felt a large, sore bulge. He rolled over. “Jerry,” he hissed. “Jerry.” He leaned across his cot and tapped his sleeping friend on the shoulder.

  “What is it?” Jerry pulled the pillow over his head, then sat up and looked at the clock. “It’s 3:07, what’s the matter?”

  “I hurt real bad, I think I have a hernia from fighting that shark.” Scott sat on the edge of his bed. “I think you should look at this.” Jerry pulled a string connected to the light. A bare bulb shone from the ceiling.

  Scott sat on the bed, head down, sweating. He only wore his boxers. His eyes were reddish and he had a pained expression on his face. Jerry squinted at Scott.

  “You don’t get a hernia two days later. You look weak, here, let me see.”

  “I want you to feel this.” Scott stood and put Jerry’s hand slightly below his waist. “Careful!” He winced. Jerry moved his fingers across it.

  He looked concerned. “We need to go wake up Director Henrich so his wife can see you.”

  “That’s bad,” Scott mumbled sleepily. “The Henrichs don’t like being woke up. Is she the only nurse we can reach?”

  Jerry nodded from his cot. “Yes, I think so, there’s no one else.”

  Scott pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt and rummaged for his shoes. Jerry helped him up.

  “Come on, let’s go.” The two stumbled out into the dark night, Scott leaning on Jerry.

  The walk up the steps of the Henrichs’ apartment was difficult for Scott. Jerry helped him up one step at a time. Jerry knocked loudly on the door. It seemed a full three minutes before the light above the entry switched on. A man in a bathrobe stepped out.

  “This had better be good,” Director Henrich growled. “It’s an ungodly early time to be up.”

  “Sir,” Jerry shifted Scott’s arm. “You’d better take a look at Scott, I think he’s real sick.”

  Henrich leaned forward. “What’s your ailment, young man?”

  “I think, uh, I think I have a hernia, here,” Scott pointed. “It hurts real bad.”

  The director did a quick examination, then put his hand on Scott’s forehead.

  “You’re burning up.” He stepped back. “I’ll get my wife.”

  Two minutes later the director was back with Elizabeth. “Tell me what you think, Liz.” He leaned forward, watching.

  “Why are you limping?” Elizabeth touched Scott’s wrist with her cool fingers.

  “Uh, I cut my foot.”

  “Let me see.” The nurse gently pulled his sandal free. A red line ran from the swollen foot up to his knee, then disappeared.

  “It’s obvious you have an infection. It’s traveled up to your lymph glands in your groin.” Elizabeth ran an expert finger along the line. “You shouldn’t have let this go this long. You need antibiotics bad. When did you get cut?”

  “Only a couple days ago, but I figured it wasn’t that bad. I only noticed the hernia this morning.”

  “It’s not a hernia, it is an infection,” Elizabeth snapped. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

  Scott nodded numbly. “Jerry, I need to sit down. I feel dizzy.”

  “Okay.” Jerry gripped Scott’s arm.

  “Bring him inside.” Elizabeth quickly stepped ahead, holding the door open.

  Scott looked up at her. He felt Mr. Henrich and Jerry lifting him through the door. Everything was fading. He felt so tired...

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I think he just passed out.” Jerry shifted under the weight of Scott’s body.

  Elizabeth reached out and touched his cheek. “Scott! Scott, can you hear me?” She helped her husband and Jerry lower him onto the couch, then she took over. “Jerry, run and get Abra and another big strong man, and hurry.” She turned as Jerry rushed out the door. “Edward, get me a wool blanket.”

  Ten minutes later Jerry hurried in with Abra and another man. Elizabeth was wiping Scott’s forehead with a cloth and Mr. Henrich was talking on the phone.

  “Good, good. If you have a bed clear we will be there in just a few minutes. Thank you very much.” He hung up. “Okay, the hospital ward has a bed that was just vacated. Let’s get him there.”

  Mr. Henrich opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of keys. “Honey, why don’t you stay here and rest?” He paused as he searched for the right key. “The nurse will take good care of him until you get there in the morning.”

  “Alright.” Elizabeth sank to the couch. “Just make sure you tell them to get him antibiotics right away, will you, Edward?” She looked up at her husband.

  “Okay, Liz.” Mr. Henrich turned to the other three. “Men, I’ll get my pickup truck, you three bring him downstairs.

  The Rastrojero’s rear lights cast a reddish glow over Scott’s pale face as they hoisted him into the truck, an island version of an ambulance.

  Jerry climbed into the dusty interior and got Scott clear of Henrich’s tools. The hatch slammed shut, and he was forced to grip the side for support as Henrich popped the truck into gear. He looked down at Scott. His lips were moving and Jerry heard him mumble something incoherently. He strained to hear, but the sound of the road and the truck rattling drowned out the words.

  *****

  The Rastrojero ground to a halt outside the small hospital. Abra and the other man climbed from the front seat as Henrich opened the tailgate and looked in. “Jerry, I’ll make sure your classes are covered tomorrow. It’s been a rough night for you, so I’ll take care of everything else.”

  “Thank you.” Jerry’s eyes were tired but grateful. “I’ll stay here with Scott.”

  Jerry helped the guys lift Scott from the truck. “He might be waking up. I saw his lips moving on the way here.” Jerry lifted Scott’s head carefully over the tailgate.

  “Probably just delirious,” replied Mr. Henrich.

  The bare walls of the hospital greeted their tired eyes as they carried Scott through the metal entryway. A smell consisting of bleach mixed with a dim stench filled the stuffy air. A brown cockroach scurried across the floor in front of them as they started down the corridor. Around the corner, they finally met the one overworked hospital aid, who guided them into an empty room. She made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

  “I had no time to clean. If you want to clean up first, I don’t have a problem with it.” Her thick accent did not hide the strain in her voice. She hurried out the door.

  Jerry sniffed and lifted his nose away. “Hold on, don’t put him on that bed.” He looked down at the stained mattress. Obviously the person before must have had loose bowels.

  “Flip the mattress over, the man’s heavy,” Mr. Henrich huffed. The other man shifted to hold more weight. “Better,” he panted.

  With a heave, Jerry flipped the mattress over, careful to touch the sides only. “This side isn’t much better, but at least it doesn’t have diarrhea on it.”