I quickly set up the igloo and get Ryan inside. The sleeping bag is still intact after disassembling the stretcher, so I place Ryan on top of the bag and take his shirt off. His fever feels dangerously high. I dip his shirt in the lake’s cool water and place it over his chest, hoping it will help cool him while I start the fire.
I look across the lake. The dancing shimmer of moonlight on the ripples caused by the waterfall gives me no joy. I feel truly lost. I had no real medical training, and no idea of how to help Ryan get better. I’m suddenly resentful of the spur of the moment decision that started me on this journey. If I had just stopped and reconsidered leaving Earth, Ryan wouldn’t be lying here now. He wouldn’t be lost in the woods because I dragged him into an unsafe canyon, but safe and sound on the base.
Full of despair, worry and guilt, I question myself: could I, would I, go on by myself? Could I find the willpower and energy to continue traveling?
I have just finished gathering enough material for my fire when I hear a familiar chirping noise. “Caper! I’m so glad to see you. Ryan’s hurt and I don’t know what to do for him,” I babble pointlessly.
Caper just chirps and purrs back at me. I’m feeling so desperate that anyone to voice my concerns to is a relief. I sigh and turn my attention back to building a fire. I watch Caper go over to greet Ryan. His reaction confuses me. Initially he starts with his usual cuddling, but abruptly he stops and hisses. I snap my head around to look at them fully. Caper grabs Ryan’s hand and examines it, then lets out another hiss and runs from the camp, taking any remaining hope I have with him.
Despair takes over. Caper not wanting to be near Ryan can only mean that Caper knows what I’m unable to admit. Ryan is dying. I start the fire and grab my knife. I’ll at least try everything I can.
I hesitate before making the slice necessary to drain the wound. “Ryan, this is going to hurt.” I don’t wait for the response I know I can’t get. I slice an ‘X’ across the wound. Blood and pus ooze from it. Once the oozing stops, I clean it and apply fresh gauze. Then I busy myself trying to cool Ryan. I don’t have a thermometer, but he feels too hot for it to be safe. I activate the cold packs from my backpack and place them on him. I continue to re-wet his shirt and wipe the cool water across his body. When my cold packs are warm, I activate the cold packs from his first-aid kit.
I hold Ryan’s head in my lap and look down at him. Beads of sweat cover his face. I try to get him to drink some water, but it just dribbles out the side of his mouth. His skin has a yellow tinge to it, like a jaundiced newborn. I check the whites of his eyes: they’re also tinged yellow. I try to think back to the PBS documentaries I was once fond of watching. Are they signs of his liver or kidneys failing? It doesn’t matter which. Out here in the woods, either diagnosis is a death sentence.
I run back to the water and re-wet his shirt. As I wipe him down, I cry and beg for his forgiveness. He’s dying, and it’s entirely my fault. It’s my fault we had to investigate the river, it’s my fault he got hit by the flower, and it’s my fault that I’m too stupid to know what to do to help him. I wonder if it would be more humane for me to just help him on his way. Once I did, I could walk back to the cliff and help myself end it all. But do I have the strength to do that for him?
I look back down at his face. For now he seems peaceful in his sleep. I decide to wait until he is in pain before I intervene. There is still a chance that he will pass peacefully in his sleep. He at least deserves a chance at a peaceful death.
Sometime close to dawn I close my eyes to rest for a moment. It is early morning when I awake to Caper’s chirps. I can easily hear Ryan’s breathing; it has become labored. I hurry to dampen his shirt with fresh cool water while I curse myself for falling asleep.
I’m startled to see a fully grown meerkit with Caper. As I return with the wet shirt, it enters the igloo. I have to fight my instinct to drive it off. I trust Caper, and he’d brought the meerkit here. I enter the igloo behind it and sit cross-legged on the opposite side of Ryan. The meerkit pays me no attention, and proceeds to examine Ryan. It sniffs him from head-to-toe. It places its hands on his chest and face, and then pulls back his eyelids. I resist the urge to slap its hand away from his face.
Finally, the meerkit centers its attention on Ryan’s hand. It pokes and prods the hand and twists it in different directions. Then it lifts Ryan’s hand to its mouth. I realize what it’s preparing to do and cringe. Bile hits the back of my throat; I hear the sickening crunch of Ryan’s skin against the meerkit’s teeth. I hadn’t expected that sound; the wound must have crusted over.
Next the meerkit begins roughly squeezing the wound. Ryan cries out in pain but doesn’t wake. I grab a hold of his other hand and began wiping his forehead with the cool shirt. I whisper lies to him, telling him the pain will be over soon and that everything is going to be alright. My heart aches to make the words true.
I continue to watch the meerkit. He runs his thumbs from the outside of the wound towards the center, slowly squeezing out all of its contents. There’s a little blood, and more pus – but there’s also another yellow substance that resembles feta cheese in texture. It’s reluctant to exit the wound. Ryan continues to moan as the meerkit presses harder on his hand, trying to work out the substance. Finally, the bulk of the ‘cheese’ exits the wound. The meerkit drops Ryan’s hand and begins to break apart the substance. In the center, three green sprouts are revealed. My hand flies to my mouth as I gasp in horror. Not only had I caused Ryan to get hit by the flower’s spikes; I failed to remove them completely.
The meerkit seems satisfied with what he finds. He prods Ryan’s wound again, gives a satisfied nod, and turns and leaves the igloo. Before I have a chance to follow, the meerkit returns. His cheeks are bulging. He spits water into Ryan’s wound to clean it. Recognizing what he’s doing, I quickly grab some empty containers from my pack and run to the lake to fill them. I place the water next to the meerkit. He nods, grabs one of the containers, and slowly pours it over Ryan’s hand. Next he grabs the second container and dribbles water into Ryan’s mouth. I lift Ryan’s head to help. The meerkit looks at me and thrusts the container into my other hand. I take over trying to coax Ryan into drinking some more.
The meerkit turns and leaves the igloo with the empty container he has already used. When he returns it’s overflowing with opal berries. He takes a handful in his hands and smashes them. He lets the juice dribble into the opening of Ryan’s wound. Next he smears the mashed berries all over the side of Ryan’s hand and carefully places the hand on Ryan’s stomach. He climbs over to Ryan’s head, swats me away, and grabs a berry in a pincer grip. He squeezes the berry’s juice into Ryan’s mouth, then hands one to me. I do the same. He hands me another and waits for me to squeeze it. Once I do, he thrusts the container of berries into my hands. Then he turns and leaves the igloo for good, leaving Ryan, Caper and I behind.
I feel bleakly hopeful. The meerkit seemed to know what he was doing, but everything had been so unsanitary. I fear that what the meerkit did may cause Ryan more harm than good. But at this point, Ryan is most likely going to die either way; so relying on the meerkit’s knowledge is my only hope.
Throughout the day, I continue to wipe Ryan down with cool water and feed him the juice of the berries and water. He stays unconscious the whole time, but occasionally mumbles words that are mostly unintelligible. The few things I am able to understand are names. He repeatedly says, “Sorry, Kelly,” and occasionally shouts “No. Brett, no!” The latter makes me cringe: he must be reliving the stupid actions that caused all of this.
Caper keeps me company throughout the day and into the night. He brings more berries whenever the container runs low, saving me from leaving Ryan’s side. The rest of the time he strokes my hand or Ryan’s hair and coos and purrs at us. I assume the sounds are meant to comfort, and I hope they work for Ryan. I am so distraught with worry and guilt that there is no comforting me.
It’s late in the night, maybe midnight,
by the time I first notice a change in Ryan: his skin is cooling off. His fever has broken. I look closely at his skin. It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but I think the yellow tinge is disappearing. I’m wild with delight over these first real signs of hope. I start to pray to whatever powers that will listen that the fever and infection haven’t done too much damage, and that he will be normal when – if – he regains consciousness.
Throughout the remainder of the night, Ryan’s mumblings become more coherent. I’m able to conclude that he’s apologizing to Kelly for hurting her, and asking me not to leave. The “No, Brett, no!” has become “No, Brett, no! Don’t leave!” I feel relieved over his improvement and knowing that he isn’t tortured with reliving the flower attack over and over. I wonder why he thinks I’m leaving. Is he imagining I’m leaving him behind because he can no longer continue? I try my best to reassure him, that I’m right by his side and not going anywhere.
It’s barely dawn when Ryan actually opens his eyes and speaks. “Brett—” His voice is weak and scratchy.
“Don’t talk; just rest,” I plead. Tears run freely down my cheeks as a smile spreads across my face.
He squints his eyes at me as he attempts to focus his view. “You look like hell,” he notes as he stares at me.
“You should see yourself,” I chuckle as I grab some water and lift his head to allow him to drink. After a moment, he pushes the bowl away.
“What happened?” he asks weakly. “The last thing I remember was getting really dizzy.”
“I’ll tell you later when you’re rested and have more strength,” I advise as I lower his head.
“I will if you do. You really do look like hell. When is the last time you slept?” The concern in his voice gives me a pang of guilt.
“It’s been a while,” I admit. Finally, paying some attention to myself, I realize my stomach is nauseous with hunger, and my head is throbbing. It reminds me of the feeling I’d had when my parents woke me early in the morning to leave on a ski trip. They’d wake me at 4 am and load me into the car with my pillows. I’d sleep the whole drive up. But those few minutes before falling back asleep, I always felt like this. I know I need to rest.
“Here, there’s enough room on here for two.” He slides sideways on the open sleeping bag and pats beside him. “I’m not going to be able to sleep unless I know you are comfortable and sleeping yourself,” he warns, noticing my reluctance.
He’s weak enough, and I don’t want him to waste any more energy. So I join him, grumbling, “Fine.” I climb onto the edge and lay down.
“What, are you worried that I’m suddenly going to start biting?” he teases, and I take it as a sign that he truly is going to be okay. I sigh and inch a little closer. I use my arm as a pillow, and I quickly fall asleep.
When I wake, my head is on Ryan’s chest, and his arm is wrapped around my shoulders. He chuckles when he notices I’m awake. It was such a short time ago I thought I would never hear that sound again. Softly he says, “I was beginning to think you’d sleep the whole day.”
“Sorry.” I push myself off him and sit up.
“Don’t be. You needed it.” I have missed hearing his warm, gentle voice.
“Let me get you some water.” I start to stand up, but Ryan grabs my hand.
“I’ve already had plenty to eat and drink while you were asleep,” he assures me.
“Why didn’t you wake me so I could help you?” My voice is hurt and filled with agony.
“Don’t make me keep repeating myself. You needed the sleep, and I didn’t need the help. Caper gathered most of the berries for me while I got myself some water and washed my hand.” He pauses, looking at the wound. I’m amazed at how much better it looks. There’s hardly any redness around the original three holes, my X-mark or the bite. Even more surprising is that the wound looks like it’s well on its way to healing.
I run my fingers over his hand. “I can’t believe—” My emotions cripple me. Unable to talk, I stare down at the ground.
“I have to admit I’m a little more than curious about the bite mark. Do you care to tell me now what I’ve missed?” He hands me a container of berries and motions for me to start talking.
I quickly recount the events of the last few days. When I’m done, Ryan is staring at me intently enough to make me squirm. “You’re amazing.” He grabs my hand and squeezes it. “I owe my life to you.”
“No!” I yell, surprising myself. “I’m a silly little girl who can’t control her own impulses. I almost got you killed, and if it wasn’t for Caper, you’d be dead right now. You don’t owe me anything,” I snort and pull my hand back.
Ryan glares back at me angrily. “You can stop berating yourself; you did enough of that while you slept.” His tone is suddenly stern.
“I don’t talk in my sleep.”
“Usually no, but apparently, when you’re guilt-ridden and exhausted enough, you do. Frankly I’ve had my fill of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘It’s all my fault’, and I really don’t want to hear any more of it.” He looks at me, daring me to contradict him.
“If I had been smart enough not to go near that flower—”
“Enough,” he interjects forcefully. “From what you found in my hand from the flower, I suspect the scent did more than just attract you. I’m guessing the flower’s scent is meant to pull in its prey. It’s an ingenious way of reproducing, if you think about it. It uses the infected host to transport its seed to a new location, and then uses its corpse for instant fertilizer. Even if the new home for the seeds isn’t ideal, the nutrients provided by the host will last for quite some time.”
“You were able to resist it,” I meekly argue.
“That’s only because of my stuffy nose. I couldn’t smell anything.” He points to his nose, emphasizing the fact.
“I should have gotten the seeds out when I pulled out the spikes,” I insist.
“Hey, I’m the botanist, remember? I didn’t think the spikes were meant for injecting seeds. You can’t fault yourself for making the same mistake I did. Besides, the flower’s spikes are designed so the host doesn’t realize there’s anything in them until it’s too late.”
“It almost was too late. I thought you were going to die. If it had been left to me, you probably would have. Caper and his friend are the ones you should be thanking, not me,” I blabber, unwilling to forgive myself.
“You really can’t see how amazing you are.” He shakes his head at me in disbelief. “How many people would have even given the meerkit the chance to heal me? Most people would have instantly chased the animal away, but not you.”
“Most people have the common sense not to let a wild animal bite their friend.” I still won’t accept his thanks, regardless of what he thinks.
“Okay, so tell me why you did?” He notices my confused looked and clarifies. “Why did you let a meerkit you didn’t know come near enough to bite me? Then, after it bit me, why did you allow it to continue with what it was doing?” he asks. He sounds as though he already knows the answer.
“I trust Caper. He wouldn’t have brought the other meerkit here to hurt you. So I had to trust him, too, and let him do what Caper brought him here for.” My tone is getting defensive.
“That’s exactly my point. Do you realize how rare your response is? Just like when you defended Caper after he bit you. Your instinct told you what was right, and you followed it. Not to mention the strength it must have taken for you to drag my sorry ass to this spot in the first place.” He pauses to see if I am going to argue. When I open my mouth, he cuts me off. “You may want to feel guilty because a flower did the job nature designed it to do, but I’m not going to allow it. You, Caper and the other meerkit are the reason I’m alive. I’m thankful for it, and trying to say anything contrary is just an insult to me. Got it?”
I yield. “Got it. Can I add one thing?”
“What?” he asks warily.
“I’m glad you didn’t die.”
I wrap my hands a
round his neck and kiss his cheek. He hugs me back, and then we both just start to laugh with relief.
Chapter 22
To make sure Ryan is fully recovered, we decide to spend a few days at the lake. The large meerkit returns in the afternoon to observe how Ryan is doing. Ryan thanks him, not knowing if he understands the words or not. The meerkit just continues to examine Ryan. When he is satisfied with what he sees, he leaves. Caper stays with us the whole time. He seems to understand how just close we came to losing Ryan and, like me, he wants to make sure he really is alright. Caper keeps shadowing Ryan’s every move, but at least Ryan finds it amusing.
On the second day, I wake up to find the other side of the sleeping bag is cold. My hand automatically reaches out, seeking Ryan, but finds only the cold, hard metal of the floor. I open my eyes and see that the igloo is empty and open. I prop myself up on one elbow and listen. I hear Ryan whistling to himself in the distance, as tone deaf as ever, and I think it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard.
By lunch I have mostly recovered from my guilt, and I’m able to start enjoying our stay at the lake. The heat wave has ended, and the air is beginning to feel crisp. We can tell fall is on its way, but the water is still warm enough for swimming. We divide our time between swimming, lying in the sun and eating all the berries our stomachs can hold.
Lying out in the sun, I have a lot of time to think. Almost losing Ryan has made me face how much he truly means to me. I wouldn’t have been able to continue if I had lost him. I’ve been deluding myself this entire journey. I’d brushed off the moments of attraction between us as merely brought on by the situation we’re in. But now I know it’s been something more. Ryan has become a part of me, a part I can’t live without.
A part I also know isn’t mine. He belongs to Kelly. And I belong to Brody – at least, as far as everyone else is concerned. The rock on my finger is enough reminder of that.
Verita Page 22