by Gayle, A. B.
Rag nodded and rummaged, bringing out a strap with a quick release fastening on it. He quickly wrapped it round Gil’s arm above the elbow and tightened it. The bleeding lessened immediately, but it wasn’t something they could leave on indefinitely. Constricted blood flow meant even more complications.
Miles glanced up and stared at Gideon, their eyes only inches apart as they bent over the unconscious man. Why should I trust you? He was Eidolon’s representative after all and so far they hadn’t done anything to reassure him they were looking after any interests other than their own. The blood flow increased as he made another incision, releasing the next barb. Shit. He had to take the risk. He gave the man a sharp nod and went back to his task.
“Here you, come here.” Gideon beckoned the second of the large native islanders over and showed him where to stand so they could keep the patient immobilised. Gil moaned softly and tried to move, but the three islanders held him steady, gently but firmly. Miles paused until his patient was still again.
Gideon straightened and backed away. “You got the kit, Rag?” With a brief silent nod in answer, Rag drew out more sealed sterile packets. “Then let’s do it.” Gideon hopped up onto a vacant bed and rolled up his sleeve as Ragnar brought the equipment over. “Rag can draw off a liter and then transfuse it into Gil straight away.”
“A liter, are you kidding?” Miles shook his head, but didn’t stop what he was doing. “That’s too much, 500ml and that’s it. Any more and you risk causing trouble for yourself.” Miles was putting his foot down about this. It was a crazy idea in the first place, and he didn’t need another basket case on his hands.
“Rag, take two 450ml bags off me. One isn’t enough. Look, doc, you can give me the hot sweet tea and biccies afterwards, and I’ll lie here like a good boy and recover, but Gillespie needs this. Normally in the field we’ve got plenty of guys who are ready and willing to donate but right now, there’s only me. So don’t argue. I’m fit, I’m healthy, I won’t suffer too much.”
“Seems like I don’t have a choice.” Miles snapped. At least the men knew what they were doing. In no time at all Gil was hooked up and the blood slowly but surely replaced what was lost.
Memories of looking after Darren flashed through his brain during the operation, making it hard to concentrate. In the end, Miles had to push all his emotion aside and disassociate himself from the fact that the man under his knife was a good friend and lover, or at least had been his lover. Was that one night all they would have together?
@—}–—}——
It felt like forever, but Miles finally finished removing the lethal looking weapon. He stitched the wound closed, leaving in a tube to drain off any resulting build-up of fluid. There was nothing more he could do.
A sudden exclamation from Rag startled Miles as he turned away, peeling off his gloves.
“Doc! He’s going into ve-tac.” Rag worriedly scanned the screen on the defibrillator they were using as an ECG monitor. Ve-tac—ventricular tachycardia—was a dangerous condition, a too-rapid heart beat that could lead to cardiac arrest if it wasn’t treated.
No! Damn it, everything had been going okay. Removing the barb had definitely been fiddly, but nothing that should have caused this reaction. What had gone wrong? Miles rushed back to the bedside and couldn’t breathe for a second as he took in Gil’s still form. He looked so peaceful. Darren had looked like that at the end. His knees nearly buckled under him. Easy, Miles, you can do it. Darren was always able to calm his jitters. He took a deep breath and pushed Jerri aside, motioning for the others to stand back. “Quick, defib!”
Had Gil had a hemolytic reaction? If it had been the wrong blood type, Gil’s kidneys could fail, causing circulatory collapse. Had he killed him after all by believing Gideon? Bugger it, he had to focus. He needed to act now, before Gil’s heart stopped; otherwise the defibrillator would be well-nigh useless. Rag had powered the machine up, pressing buttons and prepping the paddles. The high-pitched whine like a camera flash aggravated Miles’ ears. Rag handed him the paddles. “Clear!” Miles barked and pressed them to Gil’s chest.
The resulting jolt wasn’t nearly as dramatic as all the television dramas loved, but it was dramatic enough. Rag glanced up. The islanders looked startled, obviously never having seen anything like this before. The doctor was ignoring them, his attention fixed on the display. It beeped, steadied, then the alarm sounded. Rag swore under his breath. Shit. “It hasn’t worked. He’s going into ve-fib.”
“Again. Clear!” Miles was following protocol with the verbal command as he pressed the paddles to Gil’s chest once more. The islanders didn’t need the warning, they had stepped back as far as it was possible to go. Once again, the charge shocked through Gil and both men glanced at the screen, anxiously watching for any change.
“It’s stabilising, I think…” Rag said cautiously. The trace had gone back to a regular blip, but it was still touch and go. The doctor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Suddenly the machine emitted a continuous whine. “Flatline!”
“Oh, shit!” Miles stared at the paddles then at Rag.
“No use, Doc.”
Miles tried to think, but his brain refused to work. “Epinephrine… vasopressin? What have you got in your bag?” If they don’t work it’s down to CPR… So few patients came back from that. Those that did… images of brain damage and renal failure popped up… He could not lose Gil like this…
“Doc!” Rag was shaking him, pressing a syringe and a bottle into his hand. “Come on, Doc, move! He needs you now…”
31: Bugging Out
Lyle Ashley Tate, Harry Garvey, Amanda ‘Mindy’ Masterson
and introducing Agnetha Jackson-Grey
___________________________________________________
Early afternoon, 27th January, Mystery Island
Harry stood back and surveyed the room appreciatively. Everything was in place, to his and Lyle’s satisfaction. Now all they needed to do was finish positioning all the cameras and the network was done until they received the final consignment. The only worrying thing was identifying what was blocking their comms signals. If they could find that, then they were home and dry.
“Just wish I knew what it was,” he had said to Lyle when the man had come back from seeing his injured friend off. Lyle had looked subdued and Harry tried to take his mind off it by turning the discussion onto the cause of the signal damper.
“Well I suppose it could be someone intercepting the signal, or it could be more localised interference. Not really my forte.”
“If we don’t find it, it’s going to play havoc with our signals. We should maybe look at getting more equipment in to dampen the effect…?” Harry was failing in his aim to divert Lyle’s thoughts; the man was too preoccupied. “I’m sure he’ll be okay, you know. If they’ve found the doctor…”
“He looked bad, that spike… We’re so isolated here.”
“Well, it’s down to us to make us less isolated then. We’re the tech bods, we have the technology…” he intoned and grinned. “Look, Lyle… I’m used to this, to some extent. Me and the other lads, we’re ex-military, we’re used to being constantly thrown on our own resources, we’ve been isolated in much more challenging surroundings than these. Be thankful, we’ve no hostiles pointing guns at us. We’ve no severe threats to our immediate safety… well, other than holes in the ground…” Harry shrugged, “and maybe adverse weather fronts… I’m not reassuring you, am I?” He grinned.
“Not much, no…” Lyle agreed, allowing himself a small smile. “But you’re here to do your bit for island security, it’s all part of what you signed up for, I suppose.”
Harry glanced at Lyle and sighed. “We did, but you didn’t. It can be a difficult transition for civilians. One minute you’re safe, the next…” he paused. “Truth to tell, you’re not that safe. Most civilians just think they are because they are surrounded by the familiar.”
“Safe hasn’t been something I could feel for qui
te a few years now. Seeing Gil hurt that badly just has brought to mind how far from home we really are though.”
“I can appreciate that.” Harry smiled and nodded. “Look, we usually get together for a few beers in downtime. You’d be welcome to join us, if you like. We made sure the cooler was well stocked.” He grinned again. “I think we may manage a party one night, although there are not many girls and the gay guys seem to outnumber the straights two to one.”
“I’d love a beer. Can’t say I can make up for the lack of girls though.”
“Well, maybe we can coax Aggi into joining us. Although from what I hear, she’s a bit of a Viking battleaxe.”
“The cook? She seemed nice enough.”
Lyle knew Harry was trying to stop him brooding about Gil. His friend had looked pretty seriously injured though, and Lyle wasn’t at all convinced that Miles was up to treating the injury, not because of any lack of skill on his part but due to a lack of facilities. Babbling about the differences between civilians and ex-military was not the way Harry should be going, though. It was too much ‘us and you’. Frankly, the guy was starting to get on his nerves.
“Look, I’ve had enough of this, for now.” He gestured to the stacked up equipment. “I’m going to go for a stroll…I promise not to get kidnapped or to fall down any holes. Catch you in an hour or so, back here?”
“Sure, if that’s what you need. I’ll check out the radar while you’re gone; that way we’ll get notice of when Gideon’s returning.” Harry winked. He knew Lyle was sleeping in their boss’s room, what that meant they had already speculated on, and Harry was pretty sure he would win their little bet. He couldn’t see the appeal of the man himself, but Gideon took his pleasures where he found them. That was part of being a soldier too.
Lyle watched for the optimum moment before scooping up the materials he was going to need. He didn’t want to show his hand to Harry. There was no love lost between Gideon and Pierce, but he was less sure where the other mercenaries stood, and they might not all approve of what he was about to do.
@—}–—}——
The wind was up again, for which Lyle was eternally grateful. He loathed how much sweat he was able to generate just by standing still on this island. He longed to be able to strip off his top, slap on some tanning oil and become a beach-bum-surfer-dude. He was going to have to lean on Pierce, get some answers out of her about how soon Eidolon was going to settle their debt to him. Bugging her bure was just perfect in terms of gaining the leverage he figured was going to be necessary to tie things up properly.
Trust Pierce, arrogant bitch that she is, to bag the nicest of the still-standing bures; no sharing a dormitory for her, Lyle thought to himself, as he weighed up the building to see if it was truly empty at present.
Lyle was finding it hard to make himself take the time to properly scout out Pierce’s bure; he wasn’t sure how long he had before the Eidolon big noise would return from Rapatoka. He didn’t imagine the locals would throw a luau for her, making friends wasn’t her forte. He absolutely mustn’t get caught at this stage, but he needed to hurry too so that he could set up the surveillance in her bure to get maximum coverage. He gave it five minutes, crouched in the treeline observing the low building, then scurried to the doorway of the low building. He’d expected to find the place all locked up, but it wasn’t. Very cautiously he let himself in.
That Pierce would be careless of her security seemed odd. She hadn’t struck him as the careless type. Maybe Flynn had been there ahead of him though? That would fit. Flynn had probably already turned over every locked room in the complex; the street kid had guts, skills even, but not a lot of sense.
@—}–—}——
Mindy pushed her plate away with a sigh. The food was good, better than she had been lead to believe. Listening to Sandra Pierce sniping about it, anyone would have thought it was pigswill. Mindy finished up, aware of how hungry she had been. She glanced at her watch and frowned. She had been on the go since seven that morning, finishing up the tasks Pierce had given her. She snorted softly. Pierce treated her as little more than a skivvy these days, a glorified maid. She was an experienced PA, for God’s sake. First Pierce had assigned her to that little scumbag, Archer, who frankly treated her like she was some kind of bimbo and now she was in the middle of nowhere, cleaning Pierce’s bure…
“That was a sigh from the heart…” The oddly-accented English made Mindy look up to see a small woman in a chef’s white uniform, blond hair cut short as a soldier’s, peering at her through the serving hatch. “You are okay, Sweety?”
“I’m fine…” Mindy was a little unnerved by the woman’s stare, but her manner was kind. She reminded her of Tank Girl. “Just a little pissed off, but what’s new?” Mindy replied dispiritedly.
“Ah, Sweety, not good, not good. I’m Agnetha, by the way. You may call me Aggi if you like. The boys call me Bork…you know, like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets?” She laughed and shrugged one shoulder. “Before your time maybe…” Mindy realised her look must have been a little blank. Her accent was a tad strange to Mindy’s ears. Aggi spoke with a lilt, the emphasis on the wrong part of the words. Abruptly, the woman’s focus altered and she said something unintelligible. Was that her own language? She disappeared from view, emerging from the kitchen moments later with a tray. She proceeded to collect discarded plates and cups, swiping a wet cloth across the tables with gusto. “Ach, those men! Bad enough I’ve no help here, but why can’t they clean their own mess up? But then, they’re men. I should not expect miracles.” Mindy thoughtfully collected her plate and mug onto her tray and carried them to the hatch. She felt she would be letting the side down to do anything else.
“Tack.” Mindy glanced at her. What was that?
“What did you say?”
“Tack… Sorry, I’m Swedish, I forget. Thank you,” she said. “It means thank you.”
“Oh.” Mindy smiled. “That’s okay. I guess we women should stick together.” Aggi smiled broadly.
“We should keep these men in their place,” she said with another grin, shaking her head in exasperation and waggling a dirty mug in the air for emphasis. “Military types know better, but we have civilian workers too. Not the same…” She shrugged, looking Mindy up and down. “You don’t look like a builder, Sweety, and you sure are not Military. How on earth do you fit in round here?”
“I’m…” Mindy paused. What am I? She was hard pressed to answer. “I work with Sandra Pierce…”
“Ouch, that hard-faced Tik…”
“Excuse me?”
“Why, Sweety, what did you do?”
“Er… I meant, what did you mean? Tik?”
Aggi laughed. “Oh, I believe the word means the female dog?” Mindy took a moment to process the meaning, then she laughed as well.
“Yes, Aggi, I believe you’re right with that assumption.” She frowned. “Look, I better get going or… the Tik will be back and breathing down my neck. She reached for her keys, finding they were not in her pocket where they ought to be. Then she realised in horror that she hadn’t locked the door of the bure on her way out. Damn it to hell and back, she had left her keys behind! Pierce would kill her if she got back and found out. “Sorry, Aggi, I really have to go…” and Mindy flew out the door as fast as her sandaled feet would go.
Aggi watched her go with a frown. It looks like Pierce has her claws into this one too. Damn the woman. Aggi had only met her once and once was one time too many in Aggi’s opinion. The woman was a Tik of the highest order, and one that Aggi would dearly love to see fall. Short of poisoning the woman’s chilli she wasn’t sure how that would happen, though. People like Pierce got away with murder. Gideon she could relate to. Gideon was military. So were his boys. They liked her. They were also smart enough to know that one did not piss off the only cook on the island too. Not everyone had the sense they were born with though.
Mindy ran out of the main building and took the path at a run. Pierce might already be
there. Anxiety lent her speed and in no time she was in sight of the bure again.
@—}–—}——
It was a nice hut, cool and comfortable. Trust Pierce to get the best of the accommodation. It looked like some of the building had been recently patched. Not all of the furniture was standard either. The bed was broader than the others he had spotted at the resort so far, and swathed in a diaphanous mosquito net. The rest of the decor was typically ‘tourist tropical’–rush, cane and bamboo. The place showed no sign of habitation, though Pierce had been on the island nearly as long as himself.
Lyle pondered where best to position his cameras and microphones. He thought about both reception and concealment, carefully considering the optimum placement. He was hoping the interference Harry had been registering earlier wouldn’t affect these gadgets, since they were going to be hooked up to a different part of the system–his own private section. He had to cobble some of the stuff together, he’d swept a random selection of gear up as he’d left the security base room—he hated thinking of it as an ‘IT’ room—so he wasn’t sure exactly what he could accomplish right there and then. It would have to do for a while though, he doubted he would get such easy access to this particular bure again for some time.
More than once Lyle froze as voices drew close, but every time they faded; just people passing by, workers maybe. His nerves were on edge though and it ate into the concentration he needed to fix the tiny cameras and microphones. He would have to hope that the cameras would pick something up. They were fixed in one position; if anyone placed anything in front of them he would be blind. He put one in the main room, as high up as he could get it, pointing down. The other he placed to cover the door. It would be interesting to see the comings and goings and time-stamp them. He set the voice-activated microphones in the main room and the bedroom. He had a chance of getting more from them than from the cameras.