by Melissa Frey
Grady ignored the question. “And the satellite phone? You were able to get a call out to me.”
Jackie shifted her weight. “They didn’t get that, at least not the phone itself. But it doesn’t seem to be working now. We’ve been trying.”
“How did they miss the phone? Wasn’t it in the trailer?” Grady continued his interrogation, but Kayla could see that Jackie had reached her breaking point. She placed her free hand on Grady’s shoulder. He understood, and changed the subject. “Well, we should be fine to look around. Jackie, can you find a place for your group to stay while we do some digging?”
“Sure,” she said, stifling a yawn. “We’ve been in my tent since it happened anyway. We’ll just go back there.” She started to turn around.
“Keep trying the satellite phone. And can you put together a list of . . .” Kayla moved to where she was sure Grady could see her and gave him a look, effectively cutting him off. “Never mind. Just get some sleep.” Kayla squeezed his shoulder.
Jackie nodded once, then turned completely around and plodded slowly back the way she’d come, the group behind her parting so she could once again be in the lead. One by one, the rest of her group followed solemnly. To Kayla, their somber trudge into the shadows looked exactly like what it may, in fact, turn out to be—a funeral march.
Once Jackie and her group had disappeared into the mist, Grady led the group to the nearby medical trailer. As soon as the trailer came into view, Grady felt a sudden knot in his stomach. Something was definitely wrong. The door—which was always locked when the trailer was unoccupied, one of the strictest rules at the dig given the strength of the meds it contained—was ajar.
“That isn’t normal,” Justin said to no one in particular.
But Grady answered him anyway. “No . . . why isn’t it locked?” Grady rushed over to the door. Forgetting momentarily that there was a possibility he might actually need protection from whatever was making everyone sick, he ripped open the door and flew inside. “I don’t know why it wouldn’t be . . .” He cut off abruptly as soon as his eyes registered what was in the room.
They had found the medic.
Mandy was the last to step into the medical trailer. The first thing she saw was the three outlines of her friends, huddled around something in the dim light. The second thing she saw was the expression on Kayla’s face.
The third thing she saw turned her stomach. She stumbled back out of the trailer and doubled over as she heaved, but nothing came out. Then she remembered they hadn’t eaten in hours. Good thing, too. That wouldn’t have been pretty.
She straightened up and drew a deep breath of fresh air. Summoning her last vestige of courage, she turned back toward the trailer. Warily climbing the steps, she braced herself for the sight inside.
The shock was gone the second time around, thankfully, but her stomach still churned inside her. Dr. Larson, the dig’s medic, was lying on the ground. He was clutching his stomach, curled up in a tight ball. Mandy couldn’t remember seeing such an excruciatingly painful expression before.
She felt her own face form a grimace as she approached the group that now filled most of the trailer. “What happened?” The question was ludicrous, but it was the only thing she could come up with at the moment.
Grady, who was on his knees wiping beads of sweat from the sick man’s forehead, answered her. “As far as we can tell from what little he could tell us, Dr. Larson started to feel sick after drinking some water out of the coolers in the mess tent. He noticed other people were already feeling sick, so he came here to try to analyze the water. Looks like he got the test done before the pain got too . . .” His voice trailed off.
Justin was already looking over a computer printout, comparing it to something on the screen of the trailer’s laptop computer, and mumbling to himself. “Okay, good . . . yeah, that should be fine . . . Grady?”
Grady looked up.
Justin pointed to the computer screen. “This poison has an antidote. And if I’m reading this right . . .” He pressed his finger against a clipboard that was posted on the wall over the trailer’s lone desk. Mandy assumed it held the inventory list of all the medications they had. “What we have in stock should work. And—again, if I’m reading it right—we have a lot of it.” He turned to look at Grady. “It might just be enough for everyone.”
Grady nodded, jumping to his feet. “Hand me that.”
Justin pulled the clipboard off the nail it was hanging on and handed it to Grady. Grady quickly looked it over, then he started mumbling. “Good. Yeah . . . should be enough. Looks like it’s over here . . .” He headed over to a nearby cabinet, checking the list periodically as he searched. In less than fifteen seconds, he had located the correct cabinet and was removing its contents.
Some of the black liquid antidote was already in small test tubes, in what Mandy assumed were proper dosage amounts. Grady grabbed one tube from its holder and stepped over to the man still cringing on the floor. “Justin, does it say how much of the antidote to give the patient?”
Justin checked the computer screen again, his eyes scanning the page frantically. Then he shrugged, frowning. “Not sure. Think it depends on how long it was in their system.” He eyed the tube in Grady’s hand. “Dr. Larson would know best, but I’d say give him the whole tube.”
Grady nodded. “Dr. Larson?”
The dig medic was still curled into a tight ball on the floor, writhing in pain. He barely acknowledged the sound, only able to turn slightly and with great effort toward Grady’s voice. Mandy couldn’t figure out how he’d managed to tell the others his story; he looked like he was barely functioning.
Grady was now at his side. “Take this.” He uncapped the small vial and carefully cupped his free hand behind the doctor’s head as he poured the vial’s contents between the man’s pursed lips. Dr. Larson quickly swallowed the liquid in the tube.
The effect was almost immediate. The doctor’s face relaxed, and, though he was still lying on the floor, he was calming down. Mandy released the breath she’d been holding.
After several minutes, he sat up, leaning against a nearby cabinet. “Wow.”
Grady sat down next to him. “How are you feeling?”
Dr. Larson just shook his head. “Fine. Amazing, considering. I thought for sure that wouldn’t work.”
Mandy had to ask. “Why?”
The doctor looked up. “Because I wasn’t sure how much of the poison I’d ingested—or if I’d identified it correctly, it was really just an educated guess—and it’s already been”—he glanced at the clock on the wall—“almost twelve hours. I must not have taken a lethal dose, just enough to make me really sick. And the poison must have had some anti-absorption agent attached to it, or maybe the water diluted it enough. It just . . . it shouldn’t have worked.” He sounded a little awestruck.
“So we can save the others?” Mandy asked tentatively. She didn’t want to get her hopes up.
Dr. Larson actually smiled. “It’s entirely possible, yes. Provided they took less than or as much as I did, or they drank the poison after I did.” He looked back at the stock in the cabinet to his left. “Looks like we may just have enough to try, at any rate.” He jumped up, and Mandy reeled a little at the abrupt turn-around in the doctor’s condition. It gave her hope for the rest of her friends here.
Grady stood with Dr. Larson, grabbing his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay, Doc?”
The medic’s answering smile said everything. “Yes. I still have a little pain, but that should go away soon.” He pulled out a large, covered glass carafe from the back of the cabinet Grady’d already opened. The bottom quarter of the carafe was filled with a black powder. “Mandy, Justin—can you help with this? Just fill it with water, mix, and pour—then fill up all the empty vials you can find. We will probably need all of it.” He pulled a couple of trays filled with empty test tubes from a nearby cabinet. Mandy felt herself nodding at him while her brain was still trying to process everything t
hat had just happened.
“Okay, thanks. Kayla, Grady, here,” he said as he reached for the holders containing the full tubes and handed a few each to Kayla and Grady. After he grabbed a few trays for himself he closed the cabinet door and smiled. “Let’s go perform miracles.”
CHAPTER 36
Antidote
“So how are we doing?”
Kayla, who was in the mess tent tending to one of the recovering-more-slowly-than-she’d-like patients lying in the grass in front of her, smiled at the sound of Grady’s voice before she looked up. As she stood, she set the clipboard she’d been holding on one of the tables nearby and stretched. “Good, so far.” She nodded to the clipboard, which held the dig’s personnel list. “Got another twenty or so checked off.”
Grady smiled at her, then looked around at the group of people laying haphazardly on the ground around them. “How are they doing?”
“Okay.” Kayla shrugged, then frowned. “They’re taking a lot longer to recover than the group before them, and that group took longer than the group before them.” She sighed. “Even giving them extra doses aren’t helping speed up their recovery. I’m afraid that if someone hasn’t been given the antidote by now, they may not recover.”
Grady nodded, his mouth set in a straight line, his smile long gone. “And the list?” He eyed the clipboard, still sitting on the table.
Kayla offered a half-hearted smile and picked the list back up. “Good, I think. It’s possible this last group completed it; there can’t be many more left.”
Grady came up next to her and perused it as she started to flip through the six pages of names. “Any missing?”
Kayla stared at the list in front of her. “Not so far. I’ll check the rest. Can you . . . ?”
Justin’s voice interrupted her from the other side of the tent. “Grady! I could use your help here.” He struggled to hoist one of the newly filled backup water coolers onto the head table.
Grady placed a hand on Kayla’s back. “You okay here?”
Kayla nodded, then placed her hand on the back of Grady’s elbow and pushed him toward Justin. “Go. I’m just going to double-check the list.”
Grady nodded back at her, then ran off to help with the second water cooler before Justin spilled it all over the ground.
Kayla sighed, then flipped back to the first page of the list. There, in black and white, were the names of all her friends, acquaintances, and co-workers, with checkmarks next to each of their names. She scanned the column of checkmarks, looking for any missing. Had they found everyone?
Kayla’s heart started beating faster as she flipped to the second page, then the third, not finding any checkmark missing. She wanted to believe they’d found everyone, but something inside her, deep in the pit of her stomach, was telling her that someone was missing. She hoped to God she was wrong.
Good, everyone on the third page was accounted for, just like the first two. But instead of relaxing, she tensed up even more. Hoping against hope that the last half of the list was just like the first, she turned to the fourth page.
The clipboard tumbled soundlessly to the thick grass as she took off running.
Belize Rainforest, Mercenary Camp
Holun stood in the middle of the place he called home. He gazed at the thatched roof and mud walls, taking in everything that now seemed so foreign to him. It felt like it’d been forever since he’d been here.
Because everything had changed.
Na-um’s men—the full army, save the few contingents still out in the field—were congregating in the town center at this very moment. Na-um was detailing their final assault on the Americans, outlining their heinous plans.
Holun sank to the floor in the middle of his small residence, despondency starting to take him over. This isn’t right, he despaired. These are innocent people. Even if they know what they are doing, they don’t fully understand it all. Na-um has no right . . .
Of course, he knew that Na-um fully believed that not only did he have the right to destroy the Americans, but he also believed it was his duty, his Destiny.
Holun hated the word. It had been thrown around so flippantly in the past few months. To Holun, the word seemed to have lost any real meaning.
And it didn’t even make sense. How could he know what his Destiny was? How could he be certain—as Na-um always seemed to be—that this was the path chosen for him?
Maybe Destiny didn’t exist. Maybe it was only a word Na-um used to justify his gruesome tactics. Maybe Na-um just needed his men to believe that this was their “Destiny” so they would fight without worrying about the consequences. Holun knew most of these men. He didn’t believe they would really kill—murder—the Americans if they knew they were innocent.
But what could he do? He was only an advisor, and then only to Na-um. And he knew Na-um wouldn’t listen; he had tried before, right?
As he sat in solemn contemplation, his hands lightly brushing the dirt, a horrible truth began to sink in. No matter what he did to stop it, the Americans would be attacked. And, if he knew Na-um like he thought he did, they would die.
He couldn’t believe in Destiny, not if it was like this. It just wasn’t fair, wasn’t right.
How could Destiny be so cruel?
Lamanai Archaeological Dig, Northern Belize
Kayla ran, her legs pushing her faster than she ever thought she could go, across the dig to Jack’s tent. There was no sign of him. She swallowed hard, wanting to cry but knowing she couldn’t afford the waste of time. She sprinted out of the tent and headed for the secondary work trailer, the one located on the southern end of the dig. Jack liked to work in solitude, removed from the main commotion of the dig, so she knew he spent most of his time there.
As soon as she saw the work trailer, standing in stark contrast to the orange canvas tents nearby, she stopped in her tracks. The door hung ajar, nearly falling off its hinges. But nothing else seemed amiss at first, and Kayla, for the smallest fraction of a second, dared to hope.
But then she saw something—and realized immediately that the broken door wasn’t nearly the worst of it. Slumped next to the steps leading up to the damaged door, curled up in a tight ball in the high grass, was Jack McFarland.
As soon as recognition hit, Kayla ran to his side, crashing to her knees beside him. She couldn’t stop the tears now, and they started flowing freely.
“Jack!”
Jack’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice. His face was the palest of whites and his cheeks had sunken in, emphasizing the dark circles around his eyes. Kayla blinked hard, but she couldn’t erase the horrific sight she was sure she’d remember for the rest of her life.
“Kay . . . la.” He struggled to even say her name.
“Shhh, it’s okay. Jack, we found the antidote for the poison you took. Here,” she reached into her pocket and pulled out two vials. Just to be safe.
“No . . .” His chest heaved with every labored breath.
What?! “Jack, you have to take this! You’ll . . . die.” She choked on the last word.
He shook his head ever so slightly. “No, I . . . I have to tell you something.” He coughed once.
“No, Jack. First take the antidote. Then you can tell me.”
“No, it’s . . .” A cough interrupted him. “It’s . . . too late for me.” Jack’s eyes opened wide as he summoned the last of his strength. A feeble hand even clutched the edge of her shirt. “Kayla, listen to me.” His voice was slightly stronger, urgent. “I saw . . .” He coughed, droplets of blood glistening in the palm of the hand he used to cover his mouth. Still he pressed on. “I saw who poisoned us. They are . . . helping . . . men who kidnapped . . . you and . . .” His voice trailed off as he started coughing again, but Kayla got the gist. And could only blink, and stare.
“Who would . . . Jack, who is it?” she asked once the coughing subsided.
Kayla’s eyes widened as Jack, with his last breath, uttered his final word.
Be
lize Rainforest, Mercenary Camp
Na-um was pleased. This really was coming together.
He stood, arms crossed, in the middle of town and surveyed his army. His men were milling around the small collection of huts. Sounds of homecoming echoed in the air. Women crying, shrieking in joy; children clapping, jumping, running, shouting.
Only moments before, just as he was finishing up his speech, the Southern detachment had reported in. The Northern detachment had arrived a few hours ago, followed closely by the detachment from the East. The Western detachment would be arriving soon, after they’d performed the special task he’d ordered. Then, once everyone was here, they would finalize their plans.
And he’d been worried. What was there to worry about, really? Destiny was on their side; everything was falling into place, and soon the final battle would begin.
He couldn’t wait.
Lamanai Archaeological Dig, Northern Belize
Grady ran a hand across his forehead as he slumped to the grass beneath the mess tent, exhausted. Slowly his eyes rose and he took in the pitch-black sky, wondering when this heat would let up. The sun had set hours ago; where was their reprieve?
Surely everyone had been given the antidote by now. He glanced around to find Kayla, to see if everyone on the list had been accounted for—just to make sure.
But she wasn’t anywhere in sight. Where could she be? She had been right there just a few minutes ago . . .
Grady stood, moving to join Justin first, who was busy filling paper cups with uncontaminated water. People were starting to gather here, and Mandy was helping him pass out the cups of clean water to their thirsty guests.
When Justin barely seemed to notice him, Grady spoke up. “Have you seen Kayla?”
Justin shrugged as he set three more cups down on the table they’d moved to the front of the tent to function as a serving table. He arranged the cups already filling the table toward the front so Mandy could easily reach them. “I really haven’t noticed anyone. I’ve been busy trying to get this water out. Everyone’s probably dehydrated, both from the poison and the heat. But you can ask Mandy.” He nodded as she approached the table with a tray.