A Trip to Normal

by Ray Wench

  Jarrod stepped up and placed a supportive hand under Lynn's elbow. “You gonna be all right, Lynn.”

  She leaned her forehead against the big man's chest. “Oh, Jarrod, where is he? I can't take anymore. How can any of us be all right, ever again?”

  He put an arm around her shoulders. “Yes, you can, and you will, ’cause unless I'm mistaken, that man's in need of some serious medical attention, and with the Doc and the others working on Caleb, that leaves you to make sure he has a fighting chance to survive.”

  “Look at me, Jarrod, I'm shaking. I couldn't help anyone. I might kill him.”

  “Lynn, look at me.”

  She tilted her head upward, her eyes filled with tears. “You're the rock who holds this community together. It's not any of us and it's not Mark. It's you. Everyone knows it. In times of trouble, everyone turns to you for advice and instructions. You don't freeze up when lives are at stake, and that man's life is surely hanging by a thread. You do nothing, you'll feel worse than you do now.”

  Jarrod put a large hand on her back and guided her forward, walking toward the barn.

  “Whatever's happening to Caleb is in Doc's and God's hands. That man only has God, and although that may be enough, even God needs a helping hand and that's you. Don't let that man die.”

  She wiped her eyes, slapped a palm on his chest, and said, “Damn you, Jarrod!” She pushed away and jogged toward the barn. She stopped, turned and said, “Thank you.” She stepped inside the madness of new world surgery. Someone closed the doors behind her.

  There was no way on this planet that she wouldn’t glance at the table that held Caleb. None of the four people who surrounded the operating table looked up from what they were doing. The sight of blood, her son's blood, gave her a momentary light-headed feeling. A knee buckled, but she fought off the nausea and forced her feet to take her to the sink. She gowned up and scrubbed her hands.

  Someone had dragged a stainless-steel kitchen work table into an open space and was busy disinfecting the surface. Two young women, spread a white sheet over the top, while Bobby, Becca and Lincoln lifted the man and set him on top. Everyone was involved. The entire community came together at times like these. They all had a job and contributed in whatever capacity was needed.

  She stood beside the table, studied the injured man, and blinked away her indecision and worry. Turning to Bobby, she said, “Bring that light closer and set up another.” She looked for Becca, pleased to see she was already dressing. “Alyssa, scrub up. Bobby, while you work, tell me about his wounds.”

  One of the women wheeled over an IV stand. Lynn said, “Check his blood pressure.” To another woman she said, “See if we have any O positive blood.” While she listened to Bobby's account of the events leading to the wound, she cut away the patient’s clothes. Her hands shook as she tried to insert the needle; she inhaled and breathed out slowly to calm her nerves, found a vein on the third attempt, just as the blood arrived.

  They had no way of testing blood type in such a hurry with Doc occupied, so she went with the universal donor. “That's the last of O positive,” the woman informed her. Lynn said, “Start asking for donations.” The entire camp had taken turns, as they needed to donate pints of plasma for just such emergencies, but they tried not to store too much.

  A bag of saline appeared on the stand and a second needle inserted.

  Though the equipment they had on hand was limited, it was much better than a few weeks back, when they had scavenged local doctor's offices, clinics and urgent care centers. Now they could handle all but the most severe of medical emergencies.

  “BP's 62 over 28 and dropping.”

  Lynn made her fingers work faster. “Ready for a crash.” She washed the wound and got a better look. Damn, the bullet is still inside! Becca and Alyssa stepped around the table. “Becca, put him under.”

  While Becca handled the anesthetic, Lynn ran a mental list of things she needed and had to do, before she began. She checked the available tools and satisfied, picked up a scalpel.

  “Still dropping,” the woman announced, a tinge of anxiety in her voice.

  Lynn took a deep breath, willed her hand steady, and set the blade against the wound and made her first incision. She made a second and set the scalpel down for a probe. Finding the bullet, she widened the incisions a bit more and slid in the forceps.

  “We're losing him.”

  Before she could react, Doc was at her side. “Give me the scalpel and get the paddles.”

  Lynn wanted to scream at her, go back and work on my son. She risked a quick peek at his body on the other table. One of the women there, she couldn't tell who, caught her eye and nodded. She took that as a good sign and went to get the paddles.

  The alarm sounded, announcing the flatline. “Lynn!” Doc called and tore the paddles from her hands. “Clear,” and thrust the electric charges onto the man’s chest.

  The body jumped just as she pulled back.

  “He's back,” the nurse shouted in excitement.

  Doc handed the paddles back and leaned over the body. She looked at the wound and without a word picked up the forceps. In seconds she extracted the bullet and dropped it to the floor. She pulled the light down closer to the table and examined the wound. Satisfied with what she saw, she stepped back and stripped off her gloves. “The bullet broke a rib. Clean, sterilize and sew it up. We'll get him stable before worrying about the bone.” She gloved up again and went back to Caleb.

  Lynn finished stitching the wound and stepped back from the table, releasing a large breath. She looked at the monitor and saw the blood pressure, though still low, had stabilized. The woman nodded to Lynn. She felt ready to collapse, numb to all around her.

  “That should do it,” Doc said from the other table. She stepped back, snapped her gloves off and turned to look at Lynn's handiwork. She looked up and caught Lynn's eyes over the mask, the look of desperation clear. She pulled her own mask down and offered a reassuring smile. “I think he's okay, Lynn. It's in God's hands now. He's strong and came through the surgery fine. He needs to rest and heal. I'll know a lot more by tomorrow.”

  Relief washed over her and her legs did give out this time. Becca was there in a heartbeat, helping her back up and supporting her weight. Alyssa came up on the other side and they walked her out of the door.

  Ruth, Lynn's daughter, rushed into her arms and the two women cried. “Doc said he might be okay,” Lynn told her. “We have to wait and … and pray.”

  Caryn came out of the barn, stretched and gazed upward, allowing the sun to warm and caress her face. Spying the four women huddled together she moved to join them. Lynn released her daughter and embraced the new arrival. “Oh, Caryn, thanks for all you did in there.”

  “I just assisted. We should all be thankful to have a doctor as good as ours available.” She pushed Lynn back a bit. “Hey, there's no time for tears. Caleb will be fine. But, we still have a community to feed.”

  “I want to wait for Doc.”

  “She's working on the wounded intruder. She'll be busy for a while. Come on. Let's get to work.”

  Lynn smiled at her obvious attempt to distract her. “When did you become such a leader?”

  Caryn smiled and wrapped an arm around Lynn as they walked toward the house. “From hanging out with you. Besides, you know what they say, 'women's work is never done.'“

  “I hear that,” said Becca.

  The others stopped and looked at her each with an expression of surprise.

  “What? I work. Sometimes.”

  Lynn said, “Did you catch any fish?”

  “Well, that's kind of a long story.”

  “One you still have to tell. You can start now and continue while you're peeling potatoes.”

  “Ah, yeah, sure. I guess.”

  Eighteen

  Three boats peeled away from the mother ship and intercepted them about a quarter mile out. One turned broadside across their bow while the other two took up positions o
n either side, guns pointed. Mark feared they had made a huge mistake.

  A fit man wearing an old Cleveland Indian baseball cap, standing in the port side boat said, “Turn your boat away or we'll shoot you and sink it.”

  “I, uh, I come bearing gifts?” It sounded as strange as he thought it would. “I mean, I wanted to make a trade. You do that right?”

  “Sometimes and only with those we know. And that's not you.”

  “I have a woman. I was hoping to trade her for some food.”

  “What makes you think we want the woman?”

  A man on the boat on the opposite side said, “Yeah, and if we did, we'd just shoot you and take her.”

  This wasn't going as planned. “Okay, I'm going. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  Shavonne squirmed on the deck and in a harsh whisper, said, “No, we can't leave.” Her eyes held the mixture of a plea and fiery anger.

  Mark looked away and stood in front of the wheel. He could see no other option at the moment. He shifted into reverse, but before he moved more than a foot, the man with the cap said, “Wait! Let me see the woman.”

  Mark shoved the stick into neutral and let the motor idle. He had no down shift for the acceleration of his heart rate. This was the moment of truth. They'd either go for the deal or he'd be dead.

  He reached down and hauled Shavonne to her feet. Her bound hands hung in front of her making it look like she was a prisoner. He'd slid a gun in the waist band at the small of her back, his lone chance of defense. He doubted it'd be enough, nor did he think he'd be able to get a shot off before being ripped apart by the numerous guns pointed at him.

  They stood and were examined for what felt like an eternity. Mark's hand inched across her back and touched the butt of the gun. He rehearsed his move mentally, knowing it wouldn't matter what he did.

  “Okay,” the capped man said, “transfer her to this boat and we'll get you some grub.”

  Mark hesitated. He'd be an easy target once Shavonne was off the boat. “Ah, no offense, but like this other guy said, what's to stop you from shooting me once she's over there? I'd feel better if she stayed here and we made the transfer near the freighter.”

  The man laughed, as did many of the others. “If I wanted you dead, you'd already be dead. It doesn't matter if it's here or there. You're alive. That should tell you something.”

  “Okay. What if I wanted to join your, ah, navy?”

  The leader tilted his head and studied Mark as he pondered the request. “Follow us to the freighter. We'll make the deal and I'll discuss your offer with the captain. And don't vary from the course or we will sink you.”

  He said something to the pilot and the boat swung around to take the lead with the front craft. The opposite boat let Mark pass and took up position in his wake. “Get down,” he said and Shavonne did. “Now scoot over here. I need to get that gun before the transfer.” After slipping the gun out, he slid it into his belt and covered it with his shirt. He patted down her legs. “Are the knives still in place?”

  “Yes.”

  They might frisk her, but most men would pat down the front and the sides but seldom reached around the leg. He hoped that would be the case, but if that blade were discovered, she had the small pocket knife in her shoe. “Remember to walk so you don't give it away.”

  “I know.”

  As the freighter grew ever larger through his windshield, Mark wondered if these might be the last sights and moments of his life. He looked at her. The whites of her eyes shone like porcelain saucers, showing her fear. He understood how she felt. “It's not too late to turn back.” He wondered if he’d asked that for her sake or his?

  She shook her head in response. He turned his attention to the freighter and thought about Lynn. He hated that the last moments he'd been with her were spent in anger. He wanted the chance to make it up to her.

  The leader's boat veered to the side and he motioned Mark onward, before falling in next to him. “Follow him,” he pointed to the lead boat, “aft,” he shouted to be heard above the engines. “Stop when he does and wait.”

  Mark waved that he understood. The leader's boat accelerated, pulling away from the convoy. Mark watched as the boat swung about and idled next to a cargo net that hung over the side of the freighter. The leader stretched, caught a loop, and without a pause, the man scaled the massive vessel in less than a minute, and disappeared topside. As Mark slowed his engine to match the lead vessel's speed, he caught sight of the baseball-capped man ascending the steps to the bridge.

  A man in the lead boat motioned with a hand, sweeping across his throat for Mark to cut the engine. He did so and his hand hovered above the gun, as he wondered if he'd be quick enough to draw and shoot before he became Swiss Mark.

  The trail boat came alongside and the man who'd spoken about shooting and taking what they wanted said, “You wait here. The woman comes with me. Now! This is non-negotiable.”

  Mark swallowed hard, but it seemed to catch in his throat. He bent to help Shavonne up. “I guess it is too late now. Good luck.”

  She nodded again, stood and Mark led her to the side. The other boat moved closer. The man and another passenger reached out and snagged Mark's boat, pulling and bumping the two vessels together. The crewman in the rear held fast while the front man held out a hand to Shavonne. Mark heard rather than saw her chest heave as she fought back her fear and a sob.

  As she alighted on the other deck, Mark stepped back into the pilot’s area near the wheel. It didn't offer much protection, but more than he’d had. He slid the gun free and cocked the hammer, determined to get off at least one shot. He focused hard on the lead man's chest, marking him as his first target.

  To his surprise, they didn't treat Shavonne roughly or as a piece of meat. The man in control led her to the rear of the boat and sat her on the bench. He returned and said, “You wait right here. Do not make any attempt to get closer to the freighter. The men haven't had a chance to shoot anyone in a while. I'm sure they're eager for some practice.”

  He motioned the other boats forward, like a trail master leading a wagon train, and closed in on the freighter. Mark was curious how they were going to get Shavonne on board. As if in answer, a platform, like a window washer’s scaffolding, lowered from the deck to the freighter. The leader stepped on it, steadied himself, then reached down for Shavonne. The passenger on the boat helped her up onto the railing and the leader guided her onto the platform. It swayed under the new weight. Shavonne lurched but the man caught and held her and placed her bound hands on the side rope. He leaned back and waved to someone on the freighter and the scaffolding was hauled up.

  As the boat rocked gently under the waves rebounding off the freighter, Mark watched Shavonne grow smaller against the huge gray mass of the ship. He wondered if he'd ever see her again. She was a brave woman and he had a lot of respect for her and her willingness to sacrifice her freedom for that of the girl’s.

  He hoped she hadn't miscalculated, for her sake, and his. For just as she was willing to exchange herself for the girl, Mark knew he'd probably do the same for her. He glanced at the boat still guarding him. If he was still alive to do so, of course.

  Nineteen

  “Unbelievable!” Lynn exclaimed. “It's just like I told him. Your father can't go anywhere without falling into some dangerous situation. And for what? Fish! And he didn't even bring that back.”

  “Hey!” Bobby said, “that's kinda unfair. Look what happened here and you sure didn't go looking for it.”

  Lynn glared at Bobby, knowing he was right and let her anger bleed away. “You're right. I'm sorry. I'm a bit stressed.”

  “The question is,” Becca said, “what are we going to do?”

  “What can we do?” Lynn replied. “Other than send a team to look for him, of course.”

  “Well, that's a start,” said Bobby.

  “We know where he was,” added Becca, “and, knowing Daddy, we have a pretty good idea what he planned to do. We'll
go the marina and figure out what to do from there.”

  “I suppose that's the best place to start,” said Lynn.

  “It's the only place to start,” Becca said, her tone showing signs of impatience.

  “It's too dark to start now.”

  “Lynn,” Becca snapped. “time is one thing we don't have. He could be lying somewhere dying. We have to get to him as fast as we can.”

  “Becca,” Lynn said, forcing a calmness she didn't feel.

  “No!” Becca shouted and exploded to her feet. “I'm not going to listen if you plan to delay. Every second we debate, Daddy could be bleeding out. I'm not waiting.”

  “Becca,” Bobby interjected. “Sit down. Lynn has a valid point and we need to talk about it.”

  She fumed at her brother, but sat down, looking ready to detonate again at any moment.

  “Becca, I'm not trying to delay. I'm as worried as you are, believe me. I—”

  “Ha! That's why you were so quick to leave my dad and move out, eh? Because of how worried you are!”

  Lynn's face flushed. She averted her gaze.

  “Becca.” Bobby said, his voice stern. “Stop!” She whipped her head in his direction and shot a withering glance at him. Bobby did not back down. “That's between Dad and Lynn. They'll work things out as they see fit. We need to stay focused on one thing, finding Dad. Now, calm down and lose the hostility. It's counterproductive.”

  Lynn said, “Whatever is or is not happening between your father and me, it doesn't mean I don't care about him. That will never change. I've said and done some things that I regret, but that's for later. What I was about to say is that I'm concerned about sending a rescue mission out in the dark where they might run into their own trouble. You told me about the barricade and the people chasing you. At the marina, you ran into what amounted to modern-day pirates. How will you see well enough to avoid an ambush at either location or, for that matter, anywhere in between?”

  Lynn took a deep breath. “I want your father safe. I can't imagine life without him and after almost losing my son, I understand how that feels better than ever, but as the person making the decisions, I can't justify placing other lives in jeopardy to rescue one person, no matter how much I want to … or how much that one person means to me. Can you understand that?”