Lady Sun: Marni MacRae

by Marni MacRae

  “A signal fire.”

  I almost didn't catch it, his voice was soft and distant. Then he began to shiver.

  The night lasted forever. Lucas swung between bouts of dry heaving, fever, and chills. For the heaving I stroked his back as he wretched air, his body pulling in on itself in contracting spasms. For the fever, I wet him down, blowing gently on his chest, hoping to cool his heart, cool his blood, comfort in any way I could. For his chills, I wrapped my arm around him and leant support, warmth. Love.

  I tried through it all to stay calm. I spoke gently, mostly nonsense. I talked about home and my childhood, the silly games I had played with my siblings, the trouble I had gotten into in school. I talked about the farm and the animals, the weather and of snow.

  I didn't talk about the baby or the future, or us. I didn't want to trigger worries, and I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it. So I stuck to the light, fluffy, stuff and murmured through the night, waiting for the sun to rise.

  Start a fire. We had talked of a signal fire, weighing whether it would be worth the effort it would take. The nearest land by our estimation and the map in my book was more than a hundred miles away. In order for any smoke to be seen, we would have to bet that there was a patrol or ship in the area, or even a plane. But we just couldn't know if anyone would see it. There was the small concern that it might be illegal to burn on the protected island, but in the end we had simply agreed it would be a futile effort, and so had never tried.

  If Lucas had decided at some point to try a signal fire, and as his last effort to communicate before the fever took him was to tell me, he must have felt the hope of rescue was growing slim.

  I had weighed all this through the night. As the man I loved burned with fever and retched any drop of water I gave him right back up. I decided that at first light I would make a liquid paste of banana, aloe, and water to hopefully give to Lucas. He needed any kind of nourishment and hydration I could force into him. I prayed he would hold it down long enough to gain some nutrients from it.

  Then I would build the biggest bonfire I could manage.

  Fury had brought down plenty of green limbs and fronds in the storm so I would have plenty of fodder to make some good smoke. If this was our best bet, then I would send as much black smoke high into the sky as possible. Perhaps Diego Garcia would have jets out on training and would see the smoke, or even a commercial airliner could call it in. No matter who saw it, I didn't care, I would build it, they would come. Kevin Costner taught me that much, and I believed Kevin.

  Chapter 27

  The sky lightened to a dusty pink before the sun crested the island's edge. I tied the laces of my Keds, planning in my mind how to most expediently find an aloe plant, try to convince Lucas to swallow my planned concoction and then to gather the fuel for my fire. “Should I build it here, where I can tend to it? Or on the beach near the water in case of emergency and it got away from me.”

  “Build it on the beach.”

  Lucas’s raspy whisper came from behind me. I hadn't realized I was muttering out loud, too used to talking to myself, my subconscious let me ramble freely now.

  “Oh my God, Lucas! How are you?” I rushed to his side and knelt in the sand to reach out and run a hand down the side of his face. He wasn't sweating anymore, but he was still shockingly hot, his skin felt pulled tight like a drum, and smooth like fiery satin. “Can you drink? I need you to drink some water Lucas.”

  He nodded and closed his eyes, running his tongue out to moisten parched lips. “Yeah, a little water maybe.”

  I quickly fetched the metal cup and filled it, grabbing three Tylenol from the med kit that I had placed next to the bed last night. I had sat going through its contents over and over, hoping to magically find a bottle of antibiotics or a pill marked 'cure all take only in dire straits.' There were twelve Tylenol left, but I wasn't sure I should risk him throwing them up. I knew they would help with his fever, but wasting them to be puked onto the sand was too high a risk.

  “Do you think you can swallow these?” I held the small white pills in my palm looking desperately into his hazy eyes that only opened a crack.

  He looked at the Tylenol. It seemed to take a moment for him to register my question, then he gave a slight nod and began to struggle to rise.

  “No, wait, I'll help you.” I moved to sit beside him and lifted his shoulders, raising his head enough to sip at the cup of water and swallow the pills without fearing they would stick in his dry throat. I knew it must be painful for him to swallow, after all that heaving and retching through the night. I had experienced a few too many hangover mornings and was familiar with the dragged-through-the-dirt-and stomped-on-by-elephants feeling.

  Lucas opened his mouth, and I placed the Tylenol on his tongue and held the cup to his lips so he could sip at the warm water. Once he emptied the contents, I placed the cup aside and lowered him back down to rest against the life vests.

  “I’ll get you a banana, you'll need something to keep the Tylenol from aggravating your empty stomach.”

  I rummaged through my stack of fruit and found our ripest banana, and then, piece by small piece, I fed Lucas bites until he had gotten down almost half of the fruit. I let him rest a moment to see if he was going to keep it down, and then gave him another cup of water.

  “How do you feel?”

  I knew it was a stupid question that could be honestly answered with some colorful curses, but I was hoping for more of -- what stupid-ass disease do you have, and how I can fix it -- kind of answer.

  “How do I look?”

  I laughed before I could stop myself, the stress making it sound a little hysterical to my ears.

  “You look like you partied way too hard and maybe was slipped a rufi in your margarita.”

  “Mmm.” Lucas left his response simple and closed his eyes again.

  “Lucas, I need to run out for a minute. I need to get you some aloe and some coconut water, you sweated out a gallon of fluids last night.” I lay my hand over his heart, taking small comfort in the steady beat I found there. “Please, don't throw up the Tylenol.”

  He cracked an eye and gave me a weak grin. “I promise. I'll just wait here. K?”

  I leaned down and kissed his hot brow. “OK, cowboy. Back in a flash.”

  It only took me ten minutes of searching the nearby jungle to find an aloe plant, and another five to gather up enough coconuts to gain a cupful of its precious electrolyte packed water. I didn't have an I.V. and I didn't understand the water-to-sugar or -salt ratio anyway even if I thought I could rig something. But I knew Lucas’s fever would most likely return, and I wanted to get him as hydrated as possible before the next bout of sweats and chills.

  When it came to tropical diseases, I knew they took time to run their course. All I could hope for was that Lucas hadn't lost too much of his strength and stamina this last month. His body had already battled scorching sun, lack of food, and long stretches of thirst before we had begun the distilling.

  “Please, please, please, please, please.” I chanted the desperate plea under my breath as I hurried back to the church. Perhaps with the sacred ground, and enough sincere praying, God would actually hear me. I was completely certain that whatever sin I may have inadvertently committed in my life, this past month surely cleared my debt of penance.

  “Please, don't take him from me.” I stopped just outside the still hanging door of the coral church with its new roof and hauntingly pretty facade. I clutched my burden in my skirt and closed my eyes turning my face to the sky.

  “Please,” I whispered, “don't leave me alone on this island to bury this good man in a shallow sand grave. Don't ask that of me.” I hadn't prayed since I was a child, and couldn't remember whether my mother had taught me the proper way of it. But my heart and soul was in the request, my fear and panic locked behind a flimsy door that threatened to break free and overtake me.

  “Please, just let him make it long enough for rescue to come, then you can hand i
t over to the doctors and I promise I will pray more. I will be better, a better person, I'll try harder, anything to not be left here alone, to not lose him.”

  I had a feeling that begging and bargaining were most likely not God's favorite things to hear, but I didn't apologize. I just wiped the tears from my cheeks and finished the prayer with, “Thank you. Amen.” Then I squared my shoulders and went into God's house to crack open my coconuts.

  Lucas had kept down the Tylenol, banana and water. He looked marginally better, but it might have been my hope-tinted glasses. The pills had helped to reduce his fever, and he was sitting up, leaning back against the wall when I came in. I knew he must hate being sick; he was not a man to take anything lying down, which was also one of the reasons for my worry and barely-restrained panic. If he could manage it, I knew Lucas would have kept any weakness from me.

  He clearly couldn't manage it.

  Using a hollowed out coconut as a bowl and a flat stick as a spoon, I mashed some banana with coconut water and aloe. Lucas sat sipping a cup full of water with my instructions to drink slowly but finish it all. He didn't argue, and I could tell he was weak and exhausted. His greeting, when I came in, had been an apologetic smile, and a whispered “Hey.”

  As I mashed, I kept glancing over at him, stricken by the extreme change in his appearance. His demeanor. Only two days ago he had been up on the roof in the sunshine, laying palm fronds and admonishing me for not drinking enough water -- in his opinion. Now he looked gray and weak and only opened his eyes to guide the cup to his lips every other minute or so.

  “You said to start the fire on the beach.” I rose and went to sit in front of him Indian style.

  Lucas opened his eyes and set the metal cup to the side, I noted that he had finished every drop.

  “Yes. In case of winds, and fewer trees to break up the smoke.” His voice sounded better, no longer a whisper, but it still seemed like it took some effort.

  “OK. I want to get you fed and comfortable and then I'll start building a pile for a signal fire.”

  “Don't wait for a plane, Sophia. Light it and feed it.”

  I was silent for a minute. I knew what he was saying. He was admitting his state of health was bad. He knew he couldn't care for me, fish for me, protect me. Us. I knew I could fish, I could bear the burden he had lain down. But with the baby, and now this, whatever this illness was...

  We needed to get off this island.

  “OK. I will.” There was no reason to argue it. I agreed with him. I would build it, and light it and feed it. I would come back at sunset and check on Lucas, care for him through the night, and tomorrow I would do it again. Send smoke and prayers to the heavens until one of them was answered by rescue.

  * * *

  The pile of palm fronds and tree branches stood taller than me. At least six feet to the top of the peak of the pyre I had slaved to construct. It was mid-afternoon, the sun directly above me, roasting me as if I were on that pyre and had been accused of witchcraft, set to burn away my demons.

  I had decided to build the pyre on the old rock pier. It had once been quite wide, maybe fifteen feet, its length I could only guess at though. It ran about fifty feet or so out into the water and then crumbled away. It might have been twice that length when originally constructed, but this was what nature, and storms and ocean, had left for me to work with.

  I had layered the immense pile with brown and green fronds. Enough dry ones to keep it burning hot, and enough green ones to achieve my goal of lots and lots, of smoke.

  Sitting at the end of the pier the bonfire would send my signal straight and true, into the blue sky, making our presence known to any who saw it.

  “Here goes everything.”

  I reached my hand into the bottom of the pile where I had stuffed a large bundle of dry tinder and shredded dry palm fronds. My Bic was running low on fumes. It took a few tries for the spark to find the butane and when it did the flame was small, as if it too, had enough of this place, had spent its best and was ready to go home and be refilled. The tiny flame licked at the bundle of brown fronds and then finally, the tinder caught and began to feed on itself.

  It grew larger and larger, belching out smoke before I had time to get to the end of the pier. I didn't want to be close to the flames if I could help it. The sun was enough torture. I found a spot in the shade to sit and watch the spectacle. I would take a short break and then begin gathering fuel to keep my S.O.S fed.

  I drank from the thermos of water I had carried to the beach with me. I had left Lucas set up with the metal can half full of water and his little metal cup. I hated leaving him, but I knew there was nothing I could do for him there. I knew too that this attempt with the fire was the last meal to our starving hope.

  Had Lucas not fell ill we could have waited, a week or two, maybe even another month before we would really start to deteriorate in our health. Before we would have grown desperate and worried. It sounds strange, but we had a can-do attitude, the both of us, and so surviving had been something we adjusted to. We would have fished, and hunted for edibles, and boiled water, and waited. For we knew that someone would eventually come, it was just patience we had to feed. Just wait.

  But now, there was no waiting. The baby had put us into overdrive, and now, well, I wasn't sure what the death rate was for tropical diseases, but I had a healthy imagination. I was so exhausted with the struggle to survive each day. To try and grin through it. I didn't have much energy left to battle my fears of what would become of Lucas, of me, of this tiny life inside me, if someone didn't come now.

  Right. Freaking. Now.

  I heaved myself off my butt and went back to the hunt for fuel. Green fronds, brown fronds, branches ripped free during Fury's party. Old logs small enough for me to drag and heave onto the smoky mass of sparks and flames. I trudged back and forth, down the pier, back into the jungle, then back down the pier. Squinting against the smoke and heat, holding my breath, not wanting to breathe anything that could hurt me, hurt the baby. I had heard if you breathed in poison sumac smoke you would develop a rash in your lungs instead of on your skin. I couldn't risk something I had fed the pyre with getting me sick, so I would hold my breath until little stars appeared in my vision, feeding fronds and limbs to the hot beast. Then retreat to the shade, rest a bit, and go again.

  I was dead on my feet. I was starving, and thirsty, having finished my water hours ago, but I kept on. I didn't want all the work to end in naught if the fire burned down while I went for lunch. So I shut down and counted my steps, letting the rhythm of the numbers sooth me until I looked up, and the sun was setting into the water. Leaving me free to go home. Go to church, I thought, and I trudged back through the trees, to Lucas.

  He slept. Drenched in sweat, his cup empty beside the mat. I couldn't tell how much water was missing from the can, so there was no way to judge how much he had drank while I was gone. But his fever was back with a vengeance, and from the looks of him he had been sweating for some time.

  “Oh, Lucas.” I sobbed out his name and knelt beside him, I lifted his head and held a cup of water to his lips. He didn't wake, his head lolling in my hands like a dead weight and I let the tears run.

  I kept back the panic, but my check valve had to release some pressure, and this was too much. I finished the cup of water, gulping it down just for the baby, then found the shirt I had used the night before to bathe him and ripped a piece from the back. I refilled the cup with air temperature water and arranged myself against the wall, placing Lucas’s heavy head in my lap.

  Dipping the scrap into the cup I opened Lucas’s mouth with my fingers and let the water drip inside. He swallowed reflexively, and I did it again, then again. It took some time, but finally the cup was empty, and I felt I had won a battle.

  Leaning back against the somewhat cool coral wall, I closed my eyes, and sleep took me.

  I woke to shaking. Lucas was shivering. His body shook so violently with the chills, his head had fallen fro
m my lap. I crawled over to lay alongside his back, spooning his long frame against me, and I wrapped my arm around him to lay my hand over his heart. After a moment the shivering lessened, and I began to hum and old Simon and Garfunkel song, “Bridge over Troubled Water” and soon I drifted off to sleep again.

  The next time I woke it was to a burning sensation. Lucas’s fever was back. Weak light came in through the windows, signaling the coming dawn. I had to get this fever under control. I didn't have a thermometer but I could tell it was ridiculously high. Even if he survived this, when I corrected myself, I didn't want any brain damage done. I loved his brain.

  I crawled tiredly to the can of water and filled the cup. Using it to soak the rag, I washed every bit of exposed skin, blowing against his dripping body, sending every good thought I had toward him. I wanted to feed him more Tylenol but had to wake him for it, for he would choke if I tried to force feed him. I had an idea to crush the pills in water and ladle it into his mouth, and decided since he hadn't thrown up through the night it was worth a try.

  I filled the metal cup up a third of the way and dropped in three pills. Then, using my flat stick/spoon, I crushed them up until they were completely dissolved. I arranged myself against the wall as I had the night before, then I opened Lucas’s mouth, with him putting up no resistance, and trickled a small amount onto his tongue. He swallowed again as he had before, and I sighed, hoping his fever would break if I could get it all into him. Very slowly and patiently, I dribbled the milky white medicine into him until he had it all in, and then I filled the cup again and repeated the process.

  The sun shone brightly in the morning sky by the time I was through. I wanted so badly to lay down and curl up next to him, go back to sleep, wake up in my own bed to the smell of coffee and bacon. But I knew I had to eat, drink some more water, and go back to the pier. Do it all again.