by Dean M. Cole
Unfortunately, her timing sucked.
The dock fell away almost as fast as she did.
"Crap!"
The astronaut floated weightlessly above the descending deck.
Then the dock reversed course.
Angela didn't.
She crumpled face first into the wood planks.
Stars burst into her vision.
A blast of thermonuclear pain burned through her skull as a loud crack emanated from the region of her nose.
The woman moaned loudly and rolled onto her side. Hot liquid drizzled down her upper lip and across her cheek. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. The darkness tried to pull her all the way under this time. Angela fought it off.
After a few moments of panting groans, she struggled to her hands and knees. The woman crawled back to the concrete bulkhead. Timing it right this time, she snagged the helmet on her first try.
It was empty!
With wide eyes, Angela scanned the waterfront. There was no sign of the mice.
She called for them, her voice now nasal and weak. "Nate!"
Nothing, only the sound of the waves and the rocking boats.
Coughs racked her body. Angela collapsed into a sobbing mass. Lying on her side and curled up into a ball, she wept uncontrollably.
"Oh, God … No, no, no—"
Something touched her cheek.
Angela's eyes snapped open.
Four little pink noses twitched not three inches from her own. Their owners paced awkwardly on the wet boards of the rising and falling pier. Nate squeaked and climbed into her hair. Then his siblings followed him.
Stunned, Angela lay there for a long, silent moment. Finally, she rolled onto her back and dissolved into laughing sobs.
A male voice came from below her. "I'm glad you're having such a good time."
Angela's eyes flew wide open.
"Vaughn!"
"A little help here?"
The woman rolled toward his voice and then burst into a fresh round of laughter.
Still in his spacesuit, visor open, Vaughn floated on his back, bobbing like a cork.
The captain saw her face and his smile vanished.
"Oh shit! What happened?"
Angela ran a hand across her upper lip. The fingers came away covered with blood. "It probably looks worse than it is," she said nasally. "You should see the other guy."
"I'll bet."
Vaughn pointed at his spacesuit. "Think you can drop me a line? Something that'll stop me from sinking while I pull this off? Drowning seems like a rather silly way to end the day." He paused and momentarily closed his visor as a bigger wave splashed over him. He opened it and then chuckled. "I learned that lesson the hard way. My ass cheeks probably look like a pair of wrinkled prunes by now."
Angela laughed again, but another wave of nausea swept over her, and suddenly, nothing seemed at all funny. She nodded and then clambered to her feet. Walking unsteadily on the pitching pier, she stumbled toward a nearby fishing trawler. It had a hoist that should work. After crossing the boat's oily bulkhead, she dropped clumsily onto its rust-covered deck.
"Paddle over here, Vaughn."
"On my way."
The man's arms stroked back and forth. A moment later, he pulled alongside the boat and squinted up at her with worried eyes. Then he guffawed. "I see our four little friends have returned to their rat's nest."
Angela felt her face flush.
Vaughn waved. "Sorry, not making fun." His eyes softened. "I know you grew close to the little tykes."
She nodded self-consciously.
The man pointed to his waistline. "What do you say you lower that hook down here?"
Angela nodded. After a little coaxing, she swung out the hoist's small three-foot-long boom. Every movement took incredible effort. She had to stop between each and catch her breath.
The worried look had returned to Vaughn's face. "I don't know, Angela. This is too much. Maybe I should look for another way—"
"Shut it, Captain." The woman grunted as she turned the hoist's handle, playing out the cable. She cocked an eyebrow. "Just grab the damned cable, mister."
Vaughn smiled and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
He grabbed the end of the line and then squinted, blinking as a large wave cast its salty spray into his face. Finally, he attached the hook to the suit.
The Army captain held up a thumb. "Take up the slack, and I'll do the rest."
Angela flipped a lever on the side of the crank. She turned it clockwise this time. It ratcheted loudly, and the line went taut. The crane's mast creaked under the surging loads generated as the waterlogged astronaut bobbed in the waves.
Vaughn held up a thumb. "That's perf—!"
The boom snapped with a sharp crack. The man's spacesuited figure flailed as the next wave swamped his helmet.
Then the captain disappeared, sinking out of sight.
"No!" Angela screamed. She tried to crank him back up, but the handle wouldn't budge.
"Vaughn!"
A mass of bubbles boiled to the surface. The dangling hoist cable snapped taut as the now water-filled suit tried to sink to the bottom of the harbor.
Angela reached over the bulkhead and grabbed the writhing cable.
She couldn't move it!
The woman heaved and yanked on the line, screaming his name again and again.
Then it stopped vibrating.
"Vaughn? Oh God, no!"
Through flowing tears, Angela stared into the water.
"Vaughn!"
Chapter 33
Cold, briny liquid flooded into Vaughn's nostrils. Before he could close the visor, the last of the suit's trapped air exploded through the opening.
The world darkened as he rapidly sank into the murk.
Vaughn's hands grasped at the hook with panicked desperation.
The man closed his eyes. Through a force of will, he stopped thrashing.
The last thing he should do was disconnect the hook. It was the only thing stopping him from sinking all the way to the bottom.
Vaughn purposefully and methodically searched the suit's waistline for its interface, the point that locked the two halves together. A moment later, he found the lever and actuated it. The man felt the lower half of the spacesuit begin to drift away. He kicked it off and then threw his arms over his head as if shrugging out of a turtleneck.
It wouldn't budge!
Panic gripped him as he began to sink.
The man couldn't break free of the suit's upper half!
His lungs burned!
Then it slipped away, and Vaughn swam free of the spacesuit.
Kicking his feet, the man followed his bubbles up. A moment later he broke the surface.
Blinking burning eyes, Vaughn stared up at the back of the boat. He couldn't see Commander Brown.
Just as the man was about to call Angela's name, he heard her say something.
A knotted length of rope hung from the back of the fishing vessel. He grabbed it and started pulling himself from the water.
"Angela!"
Another shout from the woman drowned out the call.
Vaughn couldn't see her or discern the words.
Then a long, keening wail ended with a single clear word:
"Vaughn!"
He grabbed the ledge and pulled himself up.
"Over here, Angela."
The commander's head snapped up. She looked at him from the trawler's deck with wide, scared eyes.
"Vaughn?"
"None other."
The man grunted as he crested the transom and swung his legs into the back of the boat.
Angela stood shakily.
"I thought you were … I thought I killed you!"
She stumbled toward Vaughn as he stood. Her ghostly white face smiled up at him. Then her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed, falling forward.
"Oh shit!"
Vaughn threw out his arms, catching her just before she could fall all the way t
o the deck. He easily arrested her momentum. The waif-thin woman felt as tenuous as midsummer Las Vegas fog.
This was the first time he'd seen Angela outside of her spacesuit. Vaughn had been shocked by her hollow cheeks and sallow skin on the space station, but her condition was worse than he'd imagined.
Vaughn carried her to the trawler's cabin. Inside, he found a bunk that looked relatively clean. A window had been left open, so it wasn't as hot as he'd feared.
He laid her gently onto the bed's wrinkled wool blanket. After running his fingers across her clammy forehead and brushing hair from her face, he stood and began searching the vessel.
Vaughn soon located a closet-sized room that appeared to serve as the boat's galley. Inside, he found several bottled waters along with some canned meat and a sealed bag of crackers. He scooped all of it into his arms and ran back to her cabin.
Seeing her lying there, so insubstantial, Vaughn shook his head.
You're an idiot, Singleton! Should've figured this out months ago!
He knelt beside her and draped a wetted washcloth across her forehead.
"Hang in there, Angela."
Her eyes fluttered and then opened. "Vaughn?" she said weakly.
"I'm here." He held the open water bottle to her lips. "Drink this."
She took a couple of sips and then shook her head.
Vaughn tore open the bag of crackers. He held one of the Saltines to her mouth.
She took a tentative nibble and then shook her head again.
"Can't, nauseous …"
A shiver followed by a coughing spell shook her body.
"So cold," she whispered through now-chattering teeth.
Vaughn pulled another wool blanket from a nearby shelf and wrapped it around her, tucking the olive drab cloth snugly under her chin.
He didn't like that cough. It sounded like bronchitis. If the antibiotics didn't kick in soon, it would probably progress into pneumonia—if it hadn't already.
He held the water to her lips again. "You need to drink this, Angela."
She shook her head.
"Just a little," he insisted.
The woman relented and took a couple of sips. A fresh wave of coughs racked her body.
Small squeaking sounds came through the room's open door.
Angela's eyes widened. "The mice!"
Vaughn looked over and smiled. All four of the little guys were standing in the opening. He retrieved her helmet from the dock and then placed some crackers and a small cup of water on a table adjacent to the bed. He deposited the mice next to the stash and set the dome over them.
Angela watched the foursome through the clear visor. Then she smiled up at him.
"Thank you—" Another coughing spasm cut off her words.
Vaughn gently caressed her cloth-covered temple with his thumb.
"Angela, listen to me."
Her lids raised to half-mast. Then she focused on his face.
"Where are the antibiotics?"
After staring at him for a few seconds, understanding dawned in the woman's eyes. She shook her head. "Left them in my suit." The words elicited another string of hacking coughs. "Back at the airport. I'm sorry."
Vaughn nodded. "That's okay. I'll make a quick supply run."
Fear and concern blossomed in Angela's eyes.
The man held up both hands. "I'll be right back. I won't be gone long, I promise."
Vaughn gave her another sip of water and was relieved to see her accept it. Then he placed a full water bottle under her right hand.
"Right back," he said with a raised hand. "Scout's honor."
She smiled. "I knew you were a Boy Scout." Fresh coughs followed her short laugh.
Vaughn stood. He snapped to attention and raised two fingers to his brow. "Eagle Scout Vaughn Singleton at your service, ma'am."
Angela giggled.
And Vaughn fell in love.
Chapter 34
A white minivan with yellow fenders careened down a littered Tripoli street. With a sudden swerve, it narrowly avoided a small dune that had drifted into the road. Vaughn almost hadn't seen it. Everything had a fine coating of the tan powder, providing the mounds with perfect camouflage.
The man hadn't spotted a pharmacy in the industrialized area around the port, so he turned the minivan down the next crossroad and headed deeper into the city.
A few blocks later, the urban milieu began to change. Office buildings gave way to storefronts. Fortunately, the fires had spared the area.
Finally, Vaughn spotted his quarry. A green crescent adorned the façade of a white building halfway down the block.
He brought the cab to a skidding stop in front of the pharmacy's glass door. Leaping from the still running minivan, he trotted over to the entrance.
Locked!
A moment later, Vaughn threw a cinder block through the door. The glass shattered and fell away. He stepped through the opening. In the dark interior, he fished out the flashlight he'd brought from the trawler. He flipped it on and followed its circle of light deeper into the shop. Then Vaughn hopped over the counter and into the pharmacy proper. He soon found several huge bottles of antibiotics. Fortunately, most of them had English labels. He wasn't sure which one was appropriate, but he thought Angela might have an idea about that. After all, NASA had trained her to be self-sufficient while stuck on a space station two hundred miles above the closest doctor.
Vaughn began to climb back over the counter, but a sudden epiphany struck him. What if the woman had lost consciousness or couldn't think clearly enough to answer his questions? He nodded and then swung his legs back into the pharmacy. Near the back, he found a book titled Diagnosis and Dosage.
"Bingo!"
Under the beam of the flashlight, Vaughn leafed through the three-inch-thick volume. He found the section on bronchitis and was relieved to see that he'd already collected one of the specified antibiotics. Vaughn nodded and tossed the book and his cache of drugs into a bag.
A few minutes later, he hopped down onto the undulating surface of the floating dock and scrambled onto the boat.
"I'm back!"
No response.
He stepped into the warm room.
The commander lay motionlessly on the bed and didn't respond to his arrival.
"Angela?!"
Nothing.
Vaughn dropped the bag and ran to her side. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Angela, it's me. Wake up."
She still didn't respond, but as he reached to check her pulse, he saw her chest slowly rise and fall.
"Oh, thank you," Vaughn whispered. Then he did a double take.
Four pairs of nervous eyes stared out from Angela's matted hair.
"Hey, guys. How'd you get out?"
Then he saw the upturned helmet. The commander must have freed them.
He shook her shoulder.
"Angela!"
She still didn't respond.
Vaughn had to get water and medicine into the woman. He scooped up the mice and placed them back in their helmet habitat. After raising Angela to an inclined position, the man pushed the first of two large antibiotic pills into her mouth. Then he held a bottled water to her lips.
"Drink this, Angela."
He tilted the bottle and allowed some of the water to run into her mouth. Thankfully, she swallowed the pill. Vaughn placed the second one there and repeated the process. Angela coughed twice but soon took that one as well.
Vaughn eased her back down onto the pillow.
Still hot with fever, she began to shiver again.
He wrapped her up in the wool blanket and then added another for good measure.
Over the next two days, Vaughn repeated the procedure twice. On the second day, he packed her and the mice into the minivan and moved the whole family into an opulent suite. There, he finally coaxed Angela into taking some meat and canned potatoes.
Nate and friends had needed no coaxing.
After the woman started eating, color returned
to her face. Her cheeks soon lost their hollow, death camp pallor, but she remained bedridden, unable to stand for more than a moment or two without getting dizzy.
They spent their days talking, comparing experiences. The pair discussed their highs and their lows. The man and woman laughed together, and they cried together as well. Angela spilled some of those tears when Vaughn related his experience at the Royal Gorge and how it had changed him, focused him.
The woman told him of her struggles with starvation. She broke down while describing the mouth-watering smell generated by the accidental torching of Nadine. The evident guilt dredged up by the memory sent Angela into a fit of tears. There seemed to be something more, but he decided not to push.
Her smile and wonderful laugh returned when Vaughn told her of his presidential lunches and how the nearly disastrous end of the final one had led to his "What can Brown do for you?" epiphany.
The commander improved a little each day.
And each day, Vaughn fell more deeply in love with Angela. However, beyond her gratitude—a thankfulness for which the man felt unworthy—the woman hadn't shown any sign that she shared his feelings.
Presently, Vaughn walked down the hotel's long central hall, careful not to trip over the wires that fed electricity from the remote generator. Reaching the end of the hallway, he opened the door and stepped into the suite.
"What's the plan, Stan?" asked a surprisingly strong female voice.
Vaughn looked up to see Angela. She was outside of the bedroom for the first time.
The woman smiled at him from her seated position on the couch. With legs propped up on the coffee table, she regarded him over the rim of the steaming mug of Java clutched in both of her hands.
"You're up!" Vaughn grinned. "It's about time. Thought you'd never get that skinny butt out of bed."
Still sitting, Angela leaned onto one cheek and regarded said posterior. "Hey, my butt's not that skinny. It's starting to fill in."
"Seriously, it's good to see you up." The aroma of garlic and freshly brewed coffee washed across Vaughn. "Smells like you've been getting around pretty well. Any trouble walking?"
Without answering, Angela set the mug on the table and began to stand. The man started to walk to her, but she held up a hand. "I got this." A moment later, she stood fully upright. Then she held her arms out at shoulder level and smiled self-consciously. "Ta-da."
