by The Web(Lit)
"Some of them," he said, softly, 'were already dead. Lying in cots... unconscious, rotting. Others were on the verge of losing consciousness. Sloughed skin was everywhere... limbs... the room stank of gangrene."
He began crying, tried to stop, then to hide it. It took a while before he resumed, and then, in a whisper.
"Bed after bed, crammed together like open coffins... I could still recognize a few of their faces. No attempt was being made to treat them no food or medication or IV. lines. They were being stored."1 The grapefruit, a mess of pulp and rind.
"The last ward was the worst: dozens of dead children. Then, a miracle: some of the babies were still alive and looking relatively healthy. Dermal lesions, malnutrition, but conscious and breathing well their little eyes followed me as I stood over their layettes... I counted. Nine."
He stood again and circled the room unsteadily.
"I still don't understand it. Perhaps the relatively low dosage had protected them, or something in their newborn immune systems. Or maybe there is a God."
Wringing his hands, he walked to the refrigerators and faced a copper-colored Kenmore.
"Sometimes it's good to be a sneak. I got them out. Four the first time, five the second. Swaddled in blankets so their cries, would be muffled, but it wasn't necessary. They couldn't cry. All , that came out was croaking."
[ Facing us.
"The vaccine, you see, had burned their vocal cords."
He picked up his pace, stalking an invisible victim.
"I had no place to take them but the forest. Thank God it was winter. Winter here is kind, warm temperatures, dry. I'd discovered the caves hiking. Had always liked caves." Smile.
"Secretive places. Used to spelunk when I was at Stanford, did a senior thesis on bats... I didn't think anyone else knew of them, and there was nowhere else to go."
"What about the land mines?" I said.
He smiled.
"The Japanese had plans to lay mines, but they never quite got around to it."
"The night of the knives?"
He nodded.
"You spread the rumor?" I said.
"I planted the seed. When it comes to rumors, there's never a shortage of gardeners... where was I?... I placed them in a cave. Not this one, I didn't know about this one. Or the tunnel. Once they were secreted, I checked them over, cleared them up, gave them water and electrolytes, returned to the infirmary, disassembled their layettes, scattering the parts in the hope they wouldn't be missed. And they weren't. The entire place was a charnel house, corpses and dying people had slid onto the floor, lying on top of one another, body fluids dripping. I'll never forget the sound. Even now, when it drizzles..."
His face took on that absent look and for a moment I thought he'd slip somewhere else. But he started talking again, louder:
"Then, a complication: one of the adults had survived, too. A man. As I was finishing with the layettes he came in, reaching for me, falling on me. I nearly died of fright he was... putrid.
I knew who he was. Aircraft mechanic, huge fellow, enormously strong. Perhaps that's why the symptoms hadn't take him over as rapidly. Which isn't to say he wasn't gravely ill. His skin was pure white as if bleached, one arm gone, no teeth, no hair. But able to stagger. He hadn't been a good man. A bully, really, with a vicious temper. I'd patched up men he'd beaten. I was worried he'd have enough strength to somehow set off an alarm, so I dragged him out too. It nearly killed me. Even starved, he must have weighed a hundred and eighty pounds. It took so long to get him across the base, I was sure some sentry would see me.
But I finally made it.
"I put him in another cave, away from the babies, and tended to him as best I could. He was shaking with chills, skin starting to slough. Trying to talk and growing enraged at his inability. He kept looking at the stump where his arm had been and screaming a silent scream. Rabid anger. His eyes were wild. Even in that condition, he frightened me. But I calculated it would only be hours."
Lurching toward a chair, he sat.
"I was wrong. He lasted five days, fluctuating between stupor and agitation. He'd actually get up and lurch around the cave, | injuring himself horribly but remaining on his feet. His pre morbid strength must have been superhuman. It was on the fifth day that he managed to escape. I'd been at the base, got back that night and he wasn't there. At first I panicked, thinking someone had discovered everything, but the babies were still in their cave. I finally found him lying under one of the banyans, semiconscious.
I dragged him back. He died two hours later."
"But not before Joseph Cristobal saw him," I said.
He nodded.
"The next day, Gladys came to my office and told me about Joe. One of the other workers at the estate had told her Joe had a fit, claimed to have seen some kind of forest devil."
"A Tutalo."
"No," he smiled.
"I made that up, too. Tootali is the old word for "grub," but there's no myth."
"Planting the seed," I said.
"So Joe's story wasn't taken seriously?"
"Joe had always been odd. Withdrawn, talked to himself, especially when he drank. What concerned me were his chest pains. They sounded suspiciously like angina, but with anxiety, it was hard to know. As it turned out, his arteries were in terrible shape. There was nothing I could have done."
"You're saying the sighting had nothing to do with his death?"
"Perhaps," he said, 'his condition was complicated by fright."
"Did you let him go on believing there were monsters?"
He blinked.
"When I tried to discuss it with him, he covered his ears. Very stubborn man. Very rigid ideation not schizophrenic, but perhaps schizo id
I didn't answer.
"What should I have done, son? Told him he'd really seen something and endanger the babies? They were my priority.
Every spare moment was spent with them. Checking on them, bringing blankets, food, medicine. Holding them in my arms...
Despite everything I did, two of them got progressively worse.
But every night that passed without one of them dying was a victory. Barbara kept asking me what was wrong. Each night I left her... a light dose of sleeping medicine in her bedside water helped... shuttling back and forth, never knowing what I'd find when I got there. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said, 'but all these years, they haven't come aboveground?"
"Not unsupervised they haven't. They need to stay out of the sunlight extreme photo sensitivity Similar to what you see in some porphyric patients, but they have no porphyria and I've never been able to diagnose, never been able to find out what they were gi where was I?"
Looking baffled.
"Shuttling back and forth," said Robin.
"Ah, yes after a week or so it finally got to me. I fell asleep at my desk, only to be shaken awake by a loud roar. I knew the sound well: a large plane taking off. Seconds later, there was a tremendous explosion. A Navy transport had gone down over the ocean. Something about the fuel tanks."
The 1963 crash. Hoffman ordering Gladys to prepare coquille St. Jacques that night. Celebrating...
With the quarantined patients on board," I said.
"Eliminating any witnesses."
"The doctors from Washington, as well," said Moreland.
"Plus three sailors who'd guarded the infirmary assigned as flight attendants, and two medics."
"My God," said Robin.
"The patients would have died anyway," said Moreland.
"Most probably were dead when they loaded them on an airborne hearse. But the doctors and the medics and the flight crew were sacrifices all in the name of God and country, eh?"
"Why weren't you eliminated?" said Robin.
He put his hands together and studied the table.
"I've thought about that many times. I suppose it was because I bought myself some insurance. The day of the crash, I invited Hoffman over for drinks in my quarters. No wives, just us fella
s in our snappy dress whites, veddy dry martinis back then I was still indulging. As he picked pimiento out of his olive, I told him I knew exactly what he'd done and had made a detailed written record that I'd filed somewhere very safe with instructions to make it public if anything happened to me or any member of my family. That I was willing to forget the whole thing and move on if he was."
"He bought that?"
"It was a theatrical little stunt, I got the idea from one of those stupid detective shows Barbara used to watch. But apparently, it did the trick. He smiled and said, "Bill, your imagination's been working overtime. Pour me another one." Then he drank up and left. For months I slept with a gun under my pillow dreadful thing, I still hate them. But he never moved against me. The way I see it, he decided to deal because he believed me and felt it was the easy way out. Evil people have little trouble believing everyone else lacks integrity. The next day, a sailor delivered a sealed envelope to my quarters: discharge papers, three months early, and the deed to the estate. Excellent price, including all the furniture. The Navy moved us in, and we were provided with a year of free electricity and water. The pretense continued. Even our bridge games continued."
"Along with his cheating," I said.
"His cheating and my pretending not to know. That's as apt a metaphor for civilization as any, isn't it?"
He gave an unsettling laugh.
"Meanwhile, my real life continued at night, and any other time I could get away without attracting too much notice. I hadn't discovered the tunnel yet, and I hid a ladder so I could climb the wall. The two babies who'd deteriorated passed away, as did another. The first was a little girl named Emma hers was the only name I actually knew, because I'd treated her as a newborn for herniated umbilicus. Her father had made jokes about how she'd look in a bikini and I told him that should be his biggest problem..."
He looked ready to cry again, managed to blink it away.
"She died of malnutrition. I buried her and conducted a funeral service as best I could. A month later, a second little girl left me.
Bone marrow disease. Then a little boy, from pneumonia that wouldn't respond to antibiotics. The other six survived. You've just met them."
"What's their health status?" I said.
"Physically and mentally?"
"None of them have normal intelligence, and they have no speech. I taught myself the rudiments of IQ testing, administered the nonverbal components of the Wechsler tests and the Leiter.
They seem to fall in the fifty-to-sixty range, though Jimmy and
Eddy are a bit brighter. Their nervous systems are grossly abnormal: seizures, motor imbalance, sensory deficits, altered reflexes. Poor muscle tone, even when I can get them to exercise. Then there's the photo sensitivity the slightest bit of UV exposure eats up their skin. Even living down here hasn't managed to protect them completely. You saw their eyes, ears, fingers. Extensive fibro sing probably something autoimmune the actual process isn't unlike leprosy. They're not in danger of imminent wasting, but the erosion continues steadily. They're sterile a blessing, I suppose. Not much libido, either. That's made my life easier."
"I still don't see how you've managed to keep them down here all these years."
"At first it was difficult, son. I had to... confine them. Now it's not a serious problem. They may not be normal, but they've learned what the sun does to them. Half an hour outside and they're in pain for days. I've made every effort to provide them with as rich a life as possible. Here, let me show you."
He took us to an adjoining room, slightly smaller than the dining area. Beanbag chairs and homemade cases full of toys and picture books. A phonograph connected to a battery pack. Next to it, a stack of old 45s. The top one: Burl Ives singing children's songs.
"Jimmy Crack Corn'... A model train set in disarray on the shag carpet. Some of the soft people sat on the floor fooling with the tracks. Others reclined on the chairs, fingering dolls.
They greeted him with smiles and raspy cries. He went to each of them, whispered in their ears, hugged and patted and tickled.
When he turned to leave, one of them the larger woman took hold of his hand and tugged.
He pulled back. She resisted.
Giggles all around. A familiar game.
Finally, Moreland tickled her under the arm and she gave a silent, wide-mouthed laugh and let go, tumbling backward.
Moreland caught her, kissed the top of her head, pulled a Barbie doll out of the case and gave it to her.
"Look, Suzy: Movie Star Barbie. Look at this beautiful, fancy dress."
The woman turned the figurine, suddenly engrossed. Her features were saurine but her eyes were warm.
"Be right back, kids," said Moreland.
We left the room and walked down a narrow stone passage.
"How often do you come down here?" I asked.
"Optimally, two to five times a day. Less frequent than that and things get out of hand." His thin shoulders sagged.
"It sounds impossible," said Robin.
"It's... a challenge. But I keep my other obligations to a minimum."
Virtually no sleep.
No wife.
Sending his own daughter away as a toddler.
Allowing the island to decay... his one recreation the insects.
A small world he could control.
Studying predators in order to forget about victims.
We came to a third room: six portable chemical toilets and two sinks attached to large water tanks outfitted with sterilization kits.
A cloth partition halved the space. Three latrines and one basin on each side. Cutouts of men pasted on the stalls to the left, women to the right.
A strong wave of disinfectant.
Moreland said, 'I've toilet trained each of them. It took some time, but they're quite dependable now."
Next were the sleeping quarters three smaller caves, each with two beds. More books and toys. Piles of dirty clothes on the floor.
We still have a ways to go on neatness."
"Who does their laundry?" said Robin.
"We hand wash everything's cotton. They enjoy laundry time, I've turned it into a game. The clothes are old but good. Brooks Brothers and similar quality, brought in years ago on several boat loads I couldn't order too much at a time, didn't want to attract attention... Come, come, there's more."
He led us back into the passageway. It narrowed and we had to turn sideways. At the end was another webbed door. He saw me looking at it.
"Japanese ironwork. Beautiful, isn't it?"
On the other side was an exit ramp, descending steeply, its terminus out of view. The door was fastened with an enormous lock.
The soft people confined forever.
Moreland produced a key, rammed it into the lock, pushed the door open, and the three of us walked to the bottom of the ramp.
"Sometimes, when it's very dark and I can be sure they'll behave themselves, I take them up to the forest for nighttime picnics. Moonlight is kind to them. They love their picnic time.
Mentally they're children, but their bodies are aging prematurely.
Arthritis, bursitis, scoliosis, osteoporosis, cataracts. One of the boys has developed significant atherosclerosis. I treat him with anticoagulants, but it's a bit tricky because he bruises so easily."
He stopped. Stared at us.
'I've learned more about medicine than I ever believed possible."
"Do you have any idea of their life expectancy?" said Robin.
Moreland shrugged.
"It's difficult to say. They're deteriorating, but they've survived so many crises, who knows? With good care, all or most of them will probably outlive me."
He leaned against the wall.
"And that is the issue. That's why I must arrange something for them."
Why haven't you gone public and gotten them care?" she said.
"What would that accomplish, dear? Subjecting them to the scrutiny of scientists and doctors'? Scientists condemned the
m to this life. How long would they last out in the monstrosity we call the real world? No, I couldn't allow that to happen."
"But surely they-' "They'd wither and die, dear," said Moreland, straining for patience.
He reached for the open door and took hold of one of the bars.
"What they need is continuity. A transfer of care."
