by Gayle, A. B.
As he took her pulse, he glanced around. He’d been in hospitals in third world countries enough times to recognise that despite the simplicity and lack of equipment, he was in one now. A couple of stands for IV solutions, some urinals lying around and beds covered in luridly patterned sheets jutting out from each wall. There was no sign of his captors, though. The young man who had returned with the refilled basin was nothing like the big men who’d been in the outrigger with him.
Miles wet the cloth and bathed the woman’s face for a second and gestured for the young man to do the same. As the boy worked, Miles pulled off the sheet covering her and turned his head as the smell of rotting flesh escaped. Just as well the morphine had taken effect. No way would she have been able to bear the pain if she’d been conscious.
The young man flinched, his startled gaze darting to Miles. He tried to give his best ‘I can work miracles smile’ in return, but he’d got out of practice with those. Reassuring people about their ingrown toenails and high blood pressure as he had for the last few months wasn’t quite the same.
Miles retrieved the basin from the boy’s nerveless fingers and placed it on the bedside table. The young man was shifting from foot to foot as if anxious to be gone. There was no way Miles could fix this alone. He needed help, fast. Miles mimicked paddling and stuck two fingers in the air. A flicker of recognition flashed in the young man’s eyes. Miles repeated the action and then pointed to the bed and shouted, “Now.”
The boy disappeared. Hopefully the message got through. He sighed as he drew back the woman’s traditional hospital gown. Definitely a break in her lower leg, the area had been covered by a loosely applied bandage. It was moving.
As soon as he’d exposed the wound, Miles took a step back and stared at the squirming mass that swarmed in the open wound where the snapped tibia had penetrated the skin. That’s why she wasn’t as sick as he’d expected her to be. He smiled and looked admiringly at the woman on the bed. Apart from a few sections of dead tissue, the maggots were doing a superb job. They couldn’t fix the break though. Someone here knew what they were doing, and he was prepared to bet his bottom dollar, it was the woman herself.
Gil would have been having a fit, wanting to hook her up to IV infusions and checking her vitals every few minutes. If he’d had the young paramedic here, Miles would have been glad of the help, but every minute counted. The leg had to be reset and fast.
A loud commotion at the door made him glance up. The cavalry had arrived. Now he could get a good look at his captors, he didn’t wonder at the pain in his head. Tweedledum and Tweedledee stood before him. Two Pacific Island giants, almost identical. He may be over six foot tall, but these guys made him feel small. Good, they’d brought their paddles.
Miles beckoned to them and they shuffled forward. He wasn’t sure whether they were scared of him, the woman on the bed or the maggots feeding on the necrotic tissue in the wound. Possibly all three.
After tipping out the water, Miles used tweezers to carefully relocate the maggots to the empty bowl, then used some saline to wash the wound. The broken bone was clearly exposed, but the tissue around it was nicely pink, only a few traces of black remained.
After grabbing some bandages, and putting everything else he needed on a sterile sheet on the bed, he pulled one of the waiting men forward. Gripping his shoulder gently but firmly he pointed to the unconscious woman, and showed him where he wanted him to stand. He did the same to the other then barked at them: “Stay”. Their glances kept shifting to the door, and he detected a whiff of alcohol on their breath, but the command seemed to work as well on them as it did Roofie. Good.
Miles gestured to the two men to hold the woman’s shoulders as he had shown them. They did so reluctantly as if they were scared of her which was crazy given the fact she was tiny in comparison to them. As soon as he was sure his patient was as immobile as possible, Miles took hold of her lower leg. Good the pulse in her foot was still present; the artery wasn’t trapped. He made sure they were both looking at him. “Ready,” he warned, “now.”
He pulled the leg toward him and grunted with satisfaction as a quick twist settled the bone into the correct position. Thanks to the flesh that had been eaten away, at least he could see what he was doing. The splintered bones meshed in as well as could be expected barring proper pinning and plates.
His patient regained consciousness briefly during the violent procedure but quickly slipped back under. After snipping away a couple of pieces of dangling flesh, Miles returned a few of the smaller maggots to the wound and covered the wound with some open mesh gauze to ensure the little critters could breath and didn’t escape. Now for a splint. Placing one of the paddles between her legs, he strapped her limbs together above and below the wound.
His captors grabbed the remaining paddle and left as soon as his back was turned. Ideally, he would send her off to a proper hospital now, in the meantime he would have to monitor the situation and ensure her condition didn’t deteriorate. Otherwise he just might find himself in that cooking pot.
14: The Generator Game
Gideon Sterling and Lyle Ashley Tate
with mention of Agent Breslaw
___________________________________________________
Mid morning 25th January, Mystery Island
Damn the fucking thing! Gideon was not having a good time. The bloody generator was geriatric, stubborn as a mule, and it definitely didn’t like him. He hefted the spanner in his hand. He wanted to give it a good whack, but stopped himself. That was not the way to go, no matter how much ‘percussive maintenance’ had worked for him in the past. He studied the thing. How hard could this be?
“Hello?”
Gideon stopped, stifling a curse. Interruptions…. He plastered a smile on his face and stuck his head out the door of the garage-like structure that housed and protected the generator. Lyle Tate was standing there, looking travel-weary and uncomfortable. “Can I help?” The guy looked tattered, to be honest. Jet-lagged and… worried?
“I don’t really do engines, but I can hold tools, pass stuff, fetch and carry..?”
“You’re offering to help me?”
“I just did, yeah.”
“You’re the IT man, yeah?” Gideon moved back towards the generator without waiting to see if Lyle followed, wondering if he’d missed something.
“That’s flattering…but I think Gil has bags on that role.” Lyle smiled a little wryly.
Gideon frowned. Is he joking?…Oh right, yeah. Gideon looked back to where the man was now leaning against the door frame. Tate was trying to look nonchalant but underneath the facade, though, there was something else. “Here, take charge of this before I do something I might regret.” Gideon passed over the spanner.
“Sorry about before, by the way.” Lyle held the spanner like it was a dirty sock. He had no affinity with machinery, certainly not the greasy sort. Give him a computer and peripherals and he was more than at home, but getting down and dirty with an engine of any sort was beyond him. He wouldn’t mind getting down and dirty with the man in front of him, though; sweaty and smudged with oil as he was, black bandanna tied tightly over the crewcut, he looked like the centrefold of a calendar—men and machines.
Gideon pressed a few buttons on a panel and hit a switch. The thing coughed, revved and died again. He threw up his oily hands in disgust. What the fuck was wrong with it? The tank was full—he’d made sure they’d brought enough fuel with them for this thing. Damn it all… He stared at the open access panel and sighed.
Lyle watched as Gideon reached into the machine, his arm disappearing to the elbow. He was obviously tinkering with some hidden part, muttering under his breath as he did so. He withdrew his arm and pressed the buttons again. He wondered how the man had gotten into this gig. He and Breslaw knew each other, so did he used to be a cop? A marshal, like Breslaw? No, he had the demeanour of a soldier, or a mercenary maybe? How did he end up working for Eidolon? What the hell was Eidolon, really, anyway
?
“Have you seen our files?” Lyle asked. He didn’t manage to sound casual about it, even to his own ears. The engine coughed, revved and chugged into life, interrupting him. Whatever Gideon had done must have worked. “There, that’s it.” Gideon shouted above the noise, acting as if he hadn’t heard. In truth he was giving himself time to formulate a reply. “I have no idea why I didn’t see it sooner… Must have been knocked or something.” He wiped his hands on a rag and turned to Tate. “At least we can boil a kettle now. So, now that’s out of the way… “ He lead the way outside, shutting the doors on the noise. “You wouldn’t think that thing was silenced, would you? Sorry, you were saying?”
“I was wondering what you know about us. About me.”
Aha, there it is, Gideon thought. Is he worried about how much I know? “I’ve read all your files. Had to. Part of my job to know the people I’ll be working with. Why? Is there a problem?”
Lyle contemplated a stone resting by his toes for a moment, trying to work out where to start. Whatever files Gideon might have seen, did they mention who he had been before he became Lyle Tate? Were they Eidolon’s files, or the Agency’s?
“Eidolon is far reaching, Mr.Tate.” Gideon emphasised the ‘mister’ very slightly. He wondered how sharp Lyle was, whether he would pick up on that little message. “You can rest assured, your information is safe with me.”
Hmmm, did I just hear something there? Lyle wondered what Sterling had meant by it. Does he think I don’t deserve to be called Mister? Christ on a moped, don’t let him be a bigot. He’s going to have his hands full if he is.
“So you know the US Mafia already had a price on me before the Bratva got involved?”
“I know you and your…husband did a very brave thing.” Gideon kept his expression bland. “It must have been hard for you to take his place.” Tate bit his lip. That had struck a nerve.
Lyle struggled to school his expression. So he knows. He might not like who I am but at least I don’t have to get into it all with him.
“Did Breslaw ever tell you about his brother?” Gideon asked.
“Sorry?…I only met Breslaw the night… the night when Flynn got hurt.” He followed Gideon outside and watched as the man padlocked the doors on the shed. It seemed a bit pointless. In fact Lyle was still wondering that the cyclone hadn’t dragged the whole building away, and had been since he first saw the structure.
“He told me when he called that you reminded him of Josh.”
The conversation was heading in a weird direction. Lyle had no idea what Sterling was getting at now.
“Who was Josh?”
“Josh was Adam Breslaw’s younger brother,” Gideon explained. “Apparently, he spent a long time trying to tell people he wasn’t supposed to be a boy. He spent years trying to get their parents to appreciate that he didn’t feel right, hadn’t been born into the right body. Adam tried to help but he didn’t know what to do. He listened when their parents wouldn’t…” Gideon paused. He wasn’t sure how much to divulge—it was Adam’s business after all—but from their phone conversation, Gideon knew how much Bres felt for Tate.
“He didn’t say.” Lyle wondered at how hard it must have been for Breslaw, living with him those few days. Of course he didn’t say anything. You didn’t even get to first names, did you…?
“I don’t think he’ll mind me telling you.” Gideon sighed. Bres still hadn’t shucked off the guilt. “I’ve known Bres a few years, enough to know he’s a good man, but he shoulders the world’s problems and he can’t save everybody.” Gideon allowed himself a small smile. “I guess he felt the need to save you where he couldn’t save Josh…”
“I didn’t know. He never said.” He put me to bed that last night… The ramifications, the implications, were huge now he knew this tiny piece of the man’s history… “What happened? With Josh, I mean?”
Sadness crossed Gideon’s features. “Josh took his own life, hung himself. Bres found him when he got home that afternoon. Messed him up for a while… still does. One thing I want you to know, Mr Tate,” and Gideon did not bother emphasising the ‘mister’ this time, “People like Bres fight to make sure people like you have the freedom’s they deserve.”
People like me. Yeah.
15: Aiden’s Meltdown
Aiden Parker and Carter (Gil) Gillespie
with mention of Flynn Archer, Miles Sutherland
___________________________________________________
Afternoon, January 25th, Mystery Island
Aiden had been mostly quiet since they arrived on the island and unloaded their things. Dante, unhooked from his leash, explored and joined Roofie for a run by the water. The sound of their barking filled the otherwise silent air and helped to add a little life to the place.
Once everything was off the plane and they had helped to get it under cover well ahead of the storm, Aiden called Dante to him and the dog returned, walking back with him to the stable-looking building they had been told by that man – what was his name, Gideon? Nice name – that they would be staying in. Roofie, on the other hand, had wandered off looking a little lost. Aiden didn’t bother paying attention to him; his owner would see to him.
There was one room with plenty of beds for them, and one small bathroom. From the look on Lyle’s face, he wasn’t so thrilled with the arrangements either.
Gideon had poked his head in and informed them that he had dumped a couple of boxes of supplies in the kitchen and they should help themselves. The cookers weren’t working yet–he had to start the generator which he was about to head out to do–but there was enough to make themselves sandwiches and there were some cans of soda in the cooler. They put together a lunch which they ate in near silence and then Lyle headed out without an explanation. Gil was about to ask him where but thought better of it. Relations there were still cool.
After everyone was settled and they seemed to be on their own, Aiden decided to go out and get a look at their surroundings. Maybe there would be some indication as to where exactly they were.
“Come on, Dante,” he said and patted his thigh. The dog got off the end of the bed Aiden had claimed as his and stretched, then trotted over with his tail wagging. He didn’t bother with he leash; Dante was smart enough to stay close by. And other than Roofie, he doubted there were other dogs for him to play with.
The first stop of his exploration was the building he was in. It sprawled across the grounds and had a few empty rooms with no markings in them. One was large with windows on one side that had been boarded up. On the opposite wall, pushed against the whole length, were game tables. Chairs had been stacked in the corners.
Another room was clearly a kitchen with expensive, commercial quality appliances. Aiden wasn’t a chef, but he knew expensive things when he saw it, and these were definitely up there with their chrome surfaces. Even though it had been some time since it had seen use, judging by the dirty floor, it would shine when cleaned.
He found a dining room near the main entrance; tables and chairs were again stacked against the walls, with boxes sitting under another table marked “linens.” Dante took his time to sniff around the room, barking once at the box before following Aiden out of the room.
Gideon had said that there would be a storm, but outside the sky was still a bright blue with few clouds. But while it looked pleasant and relaxing, the ground was anything but.
All over there were downed trees and what had to be coconuts lying on the ground. Branches and fronds from the remaining upright trees were broken in many places. Little huts that at one point must have been cozy had collapsed. There were a few that remained standing, though, and those Aiden explored with Dante.
One seemed to have been claimed by Miles, judging by a fresh mark of “M” in the thick layer of dust and Roofie’s lead in the bathroom, but where the man was he had no idea. “It looks like he took the only good one, boy,” Aiden said softly to his companion. There was another not too far off that was stable, if a little
worse for wear. It was the only one with a bookcase in it. Despite the walls that were hardly there, and the puddles on the floor, a moldy bed, stifling heat, and debris around the room, it was perfect. Aiden peeled his shirt over his head and tucked it into his back pocket. It was early afternoon but already the heat was getting to him.
“This looks a good one, once we get it fixed up. If they let us have one of these anyway,” Aiden said. He wrote his name in the dirt on a bedside table and smiled as Dante sniffed around the room. He had no idea how to do any sort of home repairs, and cute little huts were definitely out of his range of expertise. He’d have to inspect those that were in better condition and figure it out. Maybe Flynn could-
“Flynn is not here, genius.”
They had assured him on the plane ride that he would get to see Flynn soon, but he wasn’t here. No one was. It was just the small group of them sent to this Godforsaken place on the verge of collapse.
Aiden sat on the bed, ignoring the mold, and ran his fingers through his hair. Everything was just so wrong. He shouldn’t be here; he had a job back at home. Here he had nothing. Not even Flynn. Most of his books were back home.
Who the hell can I trust? Aiden asked himself as Dante pushed his nose against his cheek and whined. This isn’t anything like what I expected, and Flynn… what if they gave him up? He could be dead by now, and I’d never know what happened.
