Later, I’d look back at that moment of bliss and wonder if it was possible to hate myselfmore.
Chapter Thirteen
B R E AK
It’s amazinghow much can happen in eighthours.
A speeding car can cross New England in its entirety. A person can work a full day shift, or catch a total night’s sleep. A space satellite can complete an orbit. A single cell can replicate exponentially until one unit of bacteria becomes a hundred, a thousand, amillion.
Until it spreads enough to do irreversibledamage.
As soon as my eyes open, I know something’s wrong. Ian isn’t propped up on his pallet, drawing inappropriate things in the margins of the children’s coloring book with our stock of crayons to keep himself entertained. He’s huddled low, shivering like it’s eight below zero rather than eighty and rising. I spare a single glance at Beck, sleeping soundly at my side, as I sit up and make my way toIan.
“Hey,” I murmur, pulling his foil blankets down so I can see his face. “Areyou—”
My mouth goes dry. My eyes widen as they trace over his skin. The fever is back, that’s immediately obvious. There’s a clammy sheen to his face that wasn’t there lastnight.
Or, maybe it was… and you were so focused on enjoying yourself, you simply didn’t seeit.
Selfish, selfish,selfish.
I press my hand to his forehead and wince when the heat of his skin nearly scalds me. He’s burningup.
“Ian? Can you hearme?”
“What’s up, doc?” he murmurs, eyelids fluttering as a grin tugs at his lips. It quickly morphs into a grimace. An insuppressible groan of pain hits my ears. “Christ,ithurts.”
“Whathurts?”
“Myleg.”
All traces of humor are gone from his voice. This is no pun. I don’t wait for a punchline or a lighthearted twist. With trembling fingers, I reach for the fabric wrappings around his stump and slowly unwind them. My heart pounds a sharp staccato inside mychest.
The smell hits me first. Decay and death. I breathe through my mouth as I pull away the final piece of bandage, nearly fainting when I take in what’s become of his leg in the short time since I last saw it. Patches of black, necrotic tissue are no match for the angry red streaks of infection. Beginning at the seared burn site, they stretch toward his groin, disappearing beneath the edge of his boxer shorts. Creeping toward hisheart.
“Oh, Ian,” I breathe, horror overtaking me when see the extent of the blood poisoning. “Ian…”
There’s no reply. He’s unconscious. Delirious. Lost in the throes of fever dreams as his skin trembles withcold.
Why didn’t you tell me?I want to wail, shaking him for answers.Why didn’t you sayanything?
He must’ve known. This did not happen over the course of a few hours. To spread this far, he must’ve been feeling the effects fordays.
My mind whirls as I consider our options. They are grim indeed, from where I sit. With no medicine and precious little remaining alcohol, we can hardly sanitize our hands of germs, let alone kill an aggressive bacterial infection. I’ve begun to study the trees around our camp, but I don’t know nearly enough to start blindly shoving them down Ian’s throat — not without testing their effects on myself first. Picking the wrong plant could kill him even faster than thisinfection.
My desperate eyes sweep the camp, snagging on the smoldering fire. It’s hard to believe mere hours ago we were all laughing together around a magnificent blaze. Hard to believe things could change so swiftly from fun to fear. Discarded coconut shells litter the ground like partyfavors.
Coconuts!The thought clangs loudly inside my skull, inspiration striking like a blow.Coconuts have medicinalproperties!
I used to tease some of my more health-conscious friends about their obsession with the thick white oil. They’d put it in food, on their skin, in their hair. Over the past few years it’s become such a fitness fad, I’ve heard claims about curative benefits ranging from fat burning to wrinkle reduction to hormone balance to blood pressure. It’s been linked to treatments for everything from Alzheimer’s to cancer to heartdisease.
The Tree of Life — that’s what they call coconut palms, here in the SouthPacific.
There must be some truth to thatclaim.
There must be. Please, God.Please.
As gently as possible, I prop up Ian’s damaged leg and turn, calling out for Beck as I run for the closestpalm.