Part 8 (1/2)

I felt bad just leaving her there, rotting in the sun, covered in flies, so I managed to pick up my stretcher and sort of lay it on top of her. It wasn't as ideal as a blanket, but it covered her face and I was glad about that.

I gave her a little nod of respect and slowly made my way toward the plane in my slipper socks.

4.

Five Days Earlier Hospital Regional Rio Grande City of Rio Grande Tierra del Fuego Province Argentina Jose Morales rose from the bench and tossed the remains of his tepid cup of coffee into the trash bin. Two tall men walked down the hall toward him. One white, one black, both dressed in dark blue suits. In the small city of Rio Grande, they stuck out like two sore American thumbs. They could only be the two US Marshals he had been ordered to meet at the hospital.

As they approached and made eye contact, he nodded and held out his hand. ”I'm Inspector Morales.”

The white one shook his hand with too firm of a grip. ”Deputy Marshal Briggs,” he said. Briggs nodded at his partner. ”This is Deputy Marshal Jones.”

”Welcome,” said Morales as he shook hands with Jones. ”I trust you're here about our guest of honor?”

”That's correct, inspector,” replied Briggs. ”May we see him?”

”I'll get you as close as I can. This way.”

They followed Morales out of the lobby and pa.s.sed two uniformed officers before stopping at a door littered with caution signs. They took turns looking through the window at the sleeping patient in the room.

”That's your boy,” said Morales. ”This is as close as we can get without suiting up in one of those s.p.a.ce suits. Wouldn't do much good anyway. He's been unconscious since they arrived.”

Jones removed a notepad from his breast pocket and flipped through the pages. ”According to the officer I spoke with on the phone, they brought him in by helicopter and identified him by first name only. Howard. They claimed he was a prisoner from the International Experimental Rehabilitation Facility on Desolate Island.”

Morales nodded in agreement.

”The only Howard from the prison records is Howard Bell. That's got to be him,” Briggs added, nodding toward the window.

Jones looked at the list of names written down in his notes. ”Ronald Baker, Lisa Hammond, and Elizabeth Clark. All American citizens. Are they still in town? We'll need to get statements from them.”

A look of confusion flashed across the inspector's face.

”Problem?” asked Briggs.

”Forgive me, I thought you already knew,” stammered Morales. ”They're all dead.”

”What?”

”That's why your fugitive is in isolation. Everyone who flew in on that helicopter got sick shortly after arrival. The first one to go was the Clark woman.”

Jones looked at his notes again. ”She was the one who claimed this man was accompanied by another inmate who killed her husband. She said Bell received his injuries by fighting off some sort of wild animal?”

Morales chuckled. ”Alien. She said it was an alien. She was pretty sick when we interviewed her. Running a fever. Probably didn't know what she was talking about.”

”The others didn't verify her story?”

”The dead husband, sure, but this alien was destroyed in a toolshed fire. It burned to the ground and the others weren't there at the time. They said the guy that killed her husband was pretty messed up though. Whatever burned to death in that shed apparently killed him first.”

Briggs dismissed it with a wave of his hand. ”We'll let the Federal Bureau of Prisons worry about what happened on the island. All we're concerned with is securing the prisoner.”

Before Morales could respond, the doors at the end of the hall flew open and a group of people dressed in bright yellow HAZMAT suits rushed in. Some of them were carrying a.s.sault rifles.

”Gentlemen, you need to leave this area immediately and come with us,” one of them commanded with a m.u.f.fled voice behind his face mask.

”What in the h.e.l.l is going on?” Briggs asked.

He grabbed Briggs by the arm and attempted to pull him toward the door. ”United States Army. You need to follow us, sir!”

Briggs ripped his arm away and flashed his ID. ”Hold on, d.a.m.n it! We're US Marshals, and we're not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

”Sir,” said one of the men as he pushed his way forward through the soldiers. ”I'm Dr. Michael Schmidt from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. This entire hospital has been shut down and quarantined. I'm afraid you'll have to stay in the building until further notice. We're authorized to lock down this hospital by any means necessary. Do we need to have you surrender your weapons or will you cooperate?”

Briggs and Jones looked at each other. Morales performed a sign of the cross.

5.

It felt like I walked a hundred miles by the time I reached the plane wreckage. The sun was out in full force again and I was feeling pretty weak. I don't think I mentioned the humidity yet. You know that corny cliche: It's not the heat so much as the humidity? You've got that right. I was already soaked with sweat from just hanging out on my stretcher. Now that I was on the move, I was really soggy.

I knew one thing for sure. I needed water p.r.o.nto or I was going to be in big trouble. On my way to the plane, I realized I hadn't taken a p.i.s.s since I woke up, and I still didn't feel the need to. That was a bad sign. I was also starting to get a major headache. Also bad.

The plane was a small jet. It was about the same size as one of those commuter puddle jumpers that are only wide enough for two seats on one side of the aisle and one seat on the other side. It actually wasn't in bad shape, as far as plane crashes are concerned. I can only base that opinion on the footage I've seen on TV, but it wasn't burnt to a crisp or completely destroyed. The burning smell from the night before must have come from one of the engines. Most of the right wing (is that starboard or port?) and a good portion of the fuselage on that side were destroyed by fire. Some of the vegetation in the area was still smoldering.

I think it came in hard, a.s.s first, because the entire back part of the plane was gone. It broke off on impact and was sitting in a crumpled mess twenty feet or so behind the rest of the fuselage.

I carefully crept up to the back end of the plane, making sure I didn't step on anything sharp in my booties. I had a clear line of sight all the way up to the c.o.c.kpit door. It looked like the plane was set up as some sort of ambulance with wings. It was a big mess from the crash of course, but I could see all sorts medical-related items scattered around.

I crawled inside and immediately saw a pile of IV bags that must have fallen out of a cabinet. I picked up one and the crystal-clear liquid inside looked absolutely lovely. The label read .9% Sodium Chloride Injection, USP. I feel pretty stupid about it now, but at the time it made perfect sense. You get an IV when you're dehydrated and need fluids, right? Since I had no idea how to start an IV, I popped a hole in the bag and took a taste. Yes, I know, sodium chloride is salt, and guess what? It was pretty salty. Even at .9%. I tossed the bag on the floor, trying to ignore the irony, and kept scavenging.

Despite all the c.r.a.p scattered around, there weren't too many useful items. I spotted some gauze pads and tape, which I made a mental note of for later, and kept looking. As I got closer to the c.o.c.kpit door, I started searching a few cabinets and finally hit pay dirt. In one of the drawers was a cache of goodies you would give a patient after drawing blood or just something to keep them happy.

I found a handful of graham cracker and saltine packets, a few Jell-O tubs, and six glorious single-serving apple juice containers. I ripped off the top of one of the juices and greedily sucked down every last drop. Four seconds later, every last drop exited my body in the form of violent projectile vomit. Brilliant move, genius.

After a few dry heaves, I sat down to rest. As my stomach settled, I took a chance and drank another cup. I sipped very slowly this time, savoring each mouthful, and I kept it down.

As I felt my energy increasing from the simple act of calorie intake, I surveyed the rest of the plane. It provided decent shelter and for that night, at least, would be much better than sleeping outside again. I thought of my dead lady friend and the beast that visited me and s.h.i.+vered. To this day, I don't know what it was. If I think about it at night, my imagination eventually transforms it into a ten-foot-tall jungle version of Big Foot.

I reached over and searched a container nearby. Another great find. It was a small a.s.sortment of over-the-counter bottles, but what really got me excited was a brand new bottle of ibuprofen. I popped the top and swallowed four pills with the remainder of my juice cup. It wasn't much, but I figured at the very least it might help ease the pain in my wound and kill my headache.

I got to my feet and decided to check out the c.o.c.kpit. The door wouldn't open, and I noticed the frame was kinked from the crash. The door itself looked a little flimsy, so I took a step back, grabbed onto the counter, and gave it a good kick.