That morning, Irene moved out of the infirmary. Sharing the space with a sick man was sucking the life outta her.
Sissy ducked under the door as Irene was folding her blanket. With her medical training for the relief mission to Haiti, Sissy had stepped into Zoey’s shoes. “He’s burning up,” Sissy said, placing a towel she had dipped in river-water across Brad’s forehead.
Irene took a hesitant step closer. “He’s dying, isn’t he.”
Sissy leaned down to pull the sweat-soaked blanket off. There was the renewed stench of foul meat. “I can’t control the infection. The leg should come off, but only Ricky might have managed it. There are no surgical tools, no scalpel or a bone saw. And no anesthetic.”
Irene placed a hand on Sissy’s arm. “Doctor Dixon can’t help?”
Sissy’s eyes shone with fear. “I haven’t seen the Doctor since yesterday morning. I pray he’s halfway down the mountainside by now but fear he is somewhere face-down in the river.”
Irene raised a hand to her forehead, a sudden chill slipping down her back. When was the last time she laid eyes on Doctor Dixon?
Sissy turned to hover over her patient.
“Oh Christ!” Irene had inadvertently glanced down at Brad’s nakedness as Sissy removed the bottle that was taped to Brad’s thigh. She pulled his withered penis free and stepped outside.
Brad’s left foot was black with the color fading to a fiery red below the knee. The cord-like veins were swollen and throbbing all the way up to his groin. His penis was drawn up and looked like a bit of wet macaroni. He hadn’t had solid food since the crash and was surviving on the sugar-water that Sissy squirted into his mouth from a sports bottle. His was emancipated to the point he appeared half his size and his body ran with sweat. His hollowed cheeks were salt encrusted.
His eyes fluttered. “Irene.”
Irene felt the heat rise in her throat. She had been caught staring.
She settled herself. “Brad? I’m here Brad.” She could barely make out his words and put her ear closer to his lips. “Doctor Dixon has been taking good care of you but it’s going to take some time.” She smoothed his hair back.
“It’s the pain,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t take it. It’s burning me up. Don’t you understand.?” He rolled his head away. “Christ, how could you understand…”
“Sissy will give you something for the pain, Brad.”
He ground his teeth. “Sure. A fucking aspirin. That’s not going to cut it. I need something stronger.”
Irene was not about to tell him there wasn’t anything stronger. “Try to hold on Brad, for just another day or two. The rescue team is on its way, they’ll get you to a hospital.”
“Another day or two,” he scoffed. “Irene,” he turned back to her, fixed her eyes, “I need you to do something for me, and now. Right now.”
Irene continued to stroke his hair. “Sure, Brad. Anything. Just ask.”
Brad was reassured. “In my locker, my bag. It’s on the bottom shelf. Please Irene, go now. Bring me my bag.”
Irene felt a chill. The plane was strictly off limits to anyone but Ashwin. She would have to sneak her way past and if she was caught she might find herself locked in the Pigpen and on tomorrow night’s menu. But she couldn’t begin to explain that to Brad. “Sure Brad. I’ll go right now.” And she gladly pushed away from the overwhelming stench.
Stepping outside, the fresh air was intoxicating; she felt light-headed, giddy with relief.
Irene knew she would be taking a helluva chance going after Brad’s bag on the flight-deck. And she was quite prepared to forget the whole thing. Brad was delirious, she reasoned, and in all likelihood wouldn’t recall their conversation. But those thoughts were not without a tinge of guilt. The man was dying.
So when Irene looked about the compound and saw that the men were gone, she thought she might stand a chance. Irene scrutinized more carefully. Ashwin’s chair was there, under the pines, but quite empty. None of the other men were milling about and the crumpled opening to the plane was only a scant ten steps away. Thirty seconds, in and out; she could do it, she was sure of it.
With careless resolve, she bounded up into the aircraft, ran up the center aisle, through the service area and with the blood pounding at her temples, she pushed the cockpit door open. Brad’s locker was located behind the co-pilot’s seat and the metal door was ajar. Irene wrenched it back, wound her hand into the strap of Brad’s flight-bag and a moment later was moving back along the passenger compartment with the bag thumping against her thigh.
She came up short.
She heard the noise; the heart-chilling, frightening sound that darkened her heart.
Squeak– Squeak– Squeak!
It was coming from outside the plane, from the side hidden from the compound. Irene stood deathly still; listened hard.
Squeak– Squeak– Squeak!
She was frantic, but Christ, she had to look. Irene sidled between the seats until she could stoop to look out the side window. A dark madness swept her up into a vortex that threatened her sanity.
Squeak– Squeak– Squeak!
It was a wheel from one of the service carts. The men had torn the rubber away leaving the metal rim. It hung from a pine bough; now a pulley with a rope, and one of the men was tying it off.
At the opposite end, she hung from her ankles, long pale arms dangling from extended shoulder blades. But something was sickeningly wrong. There was only a ragged stump remaining of the long column of the woman’s neck. And blood trickled incessantly into a pool that was creeping across the forest’s floor.
Irene’s terrified eyes ranged across the shaved pussy, the small hard breasts.
Elsa!
Irene stumbled back, the image of the hanging woman throbbing, vividly etched on the retinas of her eyes. She ran from the horror of it. Ran back along the plane with a hand to her mouth and her eyes wide with panic. She jumped from the tangled wreckage, tripped, caught herself, and took three wildly halting strides before falling to her knees and vomiting onto the ground. Irene took deep breaths, rolled onto her back and looked to the wide open skies for solace. The sky had never failed her, only the hard-packed, cloying earth.
Sissy stepped back through the doorway with a fresh blanket. Irene set Brad’s flight-bag on the ground and watched Sissy wipe Brad down with river-water. It was revolting to watch and Irene was sure the task of cleaning him would sicken her. Sissy replaced his penis into the bottle and adjusted the tapes that held it to his thigh. Brad moaned, his eyes rolling up. Sissy got four Tylenol between his cracked lips and washed them down with sugar-water. Finally, to Irene’s relief, Sissy covered Brad’s tortured carcass with the blanket and started to gather her things.
Sissy straightened, took one last look and turned away. “I wish he’d just die,” she whispered before ducking out the door.