Mid-morning, the next day, a commotion in the camp makes me miss the perfect shot of a mama monkey jumping from a tree branch to another with her baby macaque fastened underneath her belly.
Annoyed, I walk back the few paces out of the rainforest and into the tent enclosure to check what’s going on.
At once I spot Tucker and Somchai dragging a moaning Archie between them. He seems to have trouble walking on his own. Also, with each step, a subdued cry escapes his lips.
I run to them. “What happened?”
Tucker looks at me. “A bird flew into the drone and knocked it out of the air. It got stuck in a tree, and Archie climbed up to retrieve it.”
With a visible effort, Archie raises his head, his face ashen. “And then I fell ass-first into a thorn bush.”
“A thorn bush?” I ask, perplexed.
“Jungle can be tricky,” Somchai explains. “Evil plants. But we saved plane.” He shows me the little flying robot in his other hand.
Logan joins us, carrying one of the folding cots from inside a tent that he places under the tarp. “Lay him here.”
They gently lower Archie on his stomach, causing further protests, and at once it’s clear his injuries are serious. The whole rear side of his trousers is stained with blood, the fabric is ripped in multiple places, and are those thorns still sticking out of his flesh?
“You didn’t remove the thorns before moving him?” I accuse.
“With what?” Tucker shrugs. “I was afraid I’d do more damage with my unclean hands, cause an infection or something.”
“Well, you can do it now. I’ll go grab the first aid kit.”
Kit is an understatement; the case I bring back is a portable mini-hospital loaded with everything from basic gauzes and disinfectant up to an out-and-out surgical starter set.
I hold the heavy case in my hands and offer it to the men. “So, who’s going to do it?”
“I will,” Tucker says, taking the case from me. “But I need assistance.”
“I can help,” Logan offers.
Tucker eyes him dubiously. Logan’s face has turned positively greenish.
“Does the sight of blood make you queasy?” Tucker asks.
“A little,” Logan admits.
“Then you better get outta here. I don’t need my assistant to pass out on top of everything else.”
Tucker turns to me raising his eyebrows questioningly.
I could back off and ask one of the military guys to help fix Archie’s butt. I’m sure they wouldn’t have problems stomaching the work, but I also sense they wouldn’t be the gentlest, so I offer to help instead. “I can do it,” I say.
Logan nods at me in a silent thank you, throws one last stare at his suffering best friend, and regretfully but necessarily walks away looking nauseous.
Somchai lifts the heavy plane still in his hands as a way of apology, saying, “I’ll put this in supply tent. And I need feed the mule.”
A small bow and he’s gone, too.
Tucker opens the case and squirts a generous amount of sanitizing gel onto his hands and then passes the small plastic bottle to me. “Let’s make sure our hands are clean first.”
I take the bottle from him and mimic his actions massaging the gel onto my palms, fingers, and the back of my hands.
Once I’m finished, Tucker hands me a pair of blue surgical gloves. “Here, wear these.”
Gloves on, we kneel next to the camp cot and stare at Archie’s backside, undecided on how to proceed.
Tucker sighs. “Before I do anything, I need a clear visual. We have to remove your pants and underwear to do a decent job, buddy,” he informs the patient. “Might be best to cut them off you.”
“I’ll take care of that,” I say.
Archie groans. “I swear, Snowflake, in all the scenarios I’d imagined you ripping my clothes off, a medkit wasn’t involved.”
“I bet not.” I grab a pair of surgical scissors out of the case, douse them with disinfectant, and, holding the first tendril of fabric from Archie’s pants between my fingers, I say, “Now, try to relax.”
Winter and Tucker spend close to two hours cleaning and bandaging Archie up. When, finally, there’s no more blood in sight and my friend’s backside is modestly covered with a white sheet, I go check on him.
Tucker has already left to clean and sanitize the instruments they used, so I find only Archie and Winter under the tarp.
“How are you, buddy?” I ask him.
“I could use a drink,” he mumbles.
Well, if he’s asking for alcohol, then everything is fine.
“Let’s see what the doctor has to say,” I tell him. “So,” I turn to Winter. “How’s the patient doing? Can he have a drink?”
“Yes.” She groans, getting up from her kneeling position next to the camp bed and stretching her legs. “If it’s water.”
Archie moans in protest.
“We gave him an antibiotic to prevent infection and paracetamol for the pain. Mixing alcohol and medications is never wise. You were pretty messed up, Golden Boy. Must’ve fallen on a thousand thorns.”
“Felt more like a million,” Archie complains.
Winter raises her arms above her head and stretches some more while she keeps giving me the patient’s prognosis. “Some were still inside, stuck in deep, but I think we got them all out.”
“So he’s going to be fine?”
“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Archie objects.
Winter ignores the remark. “He should be. But some wounds were deep; we had to stitch a few.”
“We? You know how to give stitches?”
She turns to me with her usual contempt. “Yes, I did a few when Tucker’s hands started to cramp. And don’t look so surprised. I visit the most remote places on Earth often enough to know basic medical training could make the difference between life and death.”
Why does this woman have to take everything I say as a personal offense?
“I was merely trying to say I was impressed with your medical skills, Miss Knowles. No need to take everything so personally.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t if everything you’ve ever said to me hadn’t been—”
“Kids,” Archie interrupts us with a coarse voice. “I’d like to rest; can you go argue someplace else?”
She crouches near the front of the bed and caresses Archie’s hair back in such a tender gesture, my chest clenches.
It’s not jealousy, but a more complex emotion. A tangle I can’t describe. Seeing her being so attentive with my best friend makes me cherish and resent her at the same time.
“Yeah, you’d better sleep now, Golden Boy,” she says, still caressing his hair. “And don’t try anything stupid when you wake up.”
“You mean something dumber than climbing above a thorn bush?”
“Yup, like trying to get up or walk on your own. You’re on bed rest for a few days, all right?”
“Yes, Mom,” he replies.
And a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding leaves my lungs. Nothing in this interaction reeks of sensuality. It’s affectionate, but not sexual.
Winter stands up again, and I jerk my chin toward the other side of the camp.
We head that way and, in the shade of my tent, I ask, “You really think he’ll be okay?”
“If he takes it easy, yeah, he should be.”
“Wouldn’t it be more prudent to send him home?”
“Unless you can fly a helicopter out here to pick him up, I don’t see how. Walking is out of the question, as is sitting on the back of a mule. And even if he somehow were to reach the village without tearing all his wounds open, the Jeeps’ backseats don’t have enough room for him to lie down comfortably.”
“No, you’re right. I’m just worried. Archie isn’t the best at not being able to do things on his own.”
“You’ll have to make him accept our help. The stitches should be solid, but it won’t take much for them to burst if he tries something stupid.”
“Okay, I’ll make sure someone always stands discreetly by his side, at least for the next few days.”
“Are you stopping the search in the meantime?”
“No, I can’t afford to stall, not even for a day. Archie took enough aerial surveys to find a way around the rock wall. Tomorrow morning, I’m setting out with Somchai and Dr. Boonjan at first light. We’re close now. With a bit of luck, we could reach Area X by nightfall. Tucker will stay behind and take care of Archie.”
“Good.” Winter nods. “’Cause I’m coming with you.” She says it with such finality, I know there’s no point in arguing. “I want to be there when you find the city.”