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8
WINTER
Mid-morning, the next day, a commotion in the camp makes me miss the perfect shot of a mama monkey jumping from one tree branch to another with her baby macaque fastened underneath her belly.
Annoyed, I walk the few paces back to 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 onto 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.
