Amanda's Story (13 page)

“Thanks, Larry.” She found his light grip on her arm somewhat uncomfortable and shifted out of it.

“Bernice wants to see you.” Larry's eyes widened. “I mean she wants to talk to you.”

“Okay,” she said, turning away.
One more thing for the list that I'm not thinking about,
she told herself. She had always been a person who enjoyed physical contact. A touch of the hand, a brush of the cheek, and especially hugs. She had always loved getting and giving hugs, but the thought of a hug was just as disagreeable as she had found Larry's grip on her arm.
But I'm not thinking about this
, she warned herself.

She skirted some boxes on her way to Bernice's cot, but a sullen Charlotte cut across her path. “I heard what you told Larry. So what do you want to do about the bodies?”

Amanda looked over Charlotte's shoulder and saw Cami asleep on a cot. Next to her were two bodies wrapped in blood-soaked sheets.

“There's no more room under the tarp. Besides, the generator is going to run out of gas any minute.”

The weight of the rifle caused Amanda to shift it on her shoulder, and she restrained a very distant but enticing desire to use it. “If you and Larry could carry them to the radio tent?” She was proud of herself for phrasing it more as a question than an order.

“Fine,” Charlotte said, and stomped off like a petulant child.

Amanda turned the other way and found Bernice. “I heard you were back,” she said soberly. “I didn't hear any gunfire, so I assume you didn't get shot.” She had an almost accusatory tone.

“No, I did not get shot. I take it by your tone that you know what's wrong.”

“Give me your hand.” Bernice was clearly angry now and Amanda knew what would come next.

“No,” she said pulling her hands and face out of range of the older woman's flailing arms. “Stop it, Bernice,” Amanda commanded with enough force to get Bernice to stop trying to slap her. “I'm trying to see if you need anything.”

“What I need is to see!” Bernice yelled. “They keep telling me that I can't see, and I keep tellin' em I can.” She started crying, and as an exception to Amanda's new rule of “no-touch” she took Bernice's hand. “I know what's happening and so do you. You're a smart girl.”

“I have an idea.” She took the penlight that either Larry or Charlotte had left and flashed it into Bernice's eyes. Her abnormally large pupils constricted briskly, and then slowly dilated again. “Did you see that?”

“I don't know; maybe I saw a flash.”

The occipital lobes—the back portions of the brain—are the vision centers, and when they are injured in isolation the patient becomes blind but the person still maintains that they can see. The pupils, which are controlled by centers in the brainstem, dilate, but constrict normally when exposed to light. “Cortical blindness,” Amanda said.

“I don't want to die like this, Amanda.”

“I don't know that you're dying and neither do you.” She tried to sound definitive and forceful but her true beliefs betrayed her.

“If you lie to me again I will slap you.” Bernice's words were stern, without even a trace of her trademark playfulness. “I may not be able to see but I can still feel, and I feel these things burning through me.” She pulled down her collar, and the collection of blisters Amanda had seen earlier had spread across her chest and breasts. Tears started to flow down Bernice's face. “You made me a promise a little while ago and I'm holding you to it.”

Amanda reached up to the IV and turned it up a notch. “Not yet, Bernice. Things could still change.”

“The only change that's happenin' here is for the worse.” She wiped her eyes, and Amanda was glad that Bernice couldn't see the blood that she had just smeared across her face. “Ah, there it is ….Mr. Morpheuss,” she began to slur.

“It's just to get you back to sleep. I promised you that you had to be on that road. I'll stay with you tonight.”

Bernice opened her eyes and looked for Amanda. “I'm holdin' you to it,” she said, and then she closed her eyes. In less than a minute she had begun to snore quietly.

Amanda went looking for her sleeping bag and backpack and found them not far from her first set of dead soldiers. She walked back to the tent as the light was rapidly failing. Larry waved to her from the tall grass just beyond the camp's lights. He looked a little close to the fence, but there was no reaction from the soldiers in the jungle. She stretched out at the foot of Bernice's cot, not bothering to look for Charlotte. Cami was snoring almost as loud as Bernice.

Amanda stared at the stars. This hadn't been the worst day of her life, but probably the second. She rubbed the scratchy rash on the back of her left hand and a strip of skin peeled off, leaving behind red raw healthy skin. She quickly ran her hand over the rest of her accessible body parts and found that most of her lesions were in various stages of healing. It dawned on her that she hadn't eaten in three days, but she didn't feel hungry. She closed her eyes and her mind floated away to a happier time.

The bang was just a backfire, her sleepy mind told her. Stay in bed; it's so warm and comfortable. No need to wake up. Only, it wasn't comfortable, and the screaming that followed was Charlotte. She wasn't at home with her husband; she was wrapped in a filthy sleeping bag, lying in the dirt of Honduras. She opened her eyes and the thin light of dawn greeted her. She rolled over and saw through blurry eyes a figure running through the field and a second one on his knees in front of the fence. She kicked out of the sleeping bag and ran after Charlotte before she reached what could only be the body of Larry. Several soldiers began yelling and waving their arms, and another shot rang out through the morning air. Charlotte dropped to the ground and Amanda froze. Larry had been shot, his hands clinging to the chain-link fence as a large red stain expanded across the back of his shirt, but Charlotte was physically uninjured.

Amanda raised her hands and walked through the knee-high grass to the nurse. “Come on, Charlotte; there's nothing that can be done now,” Amanda said, grabbing the woman's arm and dragging her to her feet. She was crying loudly, and Amanda nearly slapped the woman. “Control yourself, otherwise we could be next.” She looked over her shoulder and saw that Larry had slipped into the grass, one hand still caught in the fence. The soldiers split their time between Larry and the retreating pair of women.

“He found me and asked me to look at something,” Charlotte cried as Amanda led her to a chair. “His back was covered by those damn blisters and he was bleeding. He asked for a shot of morphine and I gave him eight milligrams. I thought it would make him sleep, but he started running at the fence.” Her face was red, wet, and turned up towards Amanda, pleading like a child.

“There's nothing more we can do for him. You have to be strong for Cami.”

“Cami's sick. She's going to die just like the rest of us.” She started to cry and scream at the same time, and Amanda was almost convinced that the time was right to slap the woman. Instead she grabbed her by the arms and started to gently shake her, but the disagreeable sense was so strong that she was forced to pull her hands back and let the woman cry. It took a minute before Charlotte could speak again. “I was up with Cami. After I gave her the morphine last night she never really woke up. So, early this morning I tried to wake her up.” The crying started anew and her thoughts came out in fragments. “But. She had them … everywhere. Even her eyes. Oh God, even her eyes.” Amanda stood and felt more than a little empathy. “And now Larry.” Her head dropped into her lap, and her tears started to turn to blood. She screamed again, and jumped to her feet, her face covered in blood. “What's happening?”

Amanda's first thought was that Charlotte had indeed been shot. In just a few seconds she had soaked the front of her blouse. Amanda did the only thing she could think of and grabbed a folded towel and smashed it into Charlotte's face. She squeezed the woman's nose and eyes and led her to the only clean cot. “Charlotte! Charlotte! I need you to hold this,” Amanda said, bringing the woman's right hand to the towel. “Now squeeze as tight as you can. It's just a nose bleed,” she lied. Charlotte lifted her head, exposing her neck and a fresh set of blood-filled blisters. In the few minutes that it took to get her down and the bleeding under control, Amanda watched them spread like a living organism down her neck into her chest. “Oh my God, it hurts,” Charlotte moaned through her blood-clotted nose and mouth.

“Let me get you something. Just lie right here; we don't want the bleeding to start all over again.” It took her only a few minutes to find and administer the morphine. Charlotte was finally calm enough for Amanda to take away the blood-soaked towel, and even after all she had been through, Amanda was not prepared to see what lay beneath. Large strips of skin had come away with the towel; all of the skin on Charlotte's nose and lower forehead had sloughed down to a bloody pulp. Her ragged eyelids refused to close completely, and the conjunctiva of each eye protruded with tense red blisters. Amanda looked away in horror and quickly stood. The only saving grace was that by this point Charlotte was only barely conscious from the morphine.

She glanced over at Bernice, who had rolled towards all the commotion, and then to the cot two over from Bernice and saw the face of Cami. Like Charlotte, her face was in tatters, her unseeing eyes staring at the roof of the tent. Amanda waited a moment and then reluctantly walked the ten feet and covered her body. She couldn't bring herself to close the eyes on the mutilated face.

“Where are you, dear?” Bernice's voice was soft and raspy.

“I'm right here,” Amanda answered, stepping quickly away from Cami's body.

“My mind's pretty clear now, Amanda. I heard what happened to Larry and I can guess what's happening to Charlotte. Are you all right?”

“Physically.” She knew what was coming.

“I'm well down that road now,” Bernice said simply. “I know this is hard for you, and I'd do it myself if I could.”

“What is happening here?” Amanda was angry—angrier than she had ever been. Angry with Larry for leaving them, angry at Stephen for getting shot, angry at Charlotte for being a screaming bitch, and angry at Bernice for what she was asking her to do.

“I'll ask the Lord for ya', and then I'll get a message back to you.” Bernice smiled and her lip cracked and started to bleed. “Oh my, I'm gonna ruin my dress,” she said, wiping the blood with a blistered hand.

“I can't do this; I'll be alone,” Amanda cried pitifully.

“You're gonna be alone no matter what you do. What was your husband's name?”

Amanda didn't follow the sudden change in topic. “Michael.”

“Michael. ‘Who is like God.' Could there be a better name? I'll bet he was tall and handsome. He have long blond hair like you?”

“Bernice, my hair is short …” Amanda said through tears. “No, Michael was a Marine and got used to short hair.” She dropped her head and everything started to slow to an almost peaceful pace.

“That ain't right. I'll change that for you. Now tell me, what was your son's name?” Reluctantly, Amanda reached for the IV and opened it wide.

“Josh,” she said. “He was two and liked to do somersaults.”

“Josh. Short for Joshua?”

Amanda nodded, then said, “Yes.”

“Good strong name. ‘Jehovah is Salvation.' Should be Jesus is salvation, but I'll bet your Michael has that allll straight now.” Her voice was slowing. “You remember what I told you when we was come down here? You need to find out what's important to you and cling to it. Me and Jesus are going to take care of your Michael and Joshua until you get up to see us, but you still got some work down here. You understand me?”

“Yes.” Amanda's heart was breaking.

“Now give me a kiss.” Amanda bent down and gave Bernice a kiss on her cold forehead. “That was nice. Now give me one more, right here.” She tapped her right cheek, and Amanda gave her a second kiss. “That was even better. Now, one more, right here.” She tapped her left cheek. And again she gave Bernice a kiss. “Wonderful. The first was for me. The second one I'll give over to Michael and the last goes to Josh. I might even give him a hug or two.” She smiled weakly and her grip became weak. “I'll just hug Josh.” Her hand dropped from Amanda's. “There you two are,” she barely whispered. “You're every bit as pretty as your momma. Come and give me a hug; I got something for you.” Her voice faded away and she became still.

It was hours before Amanda could return to the tent. For a time she debated following Larry's lead by rushing the fence and ending it all in a sudden hail of bullets, but giving up, letting those bastards win, was adding insult to injury, and she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. They wanted her to rush the fence so they could shoot another American.

“Fuck you,” she screamed at a group of soldiers, who watched with undisguised leers as she stomped through the grass. Shooting her wasn't the only thing they wanted. “Disgusting, fucking pigs,” she screamed at them on her next lap. They were responsible for all the death and misery that surrounded her.

No, she corrected herself. They're mindless animals. It's their masters, the ones who drove them. They're the ones responsible. That spic Dr. Martinez and his pal General Regara. Amanda's mind reeled with possibilities. They were the ones who created this infection. Maybe they even faked the hurricane to lure us down here. It was suddenly all so clear. That's why the bastards made them take helicopters in, so the team would be deprived of long range communications. That's why they hadn't heard from home. That's why the hospital ship had been turned away. It was all an elaborate ruse to conduct a human biologic experiment.

“Bastards,” she screamed at the soldiers as she rounded the corner of the tent. They were being secretive now, not looking at her directly, fading away into the jungle where they could use their binoculars and cameras. Maybe she was their reward, the bone Martinez and Regara would throw to their dogs for watching the Americans die. And when they were done with her they would shoot her. Or, maybe they would shoot her first and then molest her corpse. “Fucking degenerate bastards,” she said to herself and then slumped in the grass, physical and mental fatigue overwhelming her.

After a moment her mind began to clear. As much as she hated Dr. Martinez and his officious disinterest in their plight, he wasn't responsible for it, and the soldiers who surrounded her weren't waiting for a chance to rape her. They wanted to go home as much as she did.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to be anywhere but here, but when she opened them she was still sitting in the tall grass with bugs crawling all over her. She studied them and tried to figure out why she had always harbored a fear of bugs. They were fascinatingly complex and diverse.

“When I get home, maybe I'll become an entomologist,” she said to a large caterpillar-like bug that walked up her arm. She played with it for a while, and then finally turned her mind back to the task at hand. “Sorry little guy, there's something I have to do,” and she placed the insect back in the dirt. She stood and looked at the covered body of Bernice Scott, and then with a start remembered Charlotte. Amanda had completely forgotten the petulant, rude woman and was a little ambivalent about the possibility that she had died alone.

She slowly walked back to the tent, avoiding the wrapped body of Bernice. Charlotte was still asleep, but her breathing was ragged. She looked for another syringe of morphine, but had to walk by Bernice to retrieve it. After a long while Charlotte began to stir and Amanda reluctantly fetched a handful of loaded syringes. When she returned, Charlotte's eyes were open. Surprisingly, she didn't look much worse, although it would have been hard to do.

“I saw you out there.”

“I needed to be alone for awhile,” Amanda answered with a touch of frustration and anger.

“Is she gone?” Charlotte asked, and Amanda didn't know if she meant Cami or Bernice.

“Yes.” Amanda didn't want to answer any questions. She was an emotional wreck. It seemed that everyone around her, including her present circumstance, died. Her father when she was a child, her mother when she was a young teenager, and her only brother just a few years later. Michael and later Josh had helped her bury them in her mind; it took another year to get Michael and Josh buried, and now it was happening all over again, except now they were all out of their graves and running around in her mind.

“Was it peaceful?”

“Yes.” She was about to ask Charlotte if she wanted another shot, but then decided to just give her one.

“Wait.” She could see well enough to divine Amanda's intent. “You were sick before,” Charlotte accused, her implication obvious.

“I got better,” she answered, without giving the question much thought. She reached for the port on the IV and out of habit swiped it with an alcohol pad.

“Hold on; I want to know something.” Amanda paused, needle in hand, and stared down into Charlotte's ruined face, its expression lost in the blood and tattered flesh. “What makes you so goddamn special? Why do you get to live while everyone else dies?” It was meant to be mean and hateful, and she would never know how accurate her aim had been.

Amanda got up, syringes in hand, and walked away.