“I can barely see him with just the light from the fire,” Sandra said in frustration. “I certainly can’t diagnose what’s wrong with him.”
Silva shrugged. “Look at him in the morning, then. He might live that long.”
Sandra shook her head. “You are a heartless bastard,” she observed, almost amazed.
“Nope. I like the little guy a lot. I’m just sick o’ getting blamed whenever somebody croaks.” He pointed his spoon at Rajendra. “Bastard said it was my fault another one of his guys got ate. What was I supposed to do? I wasn’t even here.”
“That’s just the point,” Rajendra snarled. “If we’d been here, it wouldn’t have happened!”
“You mean if me and the Doom Whomper’d been here it wouldn’t have happened. Another few muskets wouldn’t have made a difference. You want me to sit here all day and guard everybody until we starve or I run out of lead to cast my bullets? What the hell good is that gonna do when there’s too many of the damn things to kill? Look, I’m sorry you lost a fella, but sometimes bad sh… stuff just happens, an’ it ain’t always my fault!”
Sandra glared at Rajendra. “You know, he’s right. All you’ve done is whine ever since we got here. You stood up and pulled your weight on the boat, but now all you do is complain and blame. That’s not good enough! Do you want to save your princess? Do you want to live? Look, you don’t like taking orders from a woman. I get that, but here’s the deaclass="underline" I already command my people, Rajendra, and your princess has placed me in command of you and yours. Our numbers are about even, with a dozen of us left, counting Rebecca and Larry. Even if this was a democracy, you’d lose. If more of you besides Hersh and Mr. Brassey don’t pitch in and pull your weight, we aren’t going to make it because we’re just dragging the rest of you along. Well, I have the cure for that! By the authority vested in me by the United States Navy and Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald, and as Minister of Medicine for all the Allied powers, I’ll consider any further dereliction of duty or refusal to obey my orders tantamount to mutiny and punishable by death. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” Her voice had risen to a roar that her small frame seemed incapable of producing, but it would have made the Bosun proud. In a quieter voice she continued, “Mr. Silva and I have discussed his plan and it seems the most viable option. If we all work together, we can get it done with hands to spare. If I were you, I’d try very hard not to give the impression that I was a spare hand. I’m completely, deadly serious about this, and I advise you not to test me.”
She took a long breath and continued to glare at the darkened faces as if measuring each one. “Tomorrow we start moving the boat. We’ll need rollers, and plenty of them. Those not actively cutting rollers will be widening and clearing the path Mr. Silva and Captain Rajendra’s party made through the bamboo today.” She looked at Rajendra. “Now, I know you’ve been saving back some candles and at least two lanterns. I want them. All of them.” She allowed only the slightest hesitation, as the Imperials glanced at their commander, before she pulled the. 45 from its holster and racked the slide.
“Captain Rajendra,” she said very softly, “must I repeat myself?”
“Princess?” Rajendra asked.
“Obey her this instant, you fool!” Rebecca demanded harshly. “I have told you she alone commands! If you ever ask my approval for her orders again, I swear I’ll shoot you myself!”
“Very well, Your Highness. Please accept my apologies. I was only trying-”
“What you were trying to do, what you’ve been trying to do, is quite clear! The traditions of the Empire have no bearing here, and you will obey this woman as you would me.”
“Brassey,” Rajendra said stiffly, “please fetch the items Miss Tucker requested.” Brassey leaped to his feet and raced to the pile of supplies the Imperials had kept somewhat segregated.
“A wise choice, Captain Rajendra,” Sandra said as her thumb pushed upward on the pistol’s safety and she thrust the weapon back into its holster. “You might be interested to know that I was counting to myself and you had less than three seconds to live.” She smiled, then moved off toward where Abel Cook lay.
Silva shook his spoon at Rajendra. “And here all this time you thought I was a bad man.” He chuckled quietly. “You don’t know doodly.”
With the help of the lanterns and a couple of mirrors, Sandra was finally able to examine Abel’s hand. The boy was conscious and even tried to cooperate with the inspection, but he had a fever and was acting almost euphorically drunk. He was still tied to the stretcher so he couldn’t get up, but he sometimes almost desperately wanted to, as if his main goal in life had suddenly become to run off into the jungle as far and fast as he could. He alternated between begging them to turn him loose and apologizing for being a bother. Silva held his arm still when necessary, and Rebecca dabbed at his forehead with a cool, damp cloth. Most of the others had gathered around to watch interestedly, but they kept a respectful distance. Only Sister Audry and Captain Lelaa remained in attendance to hold the mirrors and reflect the best light.
“Good Lord!” Sandra said when she at last got a good look at the wound. “What on earth did he get into?” She could see where the initial puncture had been. The area around it was almost black, and the finger had swelled to three times its normal size. The skin was mostly pink and seemed stretched tight enough to burst. The boy should have been in agony instead of acting, well, like he was. On closer inspection, she thought she saw tiny bluish-green filaments radiating outward from the blackened region as if they were following the capillaries and veins within the finger. She’d never seen anything like it.
“Uh, he was pierced by a thorn,” Brassey supplied. “It was just a little thing, and we gave it no thought at the time.”
“A thorn? What did it look like? The plant, I mean.”
“Well, Mr. Silva said it looked like something he called ‘kudzu,’ but I don’t know what that is. We have plants with similar blossoms at home, and they even have thorns, but they don’t cause anything like Mr. Cook’s reaction.”
“It’s the damnedest thing I ever saw,” Dennis murmured. “One little poke. It’s almost like it left a seed in there and it sprouted something fierce. Already putting out roots!”
Sandra felt a chill. “My God, I think that’s exactly what it’s done! You say these plants were growing up among and around skeletons of some sort?”
“Yes… ah… ma’am,” Brassey confirmed. “Great big ones.”
“Say,” Silva muttered thoughtfully, “they ain’t no big critters running around on this island! Not most of the time, anyway, except for them big lizard-turtle things, and if these were them, they’d’ve left big old shells layin’ around!”
“You’re saying that the skeletons must have been these shiksak creatures?” Sister Audry asked.
“No way around it,” Silva replied. “I bet those big old shit-sack toad boogers go hoppin’ through that kudzu stuff, get poked, and eventually wind up fertilizin’ a whole new patch of them nasty weeds! God… dern! I always hated kudzu!”
Sandra sighed and laid Abel’s hand down. “If you’re right-and I’m afraid you are-that finger will have to come off. Immediately. In just the few hours since he was infected, the ‘roots’ have spread nearly to his hand. Those are just the filaments I can see. Deeper down, they might already be in his hand.”
“We better get crackin’, then,” Dennis said.
“Right.” Sandra looked at Sister Audry. “Would you and Lawrence please boil some water? Mr. Silva, you still have a small amount of polta paste in your shooting pouch, do you not?”
“Are you absolutely certain we have no other choice? ” asked Rebecca.
The tears in her eyes reflected the candlelight.
“I don’t know that we can be certain without waiting,” Dennis answered her gently. “But if it does what we think it does, I don’t reckon we have time.”