Vanguard (13 page)

“Will, please take the patient to the camp. Dr. Shah knows what needs to be done until I return.” His eyes flew wide, and he lurched forward. Every gun in the room pointed at him.

“Sophie, no! I know what you’re planning to do and it’s insane.”

She let her eyes and voice go hard. “I am in command of this mission, William. Not you. Do as I have instructed. Take the patient to the camp
now
.” She turned her back on him and pushed her red hair away from her face.

“I have chosen, Commandant. You will mark me.”

Jaros grinned. “As I knew I would.”

She faced him, her knees trembling. Jaros’ guards and her two omnipresent Soviet soldiers stood behind the Commandant, weapons drawn. The knife came up between her eyes.

Michael would never forgive himself, she knew. He’d live for the rest of his life knowing that Sophie had been mutilated because of events he himself had set in motion. It would tear them apart. In saving him, she’d lose him forever.

But she had no choice. She loved him, would never love anyone else the same way. She’d spent the last ten years trying to find someone who could take his place, and no one had even come close. If she bought Michael’s life with this act, then it would be worth it. She would have her work, and Michael would have his life. But she still had one card left to play.

The knife tip settled in the center of her forehead. The Commandant’s face hovered directly in front of hers, and she could see the madness gleaming in his eyes. The knife pierced the thin layer of skin and flesh. Jaros dragged the knife diagonally, carving the line of the hammer. She could actually hear the blade scraping against her bone. Two things happened right away.

First, she screamed at the white-hot line of fire blazing across her forehead. Not just because it hurt, but because she believed it might save her life. With the Commandant blocking her view and blood dripping down into her eyes, Sophie heard, rather than saw, the second thing happen. Every safety in the room clicked off, and all the guns aimed. But not at her. Not at her, she knew it.

At the Commandant.

“Commandant. No,” came a rough voice in Russian from behind Jaros. One of the guards.

One of her guards. Young men, raised in a time when Soviet culture was working to elevate the rights and status of its women.

Cultural revolution.

“Please, you must stop. You dishonor the Soviet Republic with this act. Our new laws.” For a moment, everything went silent. Sophie’s forehead blazed with agony. Then she heard the knife clatter down to the desktop.

“Go. Leave this camp, do not return.” Jaros released her, stepping away. “Your guards will accompany you to ensure the patient returns to the camp, dead or alive.”

Sophie spun around dizzily, grabbing her bag and laptop. She used her scarf to wipe away the blood pouring down her nose and cheeks, then tied it clumsily over the wound. Her guards took her by the shoulders and moved her toward the door.

“Wait,” Jaros said. They stopped.

“You knew this would happen. You
planned
this.”

“Yes.”

“We are more alike than you realize, Sophie.”

She smiled, drunk with pain. “God, I hope so, Commandant.”

They dragged her from the room.

Chapter 8

Anjali and her team had Michael out of the Jeep and onto a gurney in record time. On the wild ride back to base camp, Will wouldn’t tell her what had happened inside the administrative building. His face was bone white, eyes dark with unspoken horror as he helped get Michael inside. The patient started seizing just as they entered the infirmary.

“Get him on his side,” Anjali said to Meha, who had appeared out of nowhere, masked and gloved. She touched him and hissed.

“Probable febrile seizure,” Meha said. “He’s burning up.” She positioned and supported him until the seizure ended, then took his temperature, gasping as she read the result. “107.2.” Below the point where brain damage became imminent, but way too close for comfort. They moved quickly to get Michael moved on to a table.

“We need to get the fever down, fast,” Anjali said. “Ideas, anyone?”

A commotion at the door interrupted them. She spun to see two Soviet soldiers enter the infirmary with Sophie hanging between them. Both men looked at Anjali with trepidation. Will made a sound in his throat.

“Sophie,” he whispered.

Her head came up, and the blood-soaked scarf slipped to the floor. With a sigh of relief, the team turned back to the real medical emergency. Sophie had an ugly diagonal gash on her forehead, about an inch and a half long. Like any wound to the forehead, it was bleeding profusely, making it look more serious than it was. A few stitches and antiseptic would do the job.

“How?” Will stared at her incredulously.

“Always know the customs of the country you are entering. It creates an atmosphere of goodwill and respect from the start.” The nonsensical words slurred on Sophie’s tongue. “I resign my leadership of the coalition. Tell the Rev…” Her eyes rolled back, and she went limp in the hands of the guards. The two men took her to the nearest bed and laid her down carefully. They moved back to the door, their eyes never leaving Anjali. One of them spoke.

“She is woman,” he said in heavily accented English. “Violence on woman is forbidden. Law of new Soviet society.” The infirmary went silent for a moment.

“She knew,” Will said to the guards. “She knew and gambled that you would stop him.” They looked back at him, expressionless.

“At some point, you’ll have to explain to me what’s going on here. In the meantime, Kathy, see to Sophie,” Anjali ordered the closest nurse. “Clean the wound, apply pressure. Dr. Patel can stitch it up later.” She turned back to Michael and got to work.

“We’ve got to get this fever down.” Anjali looked around for inspiration. “You and you.” She pointed at Sophie’s guards, still standing in the doorway. “Take a piece of plastic sheeting outside, fill it with snow, bring it back here.” They stared at her. “Do it now!” They moved gratifyingly fast for two men who had allegedly not been able to understand English until about ten minutes ago.

“Get towels,” Anjali said to the nearest orderly. “Call anyone available down here. We need all hands on deck. Masks and gloves!”

The two soldiers returned with a load of snow in the plastic sheeting.

“Right over here, boys.” She grabbed a towel, filled it with snow, bundled it and shoved it under one of Michael’s armpits. Second one under the other arm. A third between his legs.

“Cart standing by,” she called. “Or whatever we have here that stands in for a cart.” One of the nurses struggled to get an IV into Michael’s arm, but it took her several tries to find a vein in his wasted body. Just as they got the line hooked up, Michael gave one or two quick gasps, then his chest settled. The heart monitor line went jagged.

“V-tach!” The sudden change in temperature had sent him into shock, and the electrical activity in his heart had gone haywire. Anjali started CPR. The nurse ripped the snow-filled towels from under Michael’s body and rapidly toweled him and the table down. Anjali pulled open his gown, and slapped on the pads.

“Clear!” The little defibrillator delivered an electrical shock to his heart. They continued rescue breathing. On the second shock, Michael’s heart rhythm reestablished itself.

They worked over Vanguard for the next hour, getting his fever down to a still high but manageable 104 degrees. By the time he’d stabilized enough for Anjali to step back from the table, the sun had set and the rest of the team had returned from Parnaas. She looked for Sophie, blinking sweat out of her eyes.

Her friend slept on the far table, forehead stitched and bandaged, an IV in her arm. Raj and Will sat beside her, and the Rev stood in the doorway. Anjali hadn’t even noticed them come in.

“I administered a light sedative.” Raj indicated Sophie’s IV line. “Treated for mild shock. Will assisted. He has a great future as a nurse.” Will grinned. “Sophie will have a scar bang between her eyes. Half an ‘x.’ What happened to her?”

“I haven’t heard yet,” Anjali said.

A shout from the lab area made everyone turn around. Meha appeared in the doorway, a brilliant smile under her mask.

“
Pseudomonas aeruginosa
,” she said breathlessly, holding up the cultured sample of the pneumonia bacteria. “It’s bacterial. Gram-negative, highly resistant to most conventional antibiotics.”

“What’ll work?” Raj leaped to his feet.

“Select cephalosporins. That’s why some were working and other not. Quinolones, too, I think. Let me get a list, and we’ll check our inventory.” Meha darted back into the lab and fired up a computer. Raj joined her.

Two hours later, Michael had two flavors of antibiotics in horse-sized doses running into his veins. All they could do now was wait. Anjali leaned back against the wall and looked at the wreck of a man lying before her. Suddenly, she sighed, and glanced over to see if Sophie was still asleep. Then she crooked her finger at a nearby orderly.

“The big blue storage bin against the far wall marked Hygiene Supplies. See it?” The woman nodded. “Get the hair clippers. Vanguard’s hair is crawling with lice and who knows what else. Buzz it off, go through what’s left with a fine-tooth comb, and bag the trimmings for disposal. He’s going to be bald when he wakes up.”

~~ - ~~

Everyone received a shot of the appropriate antibiotics before retiring to bed, and Meha started prepping all available supplies of the effective drugs for the patients in Parnaas. The Rev downed his pills, and stayed to chat afterwards.

“You and the team did great work today, Anjali. Nice job.”

“Thanks,” Anjali said. “I’ll feel better when Vanguard’s fever comes down and he’s breathing better on his own. The pneumonia’s in both lungs, and he’s very weak. He’s not out of the woods yet, but he stands a better chance now that he’s with us.”

“How’s she?” He jerked his chin in Sophie’s direction.

“Mild shock, nasty gash on the forehead, but otherwise fine. We gave her a sedative. She can sleep it off here tonight. Vanguard’s on twenty-four-hour watch, so she won’t be alone.”

The Rev nodded absently, looking at Sophie with awe. “Will tell you what she did?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll hear about it.”

“She’s an extraordinary person, Anjali.”

“I know.”

~~ - ~~

Sophie woke up abruptly, knowing something had disturbed her sleep. Something loud.

Where the hell am I?

The infirmary. At the base camp in the Soviet Republic. Michael.

Where is he?
She knew he was here somewhere; she could sense him close by. She sat up, seeing a dim light on the other side of the curtain that surrounded her. Her forehead hurt like hell.

The dark-haired nurse smiled when she came out dragging her IV pole. Sophie used the restroom, then peered into the semi-dark at the other bed.

“Kathy,” the nurse said helpfully as she saw Sophie fumbling for her name. “Do you need something for pain?”

“Yes, something non-narcotic and strong, please. I have the world’s worst headache. How long have I been asleep?”

Kathy consulted the log on the desk as Sophie sat down beside her. “About twelve hours,” she said, smiling at Sophie’s shock and handing her two pills with lukewarm water. “You were sedated around 2 p.m. yesterday and now it’s the middle of the night.” A long, rattling cough came from Michael’s bed, and Sophie leapt to her feet.

“May I sit with him?” If the nurse said no, she was still going to sit with him, but asking seemed like the polite thing to do.

“Of course. His fever is still very high, and he’s been coughing a lot the last little while.” She handed Sophie a mask and gloves. “Perhaps you’d like something clean to wear.”

Sophie still wore the clothes she’d had on in the camp the day before, and her shirt was crusty with dried blood. She declined the hospital gown and asked for scrubs instead. She took herself and her IV pole to Michael’s bedside. Kathy dragged over a chair for her, then thoughtfully wrapped a warm blanket around Sophie’s shoulders.

She could feel the heat pouring off Michael’s skin. Even in the dark, she could see how painfully thin he was.
How had he managed to survive in this state?
“Do you have a cloth?”

The nurse handed her a damp cloth, and she wiped his face gently, being careful not to dislodge his oxygen line. Sophie dabbed as lightly as she could at his lips, but the fragile skin still cracked and bled. She squinted in the dark at his head, which seemed to be wrapped in some kind of pale fabric.

There was nothing else she could do. This was not an enemy she could fight, outwit, or strategize against. So for the next little while, she talked to him quietly in Orlisian, telling him about what had happened in the last few months. About his parents and her lunches with them. Interesting things in the news. The coalition. The impending birth of Carter and Janet’s baby.