The Lost Island

64

Eli Glinn lay in the sand as two medics pulled the wreckage of his wheelchair off from on top of him, cut away his shirt, and undertook a quick examination. He was vaguely aware of his injuries, but he felt detached from them, distant, as if all this had happened to someone else. He struggled to make an inventory of his condition. His shoulder, broken. His crippled arm, lacerated and bleeding. A cut on his head, with perhaps a mild concussion. Burns. They hurt already; very soon, they would hurt much more.

He could hear the roar of the fire, see its angry glow through the ruined and tattered tent fabric. This was far worse than before. There would be no controlling this fire. He could already hear the popping sounds as it moved into the jungle, branches crackling, seedpods bursting, treetops erupting in noisy flame. Fanned by a rising wind.

Painfully, he turned his head to one side. His aide lay on the ground, in three pieces, connected only by strings of tissue. The man’s surprised blue eyes stared into space. The man’s body, and Glinn’s wheelchair, had absorbed the blow. It was a miracle Glinn was still alive.

The medics finished fitting a neck brace on him. They lifted him gently, then placed him on a stretcher.

“We’re going to get you on the chopper,” the chief medic said.

“Not ahead of the others.”

“I’m doing the triage around here,” the chief medic said tersely as they headed for the door.

“I said no. I’m stable now. Set me down. Take the others out first. I’ll go with the last group.”

A hesitation, and then the medic nodded. “Okay, Mr. Glinn. Have it your way.” He disappeared out the door.

Glinn raised his head from the stretcher, looked around, spotted a soldier. He beckoned him over. “You’re my aide now. You’ll relay my orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

Glinn grasped the man’s collar, pulled him close. “I want an immediate general evacuation of the island. First the wounded, then the others. We have two choppers left — it’ll take four trips. The mission hospital in Puerto Cabezas, south on the mainland, will be our destination. There’s a helipad there. Do it quickly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Second order: abandon the firefighting effort. It’s too late. The remaining soldiers—everyone left on the island — are to maintain the perimeter, defend against the creature, until the evac is complete. Is that understood?”

“Understood.”

“Good. Now go.”

“Yes, sir.” Glinn released his hold on the man’s collar. The soldier jumped up and immediately disappeared around the corner of the tent.

Glinn lay back on the stretcher, on the ground, staring upward at the canvas, bright with the light of the fire. According to Gideon, Garza had gotten one lotus root out. Just one. He hoped beyond all hope that it would be enough.