[73—Bivouac]

Week six was all bivouac, which meant we were out hiking and camping the whole time. They'd brought us supplies mid-week, and the mail, but that was it.

Robbie had sent me a tape, separate from the weekly one, but I hadn't played it.  I was running low on juice.

I was acting squad leader, with two people on sick call and no medic—July Lunch and Chantré were both down with stomach cramps.  This was a new development, only starting this morning, and I hoped it wasn't anything serious.  I had Spacey Berkowitz, from July's team, possibly the quietest person in our squad tending them.  She seemed to know her way around a sick person.

"You'd better come see," she said, looking at her toes.  She wasn't exactly the boisterous type; I'd scarcely heard her talk at all.

Everyone on her team seemed to have some kind of problem, above and beyond just being a freak.

There was Reyla—Keyla and Geyla's fundamentalist sister—who was still, amazingly, with us.  I was very surprised at that.  She wasn't much trouble, per se, but July kept a tight leash on her, I suspect, to keep her out of the rest of the Troop's hair.

Then there was Jemmi, the girl who'd gotten into my face the very first day at Camp Winsome.  There was something very wrong with her, but none of us knew what it was.  She acted like a psycho sometimes and was as sweet as molasses at others.  I didn't get it.

And then there was Kwame, our Nigerian immigrant, about whom I knew little, except that he was gayer than fairy-pink and would sleep with just about anybody male.  He'd had sex with three men in our squad that I knew of, and who knows how many others.  I think he'd been cruising the Airbase on Sundays.  I could only hope he was using the condoms we handed out so frequently.

Week five had familiarized us with archery, and the fundamentals of hunting.  I wasn't any good, but Chibani was a natural.  He'd grown up with the bow and arrow.

He was out now, with our newbie, a guy named Ricky Houck who came over to us from Second Squad, also known as the Cracker Barrel, on account of how dry and white its denizens were.  He'd just come out and was reveling in the freedom of his choice.  I thought him and Chibani might be fooling around.  If so, I wished them luck and lots of prophylaxis.

I also wished them the fortitude to continue their task, which was to keep the sounder of Boonie pigs that had been following our camp at bay.  They might not be as dangerous as true wild boar, but these mudsuckers had great-big tusks and though smaller than their wilder cousins, were not very afraid of humans.

It was a lot harder keeping up with fifteen instead of four.

I kept the teams close, all in one campsite, to ease the logistics and make security easier.  I'd not been much worried about it except two things:  the pigs, and the fact that a Park Ranger had been shot at by poachers last week.  He was fine, but they started a massive hunt for the offenders; it was still going on.

Some of us (not me) had complained that it was dangerous, but the Lieutenant told us it was the least of our worries.  In Central and South America, where most of us were going, it would be a lot worse.

So I'd taken two bows with us, as well as our ubiquitous machetes, and Chibani had showed us how to make fire-hardened spears from saplings.  He made sure each one had a forking limb somewhere along the haft, to keep a charging pig from running up it and hurting you.

We kept them handy, in case they decided to run through the camp again.

We went over to the Medical tent, really just one of our domes confiscated for this purpose, and checked up on our sick.

"How are they," I asked Spacey.

"Chantré is pretty out of it—fever, vomiting, and diarrhea, I'm giving her lots of fresh water, but we are running low.  Lunch is better, she's coherent now, and wants to talk to you.  I don't think they have the same thing."

"Good, then it's probably not contagious."

"Maybe," she said and lit up a cigarette, "but we should be cautious."

I hadn't seen anybody smoke like her since Dr. Epstein—like it was a sacrament.  The hospital, and all the events that made my life what is was now, were a distant memory.  Was it possible that was only four months ago?

"Can we move them?  I'd like to get back early.  That fever is worrying me.  Do you have any idea how high it is?"

"No, I don't have a thermometer, but it's above 102°, I think."

"Then we definitely need to move them, if we can."

"Heywood," Lunch called from within.  I went to her.

"What is it?"

"Get Chantré back to camp.  You can leave me here with the others, but she needs a doctor.  I'm afraid it's appendicitis.  She has to go."

"We'll break camp when everybody gets back.  We should be back to Winsome by noon."

"Win some, lose some," she said wistfully and then looked at me.  "Chantré was mumbling 'fuck Cracker Barrel' all night last night.  Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know.  There's a restaurant chain called that in the South.  We have them in Missouri.  They're pretty hateful to gays.  Perhaps she had a bad experience, or got turned down for a job."

"Don't know.  I just hope she don't get athwartships with Houck.  That's what they call his squad's tent."

"I'm not worried about it.  But I am worried about both of you."

"I'm fine.  Just having an exceptionally bad period."

"But you haven't been using tampons."

"How do you know?"

"I'm the boss while you're broken; I know everything.  What gives?"

"Just a little spotting."  She tried to sit up but couldn't.  "And a smidge of pain."

"Girl, you turned fishbelly white just now.  I thought you were going to pass out."

"So did I."

"Then you're definitely not ambulatory.  We can rig some litters with spears.  We can use tarps and have plenty of rope.  I'll have three teams of porters, and we can swap to make better time.  I think that's important."

"Listen," she coughed, "do this.  Take one team with you and book it back to base camp, and leave the other two under Jared back here with the camp to pack it up and hump it in at a slower pace. 

"With all the extra gear, you're taking a big risk with them, especially if we don't have enough fresh water.  But we can't abandon our gear in the Park."

"No," I told her.  "I'm not going to split us up.  Their load will be even greater if we leave the whole thing for eight men...people. 

"I'm going to pull up stakes and head out, just as soon as we can.  I've got your flare pistol, so I can call in the cavalry if we go bust."

***

Chibani got in ten minutes later, carrying two Guinea Fowl by their feet.

"I wish you'd have not taken them," I told him.  "Not that I'm scorning your hunting prowess, but we have to get going."

He thumped his chest. 

"Great Red Hunter, innit?"

We broke camp quickly, and headed out in good order.  Chibani insisted on cutting new poles for the litters; he wanted somebody on each of the spears, plus an archer at each end of the line in case of Boonie pigs.

We marched toward the camp, but it was rough going.  Lunch had been right, with the extra load, and without enough water, we were quickly exhausted.  Switching out didn't help, because nobody really got to rest. 

We finally stopped along a ridge, within sight of the camp. 

"How's she doing," I asked Spacey.

"She's bad, boss.  Her fever's even higher, 104°, I'd say.  If it's her appendix, I'm afraid for her.  It may have already burst.  She had a spasm and a delirious episode a while back."

"What about Lunch?"

"Quiet as a mouse.  She's got me just as worried.  She wouldn't drink the last time we stopped; I think she's trying to tough it out."

"Wouldn't surprise me.  She's a tough old bat."

She wasn't very old, mid-, late-twenties, tops.

"I'm going to send two runners to camp.  Who do you think the fastest is?"

"Chantré," she said without hesitation.

"Who else?  She's not in much of a state to run right now."

"I'd sent Myki and Kwame.  Them boys is faster than a pickup-truck full of homophobic rednecks, unless I miss my guess."

"Okay, but I think I'll shoot off my flare, too.  Time is precious."

***

In the end, they brought the helicopter to us.  Doc Martinez took one look at them and was on the radio to Rand.  They were in pretty bad shape.  I tried to keep track of them, but couldn't.  The only thing I knew for a while was that they were flown off the island by nightfall.

I listened to Robbie's tape after I got in.

Hi Dani, it's me.  Robbie.  I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU DONT HAVE TIME FOR ME, BUT I WISH YOU DID.  I MISS YOU, AND YOU DID PROMISE.

TOPHER HAS BEEN FUN. WERE MAKING A PIRATE SHIP OUT OF POPSICLE STICKS.  HE MISSES YOU TOO.  SOMETIMES HE HUGS YOUR PILLOW AND CRIES.  I THINK HE LOVES YOU.

I WROTE YOU SOME PROGRAMS ON MY NACK, BUT HAD TO HAVE DADDY HELP ME CONVERT THEM TO WORK ON YOUR GRIP.

ONE IS A PROGRAM TO DRAW ON YOUR SCREEN, USING THE KEYBOARD.  ANOTHER IS A CLOCK, COUNTER, AND ALARM.  I KNOW YOU HAVE A WATCH, BUT THIS ONE IS COOL.  YOU CAN SET THE TIMEZONE AND KEEP TRACK OF THE TIME IN FOUR PLACES AT ONCE.  I WROTE IT FOR YOU SO YOU CAN KEEP TRACK OF US ALL.

NONE OF THEM HAVE BEEN TRIED OUT ON YOUR GRIP.  ITS DIFFERENT FROM DADDYS. 

I ALSO WROTE YOU A STORY, BUT YOU MIGHT NOT LIKE IT.  ITS NOT EXCITING LIKE YOUR LIFE IS.  ITS ABOUT A SPACE HERO'S kid BROTHER, WHO HAS TO STAY HOME AND KEEP HIS ROOM CLEAN, AND EAT HIS VEGETABLES, SO HIS PARENTS WONT BE MAD AT HIM.  Someday, he will be a hero too but not a regular hero, a superhero.  then it will be more exciting, but still probably not as exiciting as yours.

THATS IT, I HAVE TO GO.  I HOPE YOU LIKE THE PROGRAMS, AND THE PICTURES I DREW USING IT.  THEY ARE OF YOU AND TOPHER AND GINA AND SONJIN, ALL TOGETHER IN SPACE.

BYE,

ROBBIE.

How couldn't I cry?  I was already doleful over July and Chantré; this was too much.

But I deserved those slings and arrows; I had promised to write him more often, and I'd just been too busy. 

I resolved to write a little every day.