never failed them, Luke picked up the scalpel and tried again. There was a lot more blood this time, enough to scent the humid air. Charla gagged, but kept on mopping.
Luke felt the difference immediately. The second incision had opened the wound further, and the tweezers moved easily through the torn flesh. Then suddenly he felt it something small and hard.
“It’s here!” he breathed. He began to probe more delicately, attempting to maneuver the tweezers around the bullet. Sweat poured off his forehead, stinging his eyes. Time and time again he felt the tines close over the slug only to slide off its awkward shape. A terrible frustration gripped his gut, magnified by the knowledge that every minute this went on could be damaging Will even more.
He was wallowing in blood now. There was far too much for Charia to sponge away. But Luke didn’t need to see. He had that bullet, knew exactly where it was.
A wave of nausea washed over him.Don’t stop , he exhorted himself. Youjust have to find the right angle! A little luck and a little wrist action and
“Gotcha!” The tweezers held the slug fast. Without even daring to breathe, he drew the bullet straight up and straight out. It was maddeningly slow, but he couldn’t risk losing his grip. At long last, the tweezers came free. And there was the slug ugly, misshapen, gory, but out.
Ian opened one of the old bottles from the dispensary and poured alcohol into the wound. Then another fifty-plus-year-old antiseptic iodine painted a bright orange spot on Will’s thigh.
Luke’s hands, surprisingly steady now, fit together the edges of the incisions and applied pressure. Last came a piece of modern medicine an adhesive steri-patch from the first-aid kit off the lifeboat. It stuck like a second skin, holding the cut flesh together.
At last, Luke leaned back. They had done all they could do. The rest was up to Will.
It was only when Luke got to his feet that he noticed his jaw ached from clenching his teeth. His head was pounding. He took three shaky steps and passed out cold, face-first in the sand.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Day 27, 2:40 p.m.
JJ. sat on the floor of the storeroom, leaning on one knee. His thoughts were hundreds of miles away, back on the island. It was a dumb thing to do, but he found himself trying to conjure up a vision of the other five castaways, almost as if thinking hard would patch him into their frequency and give him an update. What were they doing? Was Will all right? What did they figure had happened to J.J.?
Well, that was an easy one, he reminded himself. He hadn’t sent help, so they assumed he was dead. He and Haggerty had talked about that rescue would come quickly or not at all.
Hang in there, he tried to urge the others over all that distance.As soon as Dadcoughs up the ransom, I’ll send the cavalry for you.
What a disaster this mission had turned out to be. In his mind he’d always pictured himself either free or dead. Not locked in a bare room for days, with worry and boredom intermingling in him to form a lethal cocktail of what? He didn’t know, but it was driving him crazy.
Especially with that never-ending sound track of twangy music!
He regarded Meaner, who was draped against the door, chain-smoking. “Could you please change the station?” he asked as politely as he could.
The guard looked back at him. His expression was so blank that JJ. couldn’t tell if he’d even heard, let alone understood.
JJ. stood up. “Theradio . How about somedifferent music ?” He pointed to the small portable and covered his ears.
He had Meaner’s attention, but the guy still didn’t get it.
“Here I’ll do it.” JJ. took a step forward. It was a big mistake.
Meaner jumped up, pulled out his gun, and pointed it at J.J., screaming in Chinese.
JJ. raised his hands. “Hold on! Don’t get excited! It’s just the music, okay? The mus/c!”
The door was flung open, and in burst Naslund. The Englishman
Luke felt the difference immediately. The second incision had opened the wound further, and the tweezers moved easily through the torn flesh. Then suddenly he felt it something small and hard.
“It’s here!” he breathed. He began to probe more delicately, attempting to maneuver the tweezers around the bullet. Sweat poured off his forehead, stinging his eyes. Time and time again he felt the tines close over the slug only to slide off its awkward shape. A terrible frustration gripped his gut, magnified by the knowledge that every minute this went on could be damaging Will even more.
He was wallowing in blood now. There was far too much for Charia to sponge away. But Luke didn’t need to see. He had that bullet, knew exactly where it was.
A wave of nausea washed over him.Don’t stop , he exhorted himself. Youjust have to find the right angle! A little luck and a little wrist action and
“Gotcha!” The tweezers held the slug fast. Without even daring to breathe, he drew the bullet straight up and straight out. It was maddeningly slow, but he couldn’t risk losing his grip. At long last, the tweezers came free. And there was the slug ugly, misshapen, gory, but out.
Ian opened one of the old bottles from the dispensary and poured alcohol into the wound. Then another fifty-plus-year-old antiseptic iodine painted a bright orange spot on Will’s thigh.
Luke’s hands, surprisingly steady now, fit together the edges of the incisions and applied pressure. Last came a piece of modern medicine an adhesive steri-patch from the first-aid kit off the lifeboat. It stuck like a second skin, holding the cut flesh together.
At last, Luke leaned back. They had done all they could do. The rest was up to Will.
It was only when Luke got to his feet that he noticed his jaw ached from clenching his teeth. His head was pounding. He took three shaky steps and passed out cold, face-first in the sand.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Day 27, 2:40 p.m.
JJ. sat on the floor of the storeroom, leaning on one knee. His thoughts were hundreds of miles away, back on the island. It was a dumb thing to do, but he found himself trying to conjure up a vision of the other five castaways, almost as if thinking hard would patch him into their frequency and give him an update. What were they doing? Was Will all right? What did they figure had happened to J.J.?
Well, that was an easy one, he reminded himself. He hadn’t sent help, so they assumed he was dead. He and Haggerty had talked about that rescue would come quickly or not at all.
Hang in there, he tried to urge the others over all that distance.As soon as Dadcoughs up the ransom, I’ll send the cavalry for you.
What a disaster this mission had turned out to be. In his mind he’d always pictured himself either free or dead. Not locked in a bare room for days, with worry and boredom intermingling in him to form a lethal cocktail of what? He didn’t know, but it was driving him crazy.
Especially with that never-ending sound track of twangy music!
He regarded Meaner, who was draped against the door, chain-smoking. “Could you please change the station?” he asked as politely as he could.
The guard looked back at him. His expression was so blank that JJ. couldn’t tell if he’d even heard, let alone understood.
JJ. stood up. “Theradio . How about somedifferent music ?” He pointed to the small portable and covered his ears.
He had Meaner’s attention, but the guy still didn’t get it.
“Here I’ll do it.” JJ. took a step forward. It was a big mistake.
Meaner jumped up, pulled out his gun, and pointed it at J.J., screaming in Chinese.
JJ. raised his hands. “Hold on! Don’t get excited! It’s just the music, okay? The mus/c!”
The door was flung open, and in burst Naslund. The Englishman
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