Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

W ith each gulp of rum, Charlie’s words slurred more until he was totally beyond comprehension. When Charlie began to giggle, Mackenzie was relieved that the old man was finally feeling some relief from the agony that would’ve consumed him.

Mackenzie looked up at Abigail. The pure terror on her face matched his feelings.

Can I do this?

As he willed his grubby fingers to stop trembling, he looked down at the frail old man. Charlie’s skin was deathly pale and if it wasn’t for his laboured breathing he could be mistaken for a dead man. Mackenzie shook the ill-timed thought from his mind, turned toward the fire and tried to arrange his thoughts to something useful.

“What are we going to do?” Abigail crouched down next to him.

“We have no choice. He needs us now.”

“Is he going to die?” She sucked on her bottom lip as if attempting to halt her trembling chin.

Tense silence stretched between them.

“No. He’s not dying here, not today.” The conviction in his voice belied the terror in his mind. He looked away from her. His mind drifted to Rodney. He would’ve known exactly what to do. He always had a plan, no matter what the situation. Mackenzie snapped out of it. Thinking like this was pointless and only prolonged what had to be done. Right now, he needed to focus.

“Let’s get this over with.” He let out a heavy breath.

The baked bean can he’d filled with water and nestled within the blazing coals was now bubbling over. Using a T-shirt, he removed it from the fire. It sizzled when he placed it on level ground. He squatted down and poured a small quantity of cold water onto his hands and then massaged a cake of soap into a thick lather.

“Here.” He held the soap toward Abigail.

She didn’t move. Mackenzie saw so much fear in her eyes he wondered if she was going to pass out.

“Abi, take the soap.”

Her hand went to her chest. “I can’t do this. What if he dies?”

Charlie’s life was in his hands. A chill settled in the base of his spine at the weight of that responsibility. He couldn’t do this without her. “I can’t do this on my own, Abi. I need you.”

She blinked at him, as if weighing up his words.

“He will die if we don’t do anything.”

The fear in her eyes actually intensified as she reached for the soap. “I don’t know what to do.”

For a brief second, their hands touched, and he felt her trembling fingers. “Neither do I. But we have to try.”

Charlie’s snoring was of little reassurance when they returned to him with the boiled water, a bundle of clean shirts and the cake of soap.

Mackenzie knelt beside him. “Help me get his shirt off.” He began weaving Charlie’s thin arm through the shirt sleeve.

Abigail moved to the opposite side of Charlie and dropped to her knees. Their eyes met and Mackenzie saw both fear and resignation within.

He nodded at her. “We’re doing the right thing.”

“I hope so.”

Mackenzie had to lift Charlie so Abigail could take his shirt off. Fresh blood seeped up around the shattered grey bone and Mackenzie rode a wave of nausea, pushing through the churning in his stomach to continue working on Charlie. Realising he was holding his breath, he slowly let it out, trying to calm his nerves and steady his hands.

“Wet one of those shirts with the boiled water. ”

Abigail chose a shirt from Spencer’s suitcase that, based on the quality of the fabric and insignia on the collar, would’ve cost hundreds of dollars. She handed the wet shirt over and Mackenzie gently wiped the crusted blood around Charlie’s wound.

Charlie groaned and Abigail gasped.

“Jesus! Is he still lucid?” He met Abi’s terrified gaze. There was no way to tell.

When Charlie’s head rolled to the side, he felt under the old man’s neck and held his breath until he noted a steady pulse.

“Hang in there, buddy.”

He glanced at Abigail. The last thing he needed was for her to faint. But her wide eyes and gritted teeth showed determination that he hadn’t seen in her before.

He continued cleaning away the blood and the closer he cleaned around the bone the more nauseous he became. Sweat dribbled down his temple. “Abi, wipe my forehead. I don’t want to sweat on him.”

She reached for another shirt. Her touch was gentle as it crossed his brow. He gulped down the knot in his throat and looked into Abi’s eyes again. She nodded reassurance and he continued wiping.

Although Charlie was completely still, his eyelids fluttered as if his mind was screaming. Mackenzie shoved the thought aside and sat back on his haunches. Abigail’s intense gaze was on him.

This is it. I’m about to do the unimaginable.

He needed a moment to prepare his mind. Death was not something he was naive to, but it had never been at the result of his own hand.

I am doing the right thing.

He swallowed the bitter taste of bile from his throat. His mouth was as dry as desert sand and he reached for the water bottle. Two quick swallows did little to quench his thirst.

“You can do this.” Abigail must’ve sensed his reluctance.

He nodded and returned to his knees. “Pass the rum.” The alcohol was the only form of sterilisation they had. He blocked out the potent smell as he poured it onto his fingers and shook off the excess.

His pulse hammered in his chest, and he shivered in spite of the heat. Holding his breath, he pinched the jagged bone beneath his fingers and pushed down. The bone resisted at first, caught in place by the dried blood, but then it slipped into the hole and disappeared beneath the skin.

A bubble of blood rose out of the wound and trickled down Charlie’s hairless chest.

Mackenzie thought his mind was going to explode, but Abigail saved him when she used a moistened cloth to wipe away the fresh blood. She dabbed at the skin until the blood stopped and when she finally lifted the shirt, Mackenzie was shocked to see just how small the hole was.

The wound didn’t look like a life-threatening injury anymore and Mackenzie entertained the thought that maybe, just maybe Charlie would survive. He stared in disbelief, grappling with the enormity of what he’d just done.

Abigail leaned forward and touched his arm. “It’s over now.”

He nodded and inhaled a shaky breath.

“You did the right thing.” She squeezed his hand and released. “We need to bandage him up.”

He tore a cotton shirt into long thin strips and Abigail did the same with another. Mackenzie then sat Charlie up and placed a wad of shredded cloth over the wound. Abigail secured it in place with the makeshift bandage that she wrapped several times around Charlie’s torso.

He helped Abigail re-dress Charlie in what Mackenzie assumed was one of Spencer’s expensive dress shirts, laid him back down and covered him with the only two towels they had.

Mackenzie stood up, wiped sweat from his forehead and massaged his temples in an attempt to ease his pounding headache.

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever had to do.” Abigail’s voice sounded like she’d been eating glass.

“The day isn’t over yet.” Mackenzie nodded toward the half dug grave site.

“Oh God. I can’t do any more.” She looked up at him. Her eyes were a nasty shade of red.

He avoided her gaze by staring at his hands. The fine creases at his fingertips were thick with blood and grime, his nails caked with dirt. Scrubbing them on his shirt did little to remove the stains, but with their limited water supply, washing his hands wasn’t an option .

They were down to their last bottle.

He stared at their final ration of water and a sense of panic rumbled from the back of his brain.

Without water, we are all going to die.

“No, you’re right. Finding water is more important than digging the grave. We’ve only got one bottle left.”

“But where?”

Mackenzie stepped into the clearing and stretched out the muscles in his shoulders. “We saw those rivers from the air. Hopefully they’re not too far away.”

Abigail looked at him. Weariness showed on her face.

“But we need to go now. We don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“Are we going to die?” Abigail’s eyes were pools of despair.

Mackenzie had faced death before, but this was the first time he’d had to consider someone else’s destiny. Abigail looked defeated. Her makeup was smudged, her hair frazzled and her clothing filthy. She looked uncomfortable in her own skin. He had the impression this was the grubbiest she’d ever been. Staring into her dark green irises, he considered her question.

“No.” He put his hands on his hips. “We are not going to die.”