hid right along with the rest of them when they heard a rustling in the foliage.
Crouched in the underbrush, Ian let his mind run riot. Would the castaways be discovered? How long could they stay hidden? Could Will keep up?
And then a surprised voice asked, “Where’d everybody go?”
“Luke!” cried Will.
It was interesting, Ian reflected during the celebration that followed. Things were not good and getting worse. Yet the glory of little triumphs like this welcoming two friends back from the brink of death would surely rank among his greatest memories. You know if he lived long enough to have memories.
As the castaways shared accounts of the last day and night, they were able to piece together what had happened. During a fistfight over a poker game, the door of the smugglers’ plane had been accidentally knocked open, and a suitcase full of money had dropped out over the jungle. Soon a second group of smugglers would arrive, carrying a shipment of elephant tusks, rhino horns, and other illegal animal parts. They were the sellers; Mr. Big was the customer. He needed the lost money to pay for his goods.
“So we left it where they’re bound to find it,” Charla concluded. “It’s in plain sight in just about the only clear spot over by the air base.”
Lyssa was horrified. “Youhelped them?”
“We helped ourselves/’ Luke amended. “The last thing we need is those guys combing the island.”
Charla shook her head in wonder. “You should have seen it. Millions of dollars just lying there. I swear I was tempted to roll in it.”
“It’s fake,” scoffed JJ.
Charla shot him a resentful look. “Even poor people know what money looks like.”
JJ. was disgusted. “CNC can’t print up a batch of phony bills that look real?”
Luke groaned. “We all know what you think. Let us think what we think.”
Later, Luke, Lyssa, and Ian went through the pillowcase and tried to take stock of the supplies from the dispensary.
Lyssa was dubious. “Is any of this stuff even good after all that time?”
“There’s no way of knowing/’ Ian replied. “I don’t see penicillin, which is what we really need. The rest ” He shook his head. “I have no idea what most of it is for.”
“This might help.” Luke fished in the case and came up with the medic’s journal. “Maybe it says something about bullet wounds.”
All day and half the night, Ian pored over the fifty-six-year-old diary of Captain Hap Skelly, M.D. He devoured the details of Sergeant Holliday’s fire-ant bites, Colonel Dupont’s gout, and Lieutenant Bosco’s stomach flu, searching for the tiniest hint of anything that might help Will. He skipped lunch and dinner too, reading by flashlight when it got dark. He owed it to Will, sure. But there was another reason.
For weeks, Ian had watched no television, surfed no Internet, and read not a single word. In the anxiety and fear of these terrible weeks, it had never crossed his mind how much he missedinformation .
On the beach of a tiny island in the vast Pacific, Ian felt like Ian again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Day 19, 9:45 a.m.
Feb.17, 1945. Haying trouble keeping supplies. Who to order from? As far as the army’s concerned, we don’t exist on this tiny island. Can’t even send letters home. Mission is too top secret. Our families must think we’ve vanished off the face of the earth .
Penicillin ran out weeks ago. Have been using an infusion of bitter melon alocal plant that resembles a small cucumber with acne. Seems to control Holliday’s infection. But am I turning into a witch doctor ?
Will hated the idea from the start. “What’s an infusion?”
“It’s sort of like making tea out of something,” Ian replied, handing him a steaming cup.
The patient was appalled. “You guys have been plotting against me! I’ve been minding my own business here, and you’ve been picking weird jungle plants so you can poison me!”
“Most medicines come from tropical
Crouched in the underbrush, Ian let his mind run riot. Would the castaways be discovered? How long could they stay hidden? Could Will keep up?
And then a surprised voice asked, “Where’d everybody go?”
“Luke!” cried Will.
It was interesting, Ian reflected during the celebration that followed. Things were not good and getting worse. Yet the glory of little triumphs like this welcoming two friends back from the brink of death would surely rank among his greatest memories. You know if he lived long enough to have memories.
As the castaways shared accounts of the last day and night, they were able to piece together what had happened. During a fistfight over a poker game, the door of the smugglers’ plane had been accidentally knocked open, and a suitcase full of money had dropped out over the jungle. Soon a second group of smugglers would arrive, carrying a shipment of elephant tusks, rhino horns, and other illegal animal parts. They were the sellers; Mr. Big was the customer. He needed the lost money to pay for his goods.
“So we left it where they’re bound to find it,” Charla concluded. “It’s in plain sight in just about the only clear spot over by the air base.”
Lyssa was horrified. “Youhelped them?”
“We helped ourselves/’ Luke amended. “The last thing we need is those guys combing the island.”
Charla shook her head in wonder. “You should have seen it. Millions of dollars just lying there. I swear I was tempted to roll in it.”
“It’s fake,” scoffed JJ.
Charla shot him a resentful look. “Even poor people know what money looks like.”
JJ. was disgusted. “CNC can’t print up a batch of phony bills that look real?”
Luke groaned. “We all know what you think. Let us think what we think.”
Later, Luke, Lyssa, and Ian went through the pillowcase and tried to take stock of the supplies from the dispensary.
Lyssa was dubious. “Is any of this stuff even good after all that time?”
“There’s no way of knowing/’ Ian replied. “I don’t see penicillin, which is what we really need. The rest ” He shook his head. “I have no idea what most of it is for.”
“This might help.” Luke fished in the case and came up with the medic’s journal. “Maybe it says something about bullet wounds.”
All day and half the night, Ian pored over the fifty-six-year-old diary of Captain Hap Skelly, M.D. He devoured the details of Sergeant Holliday’s fire-ant bites, Colonel Dupont’s gout, and Lieutenant Bosco’s stomach flu, searching for the tiniest hint of anything that might help Will. He skipped lunch and dinner too, reading by flashlight when it got dark. He owed it to Will, sure. But there was another reason.
For weeks, Ian had watched no television, surfed no Internet, and read not a single word. In the anxiety and fear of these terrible weeks, it had never crossed his mind how much he missedinformation .
On the beach of a tiny island in the vast Pacific, Ian felt like Ian again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Day 19, 9:45 a.m.
Feb.17, 1945. Haying trouble keeping supplies. Who to order from? As far as the army’s concerned, we don’t exist on this tiny island. Can’t even send letters home. Mission is too top secret. Our families must think we’ve vanished off the face of the earth .
Penicillin ran out weeks ago. Have been using an infusion of bitter melon alocal plant that resembles a small cucumber with acne. Seems to control Holliday’s infection. But am I turning into a witch doctor ?
Will hated the idea from the start. “What’s an infusion?”
“It’s sort of like making tea out of something,” Ian replied, handing him a steaming cup.
The patient was appalled. “You guys have been plotting against me! I’ve been minding my own business here, and you’ve been picking weird jungle plants so you can poison me!”
“Most medicines come from tropical
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