Benjamin Platt held the young man by the shoulders as he vomited green liquid into a stainless-steel basin. The patient was too weak to hold himself up. That was obvious from the stains already on his bedsheets.
'We're going to give you an injection,' he told the soldier as he eased him back down. The man's eyes were glazed. He no longer tried to respond. Platt knew he probably couldn't hear him, but he talked to him anyway.
He nodded for the nurse beside him to go ahead with the injection while he explained. 'We'll probably be poking you a couple more times.' Platt grabbed a towel from the side stand and wiped vomit from the corner of the young man's mouth.
'Thanks.'
The one word seemed an effort so Platt was surprised when he continued.
'This is almost worse'--he slurred his syllables--'than losing my foot.'
'It's going to get better,' Platt told him. 'I promise you.' The nurse looked skeptical. He could see her out of the corner of his eye but Platt didn't break eye contact with the young man. He would not let him see that even his doctor wasn't sure what would work.
Platt stopped at the prep room to change gloves before he went on to the next patient.
'Controlled chaos,' Ganz said coming up behind him.
'Controlled being the key word.'
'I have someone bringing in more beta-lactam antibiotics. You think this will work?'
'Think of Clostridium sordellii as tiny egg-like spores. They have to chew away enzymes for their bacterial cell wall to synthesize. This group of antibiotics binds to those enzymes and makes them inactivate, or at least not available to the bacteria.'
'So it won't be able to grow.'
'Or spread.'
'What about those patients where it's already spread?'
Platt took in a deep breath. 'I don't know. I honestly don't know. There is no established treatment. We're shooting from the hip here.' He turned to look Ganz in the eyes. 'Are you having second thoughts?'
'No, absolutely not.' He shook his head. 'At this point we don't have anything to lose.'
'This will slow the bacteria down even in those advanced cases. It'll really depend on what damage has already been done.' Platt's mind looped back to what the young man had said about this being worse than losing his foot. 'What do you do with the amputated limbs?'
'Excuse me?'
'The young man I just took care of--what happened to his foot once it was amputated?'
'Some families request the limbs. Others go to the tissue bank.'
'In Jacksonville?'
'Right.'
'What if the limb has shrapnel in it?'
'That's not my area of expertise.'
'But would you send it on to the tissue bank?' Platt insisted.
'Sure. That's where the assessment would be made. But shrapnel still embedded in the tissue? I think the foot would probably be considered damaged and discarded.'
Platt wondered about Maggie's case. Was it possible the severed foot that had been discovered in the fishing cooler was actually one that had been amputated from a soldier?
CHAPTER 56
Liz's first reaction at seeing the deserted canteen had been anger. She was already frustrated with her dad for driving to the beach that morning out of boredom, curiosity. He didn't want to miss out on the action. Sometimes she wondered if she was the same way. She had his drive, that same eagerness to get out there, no matter how dangerous. Once the adrenaline kicked in, it was difficult to slow her down.
Her anger changed to concern when she glanced inside the canteen and saw the tray of hot dogs and condiments on the counter. The vehicle was locked up but it was obvious her father had intended to be away only a short time. Howard only stoked her concern.
'I saw him, maybe an hour ago. He was helping some guy drag a tuna bag onto his boat.'
'Is the boat still here?' She hated that she sounded so anxious. Even Maggie stood alongside Liz, looking out the window, appearing anxious. It was getting darker by the minute. The lights in the parking lot had started to turn on. And it wasn't even noon.
Howard glanced over the two of them.
'Nope. It was in slip number two.'
'It's pretty late to be moving a boat, isn't it?' Maggie asked.
'And dangerous,' Liz added.
'Actually it's stupid, but he's not the only one,' Howard said. 'Can't tell them anything. You know the type. They'll get in trouble and expect you and your aircrew to go out and risk your lives to save their sorry asses.'
'Is that one of your slips?'
'Yep, sure is.' He was already at his computer, bringing up his accounts.
Liz had heard a lot of rumors about Howard Johnson. Word was that he had been a drug trafficker for years and that he only gave it up when he knew the feds were moving in to bust him. There were also rumors that several million dollars of drug money had never been recovered and that Howard had it hidden somewhere. But her dad always said that Howard was 'one of the good guys.'
'Boat's named Restless Sole, that's s-o-l-e. Owner is listed as Joe Black. He came in Friday. Has the slip through this week.'
'Maybe he took it out to get gas?' Maggie asked.
'Every place I know of is already out of gas,' Howard said. 'But maybe he knows something I don't.'
'Wait a minute,' Liz said. 'Joe Black?' She turned to Maggie. 'My dad had drinks with him last night. Dad said he was a friend of my brother-in-law's.' Panic started to twist knots in her stomach. 'Scott said he owned the fishing cooler. The one I saw behind the funeral home.'
Maggie stared at her a moment. Liz knew she could see her concern.
'Any idea where Black's from? Or where he might be headed?' Maggie asked Howard.
He glanced from Maggie to Liz and back to Maggie. Howard could see it, too. 'That might be an issue of privacy. Without a warrant I don't think I can give you his address in Jacksonville.' Then he waved at an impatient customer. 'Excuse me, ladies.'
Liz leaned closer to Maggie, keeping her back to the crowded shop. 'Dad said he didn't think Joe Black was his real name.'
'No,' Maggie said, much too calmly. 'I don't think it's his real name, either.'
'Do you think he's the owner of the cooler we found in the Gulf?'
'Yes,' she said with certainty.
'Is my dad in danger?'
'He may have just helped Black load his boat. He could be helping someone else right now.'
Liz glanced out the shop window. Her dad was in great physical shape for his age. He could handle himself. She shouldn't jump to conclusions. He probably was off helping someone else. He had been in the navy for more than thirty-five years. He knew a thing or two about securing boats.
The wind came in a sudden blast, bending palm trees and upending anything that wasn't weighted down. Buckets and empty gas cans skidded across the pier. The glass in the windows rattled. The entire shop went silent so when the rain started it sounded like stones pelting the outside walls.
The door banged open. Kesnick, wearing a bright-yellow poncho, found Liz.
'Hey Bailey, we gotta go.'
He handed the women identical ponchos still folded up in neat squares. Liz reminded herself that Maggie hadn't experienced anything like this.
'We're going up in this?' The calm was gone, replaced by anxiety.
