Gilchrist, and Zahra Balter have learned to assist Bankole. They have no official medical or nurse training, but Bankole has trained them—is training them—and they're careful and serious about their work.
Michael checked the bodies and discovered that only one, a slender, dark, middle-aged man, was dead. He had been shot in the chest and abdomen. The other two were a big, naked, middle-aged, blond woman shot in the legs and thighs and a clothed blond boy of about 15 shot in the legs and left shoulder. These people were covered with dried blood. Nevertheless, Michael found faint heartbeats in the woman and the boy.
'We've got to get them to Bankole,' he said. 'This is too much for me.'
'Oh, shit,' Jorge moaned, and he ran outside and threw up. I couldn't blame him. He had just noticed the maggots in the man's eyes, mouth, and wounds, and in the wounds of the other two. I looked away myself. All of us can deal with that kind of thing, but no one enjoys it. To tell the truth, I was more concerned about whether one or both of the wounded people would come to. I positioned myself so that I would not have to look at them. They were in no shape to attack us, of course, but they would drag me into their pain if they were conscious.
Keeping my back to Michael and his patients, I awoke the sleeping child. She wasn't quite as filthy as the little girl we'd found outside, but she did need a bath.
She squinted up at me, groggy, uncomprehending. Then she gave a little squeal and tried to dart past me, and out the door.
I caught her and held her while she struggled and screamed. I spoke to her, whispered to her, tried to reassure her, did all I could to bring her out of her hysteria. 'It's all right, honey, it's all right. Don't cry. You'll be all right. We'll take care of you, don't worry. We'll take care of you....' I rocked her and crooned to her as though to a much younger child.
The dead and wounded were no doubt her family. She and the other child had been alone here with them for... how long? They would need all the care we could give them. After much more screaming and struggling, she began to take refuge in my arms, holding on to me instead of trying to escape. From my arms, she stared, huge-eyed, at the others.
Jorge stood watch at the monitors once his stomach settled. Natividad had calmed the other little girl and found a clean cloth and some water. These she used to wash the child's face, hands, and arms. Michael had left the wounded woman and boy to examine the truck's controls. Of the four of us, he was the only one who knew how to drive.
'Any trouble?' I asked him.
He shook his head. 'Not even any sign of boobytraps. I guess they would have worried about the kids springing them.'
'Can you drive it?'
'No problem.'
'Drive it, then. It's ours. Let's go home.'
************************************
The truck was all right. There was plenty of power in its batteries, and Michael had no trouble finding and using its night-vision equipment. It carried infrared, ambient light, and radar devices. All of these were of good quality, and all worked. The little girls must not have understood how to use them—as they had not known how to drive. Or perhaps they had known how to operate everything, but had not known where to go with it.
