“Only a little rattlesnake,” he mumbled over and over. “ Ali Ko’oi.”
The snake may have been little, but the damage wasn’t.
Snakebites were commonplace on the reservation. As a result, the hospital at Sells maintained a constant stock of antivenom. Most of the time, people who had been bitten came to the hospital as soon as possible after the incident. As long as they received antivenom treatment immediately, few of them suffered long-term ill effects.
While still in high school, Lani had worked at the Arizona Sonora Desert Museum both after school and during summer and winter breaks. She knew, for example, that Arizona is home to seventeen different kinds of rattlers, five of which are found in and around the Tucson area. Their venom came with varying strengths of toxicity, the most poisonous of which was the Mojave. When treating patients, medical professionals needed to know which kind of snake venom they were dealing with. That wasn’t always possible, especially when the victims were young children. Then the doctors involved just had to make an educated guess.
The problem with Jose Thomas was that he was an old man who lived alone.
Make that a stubborn old man, Lani thought grimly.
And he hadn’t come in to be treated right away. In fact, if it had been left up to him, he wouldn’t have come to the hospital at all. He had treated himself by lancing the wound, pouring some tequila on it, and then pouring more of the tequila down his own throat. By the time Jose’s grandson had stopped by to see him, Jose was in bed, delirious and barely conscious. He was running a dangerously high fever. The damaged flesh surrounding the bite was beginning to rot and fall away.
Once he was in the ER, Lani’s first goal was to bring down the fever by bathing him in ice. Then she ordered him plugged full of liquids and antibiotics. At this point, he had developed secondary infections-including pneumonia-that were more serious than the bite. She treated the bite itself as best she could, but her initial examination told her that it was more than likely that Jose would probably lose the hand. That wouldn’t happen until after he was stabilized. Until then, surgery of any kind was out of the question.
As Mr. Thomas was wheeled into the ICU, the ER’s admitting clerk, Dena Rojo, came into the cubicle. “We’ve got a problem out there,” she said, nodding toward the door.
“What kind of a problem?”
“A Border Patrol officer with a little girl. She’s got some cuts on her face, feet, and legs. I don’t think it’s serious enough for you to bother, but…”
“An illegal?” Lani asked.
Indian Health Services was generally exactly that-for Indians only. Exceptions were made in emergencies, when other patients could be given access to immediate care regardless of race or nationality. Border Patrol officers often found injured and dying immigrants on the reservation. During the summer, dehydration was a killer. So far this year there had already been fifteen immigrant deaths among illegal immigrants attempting to cross the border, and that was with the summer months just now heating up.
That was the basis of Lani’s inquiry. Dena shook her head.
“Indian,” she said. “Her name is Angelina Enos. We’ve treated her before. She has a chart.”
“What’s the problem then?” Lani asked.
“The guy who brought her in is no relation of hers,” Dena said. “He just found her out in the desert somewhere and brought her here.”
“Where are her parents?” Lani asked.
“Her father’s been gone for a long time,” Dena replied. “Now someone has murdered her mother.”
“Who’ll be responsible for her long-term?” Lani asked.
Dena shrugged. “Probably the grandparents. I think they live out at Nolic, but they don’t have a phone.”
Lani winced at that. She knew the village of Nolic, The Bend. That was where she had come from a long time ago, before she became Lani Walker. The fact that Lani’s blood relatives had rejected her was what had given her this other life-and a chance to be here at Sells in her scrubs, ready to help some other unfortunate child.
“Have him bring her in,” Lani said.
“You’re sure?” Dena asked.
“I’m sure.”
Sells, Tohono O’odham Nation, Arizona
Sunday, June 7, 2009, 1:00 a.m.
68? Fahrenheit
Angie woke up as Dan carried her into the ER and set her down on the examining table.
“Where are we?” she asked. “Where’s my mommy?”
“We’re at the hospital here in Sells so someone can look at the cuts on your legs and feet,” Dan explained. “Your mommy’s not here right now.”
Angie studied his face for a long time. Finally she nodded.
Hoping the clerk had clued the ER staff in on what had happened out by Komelik, he looked to the doctor for help. He did not expect Dr. Walker-Dr. Lanita Dolores Walker, as her name tag said-to be a woman or an Indian. And he certainly didn’t expect her to be beautiful. It turned out she was all three.
She stepped forward and gave Angie a reassuring smile. “This nice man brought you here so we could look at your feet and your legs,” she said. “You have quite a few scratches. What happened?”
“I went for a walk in the desert,” Angie said in a whisper. “I left my shoes in the car.”
Dr. Walker touched Angie’s knee. It was scraped and scabby. It was also hot.
“I’ll bet you were out in the desert for a long time,” she said. “Have you had anything to drink? Are you thirsty?”
“I was going to give her something to drink and something to eat, too,” Dan said quickly. “But she fell asleep as soon as I got her back to the car. The way things were going, I didn’t want to wake her up.”
Nodding, Dr. Walker called for a nurse to bring a bottle of Gatorade. Then she turned back to Angie. “What were you doing out in the desert?”
“I was there with my mommy and Donald.”
While Angie sipped her drink, Dr. Walker examined the cuts and scrapes on the little girl’s feet and legs, cleaning them and dosing them with antiseptic as she went. When Angie whimpered in pain, Dan stepped forward and took her hand.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It may hurt a little, but this will make it better.”
“I’ve heard about Mr. Pardee here,” Dr. Walker said to Angie. “I understand he usually has a big dog with him.”
Angie nodded. “His name is Bozo,” she said. “I got to pet him.”
“He didn’t bite you?” Dr. Walker asked.
Angie shook her head. “I thought he would, but he’s really nice.”
Dan was taken aback again. He supposed that, in terms of gossip, the reservation was like any other small town. Dr. Walker had probably heard tales about the terrible ohb who worked with the Shadow Wolves and who went on patrol in the company of an immense and supposedly incredibly fierce German shepherd.
“Can I use the bathroom?” Angie asked.
“Sure,” Dr. Walker said. “I’ll have the nurse take you.”
The same nurse who had brought the Gatorade lifted Angie down from the examining table, took her hand, and led her away toward a restroom. Watching her walk away from him, Dan felt like his heart was going to break. But, of course, that was what was going to happen here. The door to the examining room wasn’t the only one that would swing shut. From now on, strangers would be taking charge of Angie’s life and handing her off to whoever was destined to care for her. As Dan had explained to the admitting clerk, he was only the guy who had found her, nothing more.
“That’s a good sign,” Dr. Walker was saying.
“What?” Dan asked.
“That she needs to use the bathroom. She probably isn’t that seriously dehydrated. We won’t need to give her IV fluids.”
“Oh,” he said. “I’m glad of that.” He didn’t want to see Angie poked with a needle-any kind of needle.
