her eyes. They were big, and very green. Her wet hair had fallen from behind her ears, and I was close enough to smell apple shampoo.
She didn't look up at me, just carried on digging around in the case. Her voice was clear, concise.
'So, what is it you're here for?'
She started to pull stuff out; I wasn't too sure if she was going to dress the wound herself or just show me what was available.
She didn't look up at me as she continued.
'I was told nothing except that you'd be coming and we were to help.'
By now there were rolls of bandages in crunchy Cellophane, packs of pills and half-used bottles of medicine on the concrete as she continued to rummage.
There's something we need Charlie to do. I'm here to give him a reminder.'
She didn't look up or otherwise acknowledge my answer. I looked at her hands as she bent over the suitcase and laid out different-coloured tubes of cream. They were working hands, not those of a lady who lunched. There were a few little scars here and there, but her fingernails weren't ingrained with dirt like Aaron's. They were short and functional, no hint of polish, but all the same they looked cared for.
'Don't you know what you're here to remind him about? I mean, don't they tell you these things when you're sent out, or whatever the word is?'
I shrugged.
'I thought maybe you might know.'
'No, I know nothing.' She sounded almost sad about it.
There was another pause. I certainly didn't know what else to say, so pointed to the bits and pieces spread about on the concrete.
'I need to clean myself up before I dress the wound. I'm afraid I don't have any other clothes.'
She stood up slowly, looking over at the wagon.
'You can use some of Aaron's.
The shower is out in back.' She pointed behind her. I'll get a towel.'
Before reaching the door she half turned to me, 'We have a two-minute rule here.
First minute for soaking, then turn off the hose and soap yourself down. The second minute is to rinse. We get a lot of rain but seem to have trouble capturing it.' She gripped on the handle.
'Oh, and in case you're tempted, don't drink from the shower. Only drink from the hoses marked with a D that's the only treated water.' There was a smile as she disappeared.
'Otherwise it'll be giving you a pretty big reminder of why it needs to be treated.'
I took a look at the printout of the satellite imagery. Its grainy reproduction covered the whole page and was zoomed right into the target, giving me a plan view of the house, the more or less rectangular treeline and the broccoli patch surrounding it. I tried to get to work, but I couldn't do it even knowing how important this was to me, I just couldn't get my head to work.
Instead, my eye caught one of the dark brown bottles of pills. The label said dihydrocodeine, an excellent painkiller, especially when taken with aspirin, which boosts its effect big-time. I shook one out and dry swallowed as I sorted in the case for an aspirin. Eventually, pushing one out of its foil, I got that down my neck as well.
I placed one of the crepe bandages on top of the paper to hold it down, got up and started limping round the back in the direction of the shower. Maybe it was the light, or just that I was knackered, but I was feeling very woozy.
Hobbling past the storeroom entrance, I looked in and saw that the computer-room door was still closed. I stopped and looked at the cot. It was old-style, canvas rather than nylon, on a collapsible alloy frame. I had good memories of these things: they were easy to put up, comfortable, and kept you about two feet off the ground not like the Brit ones, where you needed a physics degree to assemble them, and ended up only about six inches off the ground. If you got a saggy one, you could spend your night lying on cold concrete or with your arse in the mud.
Some bird or other warbled and chirped in the distance, and the humid air was heavy with pungent aromas. I sat down on the cot, dragged Diego's wallet from my jeans and looked at the picture once more. Another nightmare for later, I supposed. It'd just have to join the queue.
Aaron had finished and was driving back to the house. I got up and closed out the daylight, then stumbled back to the cot, still in my damp clothes, and lay down on my back, my heart pumping faster as my head filled with Kelly, bodies, Diego, more bodies, the Yes Man, even Josh. And fuck it, why had I told Carrie I was here to give Charlie a reminder? Why had I told her anything about the job at all?
Shit, shit, shit... The pins and needles returned. I had no control as they moved up my legs and my skin tingled. I turned over and curled up, my arms holding my shins, not wanting to think any more, not wanting to see any more.
TWENTY
Thursday 7 September I walk into the bedroom, Buffy and Britney posters, bunk beds and the smell of sleep. The top bunk is empty as I move towards them in the dark, kicking into shoes and teen-girl magazines. She is asleep, half in, half out of her duvet, stretched out on her back, stretched out like a starfish, her hair spread in a mess over the pillow. I put her dangling leg and arm gently back under the duvet.
Something is wrong ... my hands are wet ... she is limp ... she isn't sucking her bottom lip, she isn't dreaming of being a pop star. The lights go on and I see the blood dripping from my hands on to her mutilated face. Her mouth is wide open, her eyes staring at the ceiling.
Sundance is lying on the top bunk, the bloodstained baseball bat in his hands, his eyes black and nose broken, looking down at me, smiling. 'I wouldn't mind a trip to Maryland ... we could go to Washington and do the sights first... I wouldn't mind a trip to Maryland ... we could go to Washington and do the sights first...'
I cry, fall to my knees, pins and needles.
I pull her from the bed, trying to take her with me.
'It's OK, Nick, it's OK. It's just a dream ...'
I opened my eyes. I was kneeling on the concrete, pulling Carrie towards me.
'It's OK,' she said again.
'Relax, you're in my house, relax.'
I focused on what was happening, and quickly released my grip, jumping back on to the cot.
She stayed down on the floor. The half-light from the living room illuminated a concerned face.
'Here, have some.'
I took the half-empty bottle of water from her and started to unscrew the top, feeling embarrassed, my legs stinging with pins and needles.
I cleared my throat.
'Thanks, thank you.'
'Maybe you have a fever picked up something in the forest yesterday. See what it's like in the morning and we'll take you to the clinic in Chepo.'
I nodded as I drank, pushing back my soaked hair before stopping to take breath.
There's some medication in the kit if you need it.'
'No, that's fine, thanks. How long have you been here?'
'You just woke us, we were worried.' She reached out and put the back of her hand to my forehead.
'These fevers out here can make you maniacal.'
T was having a nightmare? I can't even remember what it was about.'
She started to get up as I pulled the wet sweatshirt away from my skin.
'It happens. You OK now?'
I shook my head to try to clear it.
'I'm fine, thanks.'
'I'll see you in the morning, then. Goodnight.'
'Yeah, um ... thanks for the drink.'
She walked back into the dark computer room, closing the door behind her.
'You're welcome.'
I checked my watch. 12.46 a.m. I had been out for over fourteen hours. Getting slowly to my feet, I squatted up and down, trying to get my legs back to normal while I had some more water. Then I ripped the plastic from the
