Badwater

32

“There is a saying I learned my first year at Quantico.” Soliano glanced at his watch. “Close counts in horseshoes.”

I said, “Only.”

Soliano’s attention shifted to a woman in a peach uniform coming our way across the lawn. I recognized her. Gloria. Tiny, pretty, looked about twelve. I’d borrowed a tiny swimsuit from her.

“What?” Soliano said to me, eyes on Gloria.

“Close counts only in horsehoes. But there’s another saying, one I learned my first year in the lab…”

“Que?” Soliano said, to Gloria.

She halted. She spoke fast.

Soliano leaned forward. “Aqui?”

She pointed beyond the terraced edge of the lawn.

We both looked. There was nothing.

“What is it?” I asked Soliano.

“Somebody is hurt.”

I looked around. I saw Hap and Pria, artist and subject, once again engrossed in her hands. I saw no one else.

Gloria raised her palms to the sky. “Por favor.”

Soliano and I headed toward the far end of the lawn where a stone monolith rose from the stone wall. Beyond the monolith were more walkways. My foot struck something hard. I looked down. A green croquet ball was camouflaged in the grass.

Soliano did not slow. “What saying did you learn?”

It took me a moment. “You don’t get there unless you get close first.”

He laughed.

“Alli,” Gloria called, behind us.

From behind the monolith, a shoulder and stretch of leg came in and out of view. Someone was approaching, jerky. The lower arm bent inward. Someone was hurt and cradling a wound. And then she lurched so suddenly out from the monolith’s shadow that it seemed she’d been tossed. She doubled over, face to knees.

“Dios mio,” Soliano whispered.

She looked up grinning.

There was no wound. The only marks on her white shirt and white jeans were streaks of dirt and something yellowish that reminded me of the egg yolk stain on my shirt before Hap sent it to be laundered.

She was grimacing, not grinning. The lax skin bunched around her mouth.

“What’d you do, Chickie?” Pria was suddenly beside me.

Hap joined us. “Hold onto the girl.”

I circled her waist. She twisted and yelped. I glimpsed, beyond the struggling Pria, Walter rushing out of his room. He came up on the other side of her. I let her go and she tunneled into him.

Chickie made an animal sound.

“Hector,” Hap said, “you better call Scotty and tell him to get his RERTs on the scene.”

Soliano was already dialing. He kept his eyes on Chickie, the same way he’d fixed on the radiation-sick bat on the garden lawn. “Might she carry contaminants? On her person?”

“I’m sure gonna assume that.” Hap picked up the croquet ball and tossed it a couple of feet in front of us. “Listen up, boys and girls, that’s the do-not-cross line. Y’all know about the inverse square concept? That’s the one where just a little distance from a point source makes a big difference in dose. Give the gents some space.”

Pria said, “She’s moving!”

Chickie was struggling to get to her feet.

“Miss Chick,” Hap said, “you’d best stay put and we’ll fix you up.”

I didn’t think so. Her eyes widened, lifting the loose lids to show the bloodshot whites. She crumpled and retched yellowish stuff into the emerald lawn. I didn’t think we were going to fix her up.

“Yuck,” Hap said, pulling on latex gloves.

Soliano said, “Wait.” His gaze settled on Chickie. “Ms. Jellinek. What happened to you?”

She spat. Yellow spittle webbed her chin.

“Ms. Jellinek. You have been where?”

Hap said, “Uh, Hector, interrogating a subject who’s woofin her cookies is kinda a no-no in this country.” He snapped his gloves down tight. “Ain’t it?”

Soliano said, icy, “This is not the flu.” He made another phone call and I caught the word “lockdown.”

I felt the heat. The sun was out from behind the clouds, sucking me dry. The smell of Chickie’s vomit washed our way. I gagged. I noticed that nobody was in sight but us. The swimmers had left the pool. Gloria had disappeared. Where were the gardeners? Where were the sunburned Germans? Had everyone abandoned ship but us? Or maybe the lockdown was already in force. Chickie was on her haunches. Her mouth squirmed and she doubled over again only this time there was no egg yolk, just dry heaving. And here we stood staring like we’d stopped at the scene of an accident. All we could do was wait for Scotty with his shower and long-handled brushes. I recalled how that shower felt, only I’d worn protective clothing. Chickie wore white cotton and raw skin. She straightened, hands braced in the grass, like some fat white bulldog.

Soliano said, “You went where, Ms. Jellinek?”

I said, “Do we need to do this now?”

“If this will move us closer.”

“It’s not goddamn horseshoes.”

Walter said “Cassie” and when I looked he mouthed boots. I got it — her boots were caked with mud, and there’s geology to do. Still, I waited for something more, like, after she’s been deconned and treated and she’s not disintegrating in front of us let’s by all means get hold of those boots, but Walter only lifted his eyebrows and tightened his grip on Pria. His concern, I saw, was for the child and not the disintegrating mother.

Soliano tried again. “You encountered some…beads…Ms. Jellinek?”

I looked then at Chickie’s boots and like it’s been bred in the bone I thought, maybe we’ll get lucky and find distinct mud layers preserved in the waffle soles.

“Help us,” Soliano said, “and we will be able to assist you.”

Chickie extended her middle finger.

Pria hissed, “Stop it, you.”

Chickie faced the lawn and retched.

Hap fished a syringe and small brown bottle from his kit. He tore the plastic wrap off the syringe. He needled the the bottle and sauntered across the croquet line.

Soliano snapped, “Stop, Miller.”

Hap threw us a grin. “Time equals dose. I’ll be quick.” He caught Chickie’s right arm and yanked up her sleeve.

“Stop. I do not wish her sedated.”

Hap froze, needle raised.

And then all at once as if it had been choreographed Hap let go of Chickie and retreated across the croquet line and Scotty came running and a Beatty sheriff chopper slipped out of the clouds and ranger trucks appeared on the road below and began the climb up the fan.

Chickie collapsed in the grass. For a moment I thought she’d died. Then her eyelids flickered and reddened eyes gleamed through slits. She spoke, just audible above the incoming grumble of the chopper. “I got somethin you fuckers want.”