Page 46 of What is Found

“We won’t,” Driver said, cutting her off at the same moment that John asked, “Not after you didwhatfor him?”

Roni spread her hands. “Does it matter, John?I’mdoing this.We’reasking you to help.”

That littlewe’rereally rubbed him the wrong way. Childish, he knew, but he felt a little bit like the kid whose best friend deserts him in the lunchroom to go whisper with new, way-more-popular friends. “And I will remindyouthat while you’re letting Jiminy Cricket be your guide, we’rebothsupposed to be on duty in…” He flicked a look at his watch, saw that it was coming on four a.m. “Three and a half hours. Our shift won’t end until seventeen hundred, but if we’re out bytwenty-onehundred, I’ll be amazed. If they really are cutting off transports at zero-hundred, they’ll stay open longer to make it look like they’re trying to make up for lost time today. It’s the processing and security checks that take so long. My bet is they won’t cut off refugees until, maybe, three hours before wheels up, say that they’re calling it a night, and simply never open up again. We’ve had such erratic hours to begin with; the refugees won’t be any wiser until we turn off the lights.”

“He’s right about that,” Flowers said. “Kinda not playing fair but does keep panic to a minimum. By the time word gets around there won’t be any more flights, they’ll have closed up this base so tight, a fart couldn’t squeeze out.”

“Which is why we want to get going now, before sunup,” Driver said. “Build in time for problems but leave plenty of time for us to get back before that last plane.”

“Easy for you to say, butweare supposed to go on-duty in three hours and change,” John said. “So how do Roni and I get around that?”

“Aw, man, that’s a gimme,” Flowers said. “Go AWOL.”

THE PROBLEM WITH INVISIBILITY

NOVEMBER 2023

CHAPTER 1

On the morningof their third day at the hot springs, two things happened.

The first was that John surfaced from a deep, exhausted, and dreamless sleep to a metallic clatter, a low murmur, a scent of coffee, and then another aroma vaguely like stew. His initial, groggy thought:Dad?For a few precious seconds, he was eleven and swaddled in a sleeping bag in the top bunk of a hunting cabin. That clatter was his father stirring up a pot of something on the cabin stove while his brother got down bowls and spoons because his father believed that, to bag a deer, you started early with a meal that stuck to your?—

“Nyuh!”His eyes jammed open. Still cocooned in the sleeping bag, he tried sitting up at the same time and nearly fell backward. “Davila?” Heart hammering, he battled his way free of his bag. “Davila, are you…”

“Hey, easy, easy.” Cradling a mug in both hands, Davila perched on a chair John had retrieved from the adjoining office. To his right, Matvey was frozen in mid-stir, dripping spoon in hand, over something bubbling and steaming in a pot centered on a paraffin heater’s aluminum cook plate. “Our little Mowgli here is just heating some breakfast. We got water for coffee already boiled,” Davila said. “Thought you could use the sleep.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” His mouth tasted like the bottom of an old shoe. He scrubbed grit from his eyes—and then blinked. “You’re sitting up. You’re moving around.”

“You noticed.” Davila’s mouth wobbled into a half-grin. Combined with his shiners, both of which had turned a mottled yellow and green, he looked a bit like something out of a low-budget remake of a George Romano zombie movie. “Kinda clammy from living in the bag for so long but a thousand times better than yesterday. I just…slept.”

Clammygot his attention. Was it his imagination, or was Davila flushed? “And you didn’t wake up because you couldn’t breathe?”

“Nope. Arm hurts more than my head or chest.”

“How long?”

“Hours? The last time I fiddled with this thing…” Davila gestured at the catheter’s stopcock. “I think it was around two. Only woke up because I had to take a leak. That’s also when I noticed that the snow had stopped. Sat phone’s still broadcasting our SOS, which is good.”

“Not that anyone’s come charging to the rescue.” His own watch said it was nine in the morning. He’d last checked on Davila at midnight. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You’ve been babysitting me for days. I wasn’t in trouble.”

“The whole point of getting better, Davila, is to stayoutof trouble. Moving around might put you right back where you were. Let me listen.” After Davila breathed in and out a few times, he unhooked his stethoscope’s earpieces. “Well, I’ll be damned. Everything sounds…clear.”

“I’m telling you, I feel better.”

“What about that headache?”

“Not so bad. Really, I’m better.”

“Uh-huh.” Now that he was closer, though, he saw a tiny line of perspiration along Davila’s upper lip.Might be the sleeping bag; might be because he’s close to the heater.Or infection. He’d have to check Davila’s temperature. He made alet’s rollmotion with a finger. “Let me check your arm.”

“So, we can take out this thing in my chest?” Davila asked as John worked at unwrapping the bandage around Davila’s left biceps. “The catheter?”

“Mmmm.”

“Was thatyes?” Then Davila must’ve read his expression. “What?”

---