Page 21 of Soul on Fire
Chapter Eight
UN Refugee Camp outside Sake
The Congo
He had beenone of thirteen hospitals weeks ago. The UN had theirs, Doctors Without Borders had theirs, and the Red Cross, Care Now, International Aid, Save the Children, and on and on, the same NGOs who came to all the world’s disasters.
Now, he was one of three field hospitals left. Most of the Western NGOs were abandoning Sake, Goma, and the camp. Abandoning the Congo. The evacuation order had gone out from America and the West. The rebels were coming, massing to the north, and there was too much violence, he was told.The rebels are coming. It’s too dangerous.
That is why we need you, he tried to argue.
Empty tarps fluttered around the camp, left behind when the NGOs pulled out. Only the skeletons of their operations remained: empty crates of medical supplies and sheets of plastic snapping in the wind. The hospitals and aid centers that ringed the refugee camp, once vibrant and so full of activity, full of hope and healing for those who came, were nothing but ruffling tarps and empty spaces.
Evacuate. Evacuate. Goma and Eastern Congo are about to become a war zone. There’s a full-blown medical emergency teetering on an outbreak, but the region is about to be plunged into violent conflict. Evacuate. Evacuate.
And they did. Nearly all of themzungusleft: his nurses at the malnourishment tent, his aides in the wound dressing tents. The photographer, whom he’d lectured and lectured, and still wasn’t certain had been fully safe. He claimed he was, claimed no water got inside his glove when they hosed him down with bleach and chlorine. But…
Evacuate. The region is about to be plunged into violent conflict.
But this is when we need you most. What about us, who can’t evacuate? Where should we go when the fighting starts?
Ikolo grabbed a bottle of water and headed for the intensive care tent. Most of his patients had turned the corner, their wounds healing, their infections staying at bay. They were bandaged and back with their families in the camp now, some on crutches and others in homemade slings.
Only his older lady was left, his cancer patient. She had a tumor in her belly the size of a melon, so hard he could feel it. She could too, and the pain made her sing. He’d asked her why, and she’d told him it was the only thing that distracted her.
She was singing now, one hand on her forehead, softly singing old village songs to herself.
“Mama,” he said, beaming. “You have a beautiful voice.”
“Hush, Doctor.” She swatted at him. The IV in her arm was nearly out. He changed it, adding another dose of morphine. They had a limited supply, but for her, he would be plentiful.
He squatted next to her in the dirt, still beaming. “Sing for me, Mama. You have a gorgeous voice, and we both need something beautiful now.”
“Why, Doctor? What has happened?”
He looked down and played with his water bottle. Pursed his lips and shook his head. “Themzungusare all gone,” he said softly. “We are on our own now.”
She took his hand, threading her old fingers through his, and started to sing.
* * *
Chapter Nine
USSKearsarge
Indian Ocean off the east coast of Africa
A portable isolation unit—aplastic bubble on a gurney—waited on theKearsarge’sflight deck when they returned, along with the ship’s medical staff decked out in bright yellow isolation suits and respirators.
Watching everything was one arrogant-looking man in a suit standing beside to Admiral Kline near the tower hatch.
“You did this?” Doc Collins, theKearsarge’schief medical officer, asked Elliot. She pointed to the plastic cocoon.
“I did. Wasn’t going to risk my team.”
“You did good. The rest of you need to get checked out in sickbay. Follow us.”
They had to answer a million questions. Did they touch Peter at any time, did Peter cough on them, bleed on them, sweat on them, or did any of his blood or other bodily fluids get on any of them? Ebola wasn’t airborne and it needed a fluid to fluid transfer to infect.
