Project RM: Genesis, Peter Schoemann [rosie project txt] 📗

She managed a smile. “I won’t die while you’re gone.”

He forced a smile of his own. “You’d better not.”

He left the beach and began to climb the sandy hill toward the center of the island. As he raced upward through the thin veil of palm trees, he found a few footprints heading toward a clearing. He followed them until his foot clanked going over some palm fronds. His pulse quickening, Joseph pulled away the branches to find a small, metal lid.

He took a quick glance around before popping the hatch open and climbing down into the darkness. He groped the walls until he found the light switch. The dim fluorescent bulb illuminated the professor’s planned Spartan existence for the four of them. The facility amounted to little more than an oversized, heated, metal can. It contained plenty of supplies and reading materials, a couple of rooms with cots, and a lab in a third room. Joseph shuddered at the thought of his captors confining them in that small space.

He grabbed the needed supplies, including first-aid materials, a magnet, tweezers, matches, a few cans of food, water, and a few other liquids. He threw them in a backpack and rushed back to her side. She was barely conscious, but opened her mouth to speak.

“Don’t talk.” He trickled a little water into her mouth, then mixed the liquids. “Listen. I’ve got to get that bullet out and clean the wound. We don’t have time to radio for help. I’ve got something that’ll knock you out. Drink this.”

She grasped his hand and stared up at him, a tear trickling out of the edge of her left eye. She managed a fragile smile, drank, and crashed.

Everything had happened so fast today. Now that he had a second to think, he froze, except for his hands. They trembled again. From the medical books Drucker had given him, he knew what he needed to do. But he had never done it.

To steady himself, Joseph touched his fingers to his temple and kept repeating in his mind: Focus on each step. He took a meditating breath and went to work. First, he started a fire to sterilize the equipment and cleaned his hands as best he could. Then, he stroked the magnet against the tweezers a dozen times. Ready to proceed, he inhaled once more and steadied his hands. He inserted the tweezers and, careful to avoid her organs, maneuvered them in slow, tiny circles. One minute passed. Then another. Then…he felt the impact of metal connecting. He retracted the tweezers with the slug attached, leaned back, and exhaled. To complete his first surgical procedure, he checked to make sure the internal bleeding had stopped, then cleaned the hole, administered an antibiotic, and sewed her up.

Joseph didn’t leave her side until she woke. After an hour, a little color returned to her face and she opened her eyes.

Tears streamed down his face. “Thank you.”

“Wait,” she said. “You saved my life.”

He sniffled. “We both know you saved mine, and not just with the gun.” He placed a finger over her lips to end the conversation. A quick fantasy about remaining stranded alone with her on a deserted island ran through his mind, but he knew she needed professional medical attention. “Here, take this.” He poured a little liquid in her mouth. “It’ll help with the pain. I’m going back to the bunker to radio for help. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Will you be all right?”

She nodded.

Joseph knew he could reach the blockade with the short-wave radio, if he could just find the right secure frequency. He ran to the shelter, flipped it on, and shouted into the microphone, “Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. Kidnapping off the coast of Florida. Woman in critical condition.”

On the third frequency, Joseph’s voice broke. “If anyone’s out there, please answer. My girl…my friend has been shot.”

“Who’s this? This is the United States Navy. You’re using a secure frequency. Change the channel immediately.”

“Please. We were kidnapped. My friend was shot.”

“Then change the frequency and request help from someone who can provide it. We’re a little busy. Don’t you know what’s happening? It’s a matter of national security.”

“And so is this,” Joseph said. “The KGB kidnapped us. We ran the blockade.”

“You did what? What’s your position?”

“We’re on an island. It’s crescent shaped, with a hill that rises about fifty feet above sea level. I’m not sure where exactly, but my guess is we’re on one of the cays in the Bahamas. Hold on.” He searched the bunker. Nothing indicated their global position. He clenched his hands, then remembered he glimpsed the speed of the boat when he tried to break into the bridge. “I can’t determine our exact location, but if we kept the same speed, accounting for the current and wave resistance, we should be approximately 180 to 220 miles east of Miami.” Joseph thought about the boat. “If I can find a more precise location, I’ll come back and let you know. Otherwise, look for the smoke.”

When he returned, she was motionless. Panicked, he slid to her side and shook her.

“Hey, what are you doing?” she asked.

“Sorry. I thought you’d...”

“Died? I told you, that’s not going to happen. From now on, you’re stuck with me.”

Joseph smiled. “I didn’t have the exact location and I can’t find a flare gun. I’m going to check the boat.”

She propped herself up on her elbows and looked around. “We need a big fire to help them find us. When you’re done looking around, you can restart the fire on the boat. I don’t see anything else we could burn quickly.”

“Good idea.”

As he got closer to the shore, the smell of the professor’s and Peter’s charred remains overwhelmed him. With so little in his system, Joseph leaned over and dry heaved. He pulled his shirt over his face and regained his composure. Each time he bent down to sift through the debris, the smoke would overwhelm his lungs, and he would climb out of the wreckage to