This post continues on from yesterday, but you don’t really
need me to say that, do you?
When I wondered aloud why the hospital staff had returned us
to such a remote location, Turk’s eyebrows rose. “What're you on about?” my
partner asked. His eyes widened as I
related what the nurse had told me about the hikers finding us, being airlifted
to the hospital, and receiving the antivenom, a product called Crofab, within
the critical time window. Then he shook
his head and pointed to his watch.
“Look, I don’t know what all...this is, but as things looked so
promising, I agreed we could spend the additional day monitoring. Then, don’t ask me why, but I agreed to work
all yesterday afternoon as well. But, come on,
you promised me we’d be out of here by dawn.
I don’t know why my alarm didn’t go off, but I know I set it. I know you’re a heavier sleeper, but really, the onus was on you." He sighed, then waved at
my tent. “You know what Carly’s like,
and I don’t have a clue what I’m gonna tell my boss.”
Despite Turk’s protests, I insisted on breaking out the
equipment. While he swore and stomped
off toward my tent, I pulled out the leather-bound notebooks and scanned
through our entries. There, in our own
handwriting, we had separately recorded our observations for the preceding four
days. Then Turk’s legs appeared. I looked up at his narrowed eyes, saw my cooler in his hands. “You want to explain this?”
I rose to look into it, and saw well over a dozen
empty cans of Blue Point Toasted Lager. My
lower jaw fell.
He shook his head.
Suddenly, he looked as he had been kicked in the stomach. He set the cooler at my feet, then turned and
walked slowly back toward my tent.
I blinked, hurried after him. “I don’t understand.”
He cast the occasional glance at me as he walked inside my
tent and knelt before my duffel bag.
“No, don’t worry about this," I said. "I can do
it.”
He grunted as he packed away my clothes,
books, lantern, flashlight, and other personal items. “Roll up your sleeping bag, and I’ll help
with the tent,” he said tiredly. He rose
before I was halfway through, and grabbing my campstool, carried my duffel bag outside.
“Turk—“
“Later.”
Why didn’t he remember our hospital stay? Why did both our logs record a full afternoon
of monitoring on Friday? And even if the
hospital staff had returned us here, and they had drank the beer before
returning, how likely was it that they would all drink my favorite brand,
brewed in Long Island, New York, (and only available in a few of the smaller
local stores), unless I had packed it and brought it all with me?
Even if I hadn't brought the beer with me, or drank any, the mere presence of those cans violated the
terms of our volunteer monitoring agreement!
Then I heard Turk pounding away at the tent stakes, and I
hurriedly finished rolling up my sleeping bag.
I didn’t want to make him wait any longer, in case he got any other
ideas of what he could do with that hammer.
This entry will conclude in Men in Black: The Condor
Incident Part 5.
Dragon Dave
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