David Epperson - The Third Day

Decius struck me as a pleasant enough fellow — one who would remain so as long as we stayed out of his way and didn’t cause any trouble. He had the gruff but competent demeanor of a seasoned NCO, the soldiers who are the backbone of any army worthy of the name.

We stood aside as the optio made a few final checks and then signaled to Publius that the column was ready to proceed. Moments later, a trumpet sounded and we started forward.

As I expected, we had barely gone a quarter mile when the questions started. Lavon was quick-witted enough to mumble something to the soldiers about his Greek not being good enough for medical terminology, but this excuse wouldn’t work for our own party.

I explained that I had utilized the Army’s latest high tech bandage. A powder on one side became part of the clotting matrix, while an antibiotic-impregnated glue on the other held the sides of the wound together as securely as if they had been sutured.

It was, truly, a miracle of modern chemistry. US field hospitals are first-rate, but wounded soldiers still had to live long enough to get there. Bleeding out was one of the main reasons they didn’t.

“How do you remove it once the wound has healed?” asked Bryson.

“You don’t,” I replied. “That’s the best part. In a couple of weeks, the body’s own enzymes begin to dissolve the material. A few days later, it disappears entirely.”

Lavon glanced over to the injured Roman. “What are his chances, realistically?”

Fortunately for us, they were pretty good. Profuse bleeding often carries out the dirt, so the odds were at least reasonable that his wound would not get infected.

“He’s lost a lot of fluid, though,” I said. “I’d put in an IV drip, if I had one. A tetanus shot wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”

They all laughed, except Bryson, who had swung around to Juliet’s thinking on the issue and chided me for possibly changing history.

“I brought no weapons, Professor, but I sure as hell wasn’t coming back to a primitive world without a decent first aid kit.”

“That man would have died. Now he will live.”

For all his academic brilliance, Dr. Bryson didn’t have the best sense of priorities. “At the moment, I’m more concerned about us living,” I replied.

He frowned.

“Tell me how they could reverse engineer this sort of thing?” I said. “The wrapping is biodegradable, too. In a week or so, it will vanish completely. It’s especially designed to decay in this type of climate.”

“I didn’t realize the Army had gone green.”

“I’m not pretending we have, Professor, but our enemies over the last fifty years have proven resourceful at using our throwaways against us. You undoubtedly know that the Viet Cong made booby traps out of old ration tins and shell casings. The Afghans did the same thing to the Russians, and are doing it again to us, from what I hear. The less we leave behind, the better.”

It was then that I thought of the camera.

“Speaking of left behind, Professor, do you have your video camera?”

He didn’t, of course, so Lavon asked Decius if we could go back and retrieve it, explaining that the good Doctor had dropped his money bag in his haste to flee the Zealots.

Decius agreed, and we went trotting back down the hill. We started at the cave’s mouth and headed west, intending to retrace his steps. As I suspected, Bryson couldn’t track his own backside, so it fell to me to find his trail, which I did after a short search.

As in all dry climates, the morning had warmed quickly. Though I was more comfortable, this left one downside: the air reeked of hacked off limbs, rotting intestines, and other detritus of the earlier battle.

I glanced over to Bryson and grinned. I’m not exactly fond of such things, but I got a bit of undeserved enjoyment from his queasiness. So far, his return chips had failed; and our lives hung in the balance.

“I assume your wife can operate the control room by herself, without that young fool’s assistance?” I said.

“His name was Scott,” replied Bryson. “He was my most promising student.”

“What do you think he did?” I asked. “Sneak in on his own, or did he blackmail her by threatening to go to the media, or to the police to report your disappearance?”

“Blackmail?” he replied. “Is that all your twisted mind can think of?”

“It’s why we’re here, Professor.”

Bryson turned and stared. “What?”

“Like we told you earlier, Juliet wanted to send only Dr. Lavon. He was the logical choice, since he’s studied this region for years and is the only one among us able to communicate properly with the locals. This, by the way, was Lavon’s choice, too. He wasn’t very excited to have company.”

“So why are the rest of you here?”

“Ray decided he wanted to go, too. Once he accepted the idea that you had actually managed to pull this off, no one could stop him.”

“Surely Juliet tried?”

“She did, but Ray brought up the contract you had with his father. If he couldn’t go, he threatened to shut your whole operation down, which, of course, would have left you — ”

“Lying in that cave.”

“Yes.”

“What about the woman? Why is she here?”

“Lavon leads a university archaeological team. Conducting a dig according to the most rigorous scientific principles can be an expensive proposition. Sharon’s family has provided the majority of their funding for the past three years.”

“So she threatened to close his project down, too.”

“Something like that.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here. What is it you want?”

“Well, if we’re discussing blackmail, I wanted to speak with you about how to split up that billion dollars you made.”

Bryson jaw dropped and he stared at me with wild eyes.

I laughed. “Just kidding, Professor.” Sort of .

He wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so he just followed along as I traced his path. It wasn’t pretty. His trail crossed the tracks of the fleeing Zealots. Dried blood covered part of a footprint, and carrion-eaters had not yet carried off the chunks of human entrails lying next to a rock a few feet away.

I pointed to the remains and grew serious. “You asked me what I wanted, Professor? Actually, I’d like nothing more than to get the five of us together, press this button, and go back to Boston while we still can.”

But he never responded. Just then, his trail became so obvious that even he could trace it. He charged forward.

“Here it is,” he shouted, holding the video camera high in triumph.

“You, um, might not want anyone else to see that,” I said.

He dropped his arm quickly, with a sheepish grin on his face. “Of course.”

***

In a less dangerous moment, I would have found Bryson’s transformation fascinating. Less than an hour earlier, he had wailed over his dead lab assistant like a long lost son. Now that he had his camera, he didn’t give the kid another thought, so single-minded he had become.

I asked him about it, and he explained that we could return and retrieve Scott the same way we had come back for him.

Assuming we survived, I thought, but I decided not to argue.

We went back to the cave to recover the kid’s chip — having no value to the soldiers, they had left it dangling on the string around his neck — but otherwise, prudence dictated that we not linger. The Roman column had disappeared around a bend, and nearby, I spotted a hacked-off forearm lying beside a small scrub bush. Something, vultures probably, had already taken a nibble.

“I suggest we get back. These people might have friends, and I don’t think we want to be around if they show up.”