Page 28 - Archangel

ashore. Fatigue and trauma from their escape rendered some unable to
move of their own accord.
A veteran of 13 humanitarian emergencies, MacIain watched the
procession of walking dead disembark the beleaguered bateau and
stagger down the dock toward the reception center. The facility was already
filled with grateful weeping from some survivors, sorrowful silence from
others facing the fact that they were the only ones from their families left
on earth.
As he secured ropes and stowed life preservers, Skye whispered in Gaelic
what his Scottish American grandmother taught him, “Dia Beannacht leat”
[God bless you]. Skye nearly jumped into the water when from behind
him came, “And may God bless you as well, Highlander, for what you’ve
done again this very night.” His Gaelic-speaking Northern Irish doctor
friend had awakened, stood in nearby darkness cuddling Layla’s son, and
waited for MacIain to finish tying things off.
Having regained a little energy, Sean looked for a place to lay the lad,
and said, “I’ll help you batten down everything.”
“I’m cool,” Skye quickly said with the best smile he could muster. “You
go on ahead with Lil’ Bit and get him sorted out, especially that splint on
his leg. Half of our new fleeing friends were throwing up their guts since
I couldn’t slow our speed in case of pursuit. Several are in need of your
immediate attention, Mate. I’ll see you shortly.”
Lips quivering, Sean shared “Thanks, Skye. I owe you,” turned, and
followed those resurrected from the dead in Rwanda to the Operation
Moses reception center clinic now swelled to capacity.
Skye watched his friend wearily tack and jibe down the rickety dock
toward an ‘all–nighter’ patient load despite his day’s toils. Tying off the
final line to the two other bateaus prepped for the next run within 18
hours in the light of the moon, he reached for his captain’s bag –
and froze.

22