“Did he say anything else?”
“I asked if he remembered what happened. It’s not unusual to have no memory of a traumatic event, but sometimes patients remember something. At first he kept saying “kit” over and over again. I asked if he wanted a Kit-Kat, but he said no. Then he started getting paranoid. He said people will come after him. I asked who he was talking about, and he muttered something about industrial espionage. I asked who was spying on him, just playing along. He said he couldn’t say any more, that it wouldn’t be safe.” She shook her head. “I mean, what industrial spy would want to go after a pilot? Seems quite delusional. But it can take coma victims a while to sort out reality from whatever they experienced while unconscious. It’s really pretty fascinating. There’s so much we still don’t understand about how the brain works, and how it repairs itself.”
“Has he ever talked like that before?” Mathilda asked Rory. Her hands were tucked into her back pockets now. “Paranoid, like that?”
Rory took refuge in the disconnected billionaire act. “Not that I know of. We didn’t talk about things like that. He’s just my pilot.”
“Right.” Mathilda turned back to Sasha. “So what do you recommend? Should he go to the hospital in Hilo?”
“It would probably be a good idea to get him examined. Physically, I see no reason why he couldn’t travel. I asked if he was hungry and yes, he is. I’m not going to remove his Foley yet because I’m not sure he’s up for walking around just yet. He fell back asleep while we were talking.”
“Poor guy.” Mathilda shook her head sadly. “I’ll go get him some food. Sasha, what would be best for him?”
“Simple is best. I killed a chicken yesterday, so there’s that broth already simmering. Add some rice to that and it’s good to go.”
Rory startled at the realization that the flock of chickens that randomly roamed the encampment were actually a food source.
Mathilda caught his reaction and smirked. “Your city boy roots are showing,” she murmured. Then, “I’ll bring him some soup. Or should I wait until he wakes up again?”
“Just bring it. He’s hungry enough, the smell will probably wake him.” Sasha smiled quizzically at Mathilda. “You seem to have developed a bit of an attachment to the poor fellow.”
“Just trying to be a good human. I feel bad for him. It’s sort of a metaphor for injustice, you know? The hard-working pilot takes the brunt of the crash while the billionaire walks out barely injured.”
“Hey.” Just as a reminder, Rory lifted his bandaged arm in the air. “This still hurts, you know.”
“Awww. I hope it doesn’t interfere with your golf game.” She made a little face at him. Apparently they were back to their previous dynamic of teasing, which he much preferred to an unnecessary apology.
“Now now, kids.” Sasha made a show of shepherding them out of the tent. “No bickering near my patient.”
Rory let himself be guided outside. He needed a moment to himself anyway. As Mathilda hurried across the clearing toward the community yurt, he went the opposite way, into the jungle. He made his way past a “walking tree,” the hala that put out stilt-like roots that created the illusion that they were on a slow stroll through the jungle.
Finally, when all the human sounds from the encampment had died away, he stopped and gazed up at the fringed coconut fronds towering above his head. The jungle sounds quickly engulfed him. A distant rooster crow, the noisy chatter of the myna birds, the invisible scurrying of a rat in the coconut palms.
If Lincoln was right about the industrial espionage, that could explain the drone. Maybe it had nothing to do with his half-sister’s lawsuit. Maybe there was some international corporate conflict at play here, possibly involving that mysterious crystal.
If that was the case, they probably wouldn’t stop at the crash site. It wouldn’t take long for them to locate the nearest group of humans, the most likely place for Lincoln to have taken refuge. In fact, he was surprised they hadn’t already.
Maybe they had, and were already spying on the camp. He hadn’t seen any drones nearby, but a spy drone would be more difficult to detect. Or maybe there was a satellite focused on them at this very moment. The encampment was tiny, and surrounded by soaring palms and thick jungle growth, but a spy satellite would no doubt be able to spot them.
In his uneducated opinion, there hadn’t been enough time for anyone to organize and launch a boots-on-the-ground kind of operation. But was that coming next? If so, what should he do about it? Warn the group, obviously. Flee the camp?
If only Lincoln could share a little more detail about what was going on. If there even was anything nefarious happening; it could be nothing but the fever dream of a coma victim.
But the drone was real. He couldn’t forget that.
Just then, the sound of a quiet footstep caught his attention.
Someone else was here in the jungle with him. He held his breath so he wouldn’t make a sound, and listened.
Another footfall. A muffled curse. A slap, probably at a mosquito.
If this was some kind of stealth invasion, they weren’t being very stealthy about it.
Rory silently crouched behind a giant lacy tree fern and waited for the intruder to get close. If he got a look at him, he might be able to determine if he was a threat or not.
Finally the man moved into view, shoving aside the thick foliage of a ti plant and stumbling onto the path. He wore head-to-toe jungle camouflage attire and thick-soled boots, and a mosquito head-net that made him impossible to identify. One hand grasped a machete with a sharp, gleaming edge.
That was enough for Rory. When the intruder passed in front of the tree fern, Rory stuck out his foot and tripped him up.
