One of the women who was wearing a bright red bikini nodded. “Where did you think you were?”
“Maybe Colombia,” I said. “Hey, I’ve always wanted to visit Costa Rica.”
“No wonder the animals were bored with us,” Sherlock said.
One of the men said, “Didn’t you see anyone?”
“Just the bad guys,” Sherlock said. “And some footprints that led off into the undergrowth. We couldn’t take a chance of getting more lost than we already were. We’ve just been making our way west.”
“You didn’t see the tram overhead?” Tom asked. At our blank looks, he said, “Hey, we all took a ride through the rain forest on it yesterday. It was awesome. Well, I guess you must have missed it.” He stuck out his hand to me. “Welcome to Playa Blanca.”
Chapter Thirty-One
I was staring at the man when I heard Laura wheezing and choking. I was at her side in an instant, grabbing her arms, lifting her against me. She was trembling violently. “Laura,” I said.
“No!”
Tom shoved me out of the way. He peeled back her eyelids, checked her pulse, then immediately yelled for beach towels. Beach towels?
Men and women came running, their arms loaded down with colorful towels with parrots and leopards and bright suns on them. Tom covered her with a good half-dozen beach towels, wet down the end of one of them and spread it over her forehead. He sat back on his heels and said, “Bring me cold drinks, not the diet ones, the ones filled with sugar.”
Someone slapped a Dr Pepper into his hand. He peeled back the tab and said to me, “Hold up her head. We need to get this down her.” I didn’t think she’d take any, but she did. On some level she must have known she had to drink. “The sugar’s really good for her,” Tom said.
“And she needs the liquid badly. Let’s just keep getting it down her throat. We’ve got to keep her hydrated.”
The beach crowd gave her some room.
“Where’s that helicopter?” Tom called out as he poured more Dr Pepper down Laura’s throat.
“The lifeguard says another ten, fifteen minutes,” someone yelled back.
The men and women seemed to have assigned themselves tasks. Some of them brought us drinks, others food, still others brought insect repellent and more beach towels. One woman wearing a thong bikini that was an eye-catcher dragged up a huge umbrella and positioned it so that Laura was well protected from the sun.
It seemed like an eternity had passed when-no more fluttering eyelids, no moans, no twitches-Laura just opened her eyes and looked straight up at me. She was dead white but her eyes were focused. She was back again. She smiled at me. Tom gave her more Dr Pepper.
“You’re doing great, Laura,” he said. “Just hang in there. Breathe slowly and lightly. Yes, that’s it. Don’t let yourself go under again. Okay?”
“Okay.” It was her voice, frail and paper thin, but she was back.
“I can hear the helicopter,” I said. “Don’t leave me now, Laura. No more going back into the ether. It would really piss me off. I think Tom would freak out. Just smile at me every couple of minutes while you concentrate on breathing. I need reassurance. Okay?”
“I’m all right,” she whispered. “It just hurts really bad, Mac, but I can deal with this. How’s this for a smile?”
“It’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any more pain pills. Just squeeze my hand when it gets really bad.”
When the helicopter landed some twenty yards away from us down the beach, I was nearly a basket case. Two men, each with a gurney slung over his back, and one woman carrying a black bag ran to us. For the first time, I began to really believe that Laura would make it. I wanted to cry with relief.
When the helicopter lifted off, I was holding Laura’s hand and waving to Dr. Tom and all the men and women vacationers who’d helped us out. One of the medics was sticking an IV into her arm, saying as he did so, his English beautifully deep and soothing, “It’s just sugar and salt water. Nothing to worry about. The doctor said she’s been drinking soda. This is even better.”