Chapter 11
11
ORION
Twenty-four hours later, Evan was pretty sure he was dying.
I can’t call tonight…
Food poisoning.
Kill me now…
The ship pulls out of port tomorrow.
I’m so sorry, Cherry.
I’m sicker than what any human should be.
Oh my gosh! Are you okay?
Well, honestly, I’m scared to stand because I’m so lightheaded and I haven’t moved from the bathroom – if you want the painful truth. Normally, I would be completely disgusted to have any part of my skin touching the wall in the bathroom, but my cheek is pressed against it to keep from falling over.
Okay – STOP.
FULL STOP, EVAN BUCHANNAN!
You get someone to help you to the clinic – RIGHT NOW, MISTER!- and get some fluids. Take something to stop the puking or whatever is happening with your body. You need rest, fluids, and relief.
No kidding…
Text me when you get to the clinic – I’m serious.
I’ll be fine.
I won’t be. I’m panicking and trying to figure out how to get someone to help you.
Trophy is in the next stall, griping up a storm between vomiting.
What did you two eat?
Everything… shrimp, mussels, clams, some fish, lobster. We ate everything we could get our hands on – and then some. Twenty bucks is going to cost me twenty pounds of lost fluids.
Enough – you two get to the clinic and text me back! NOW!
“Hey… Trophy…?” Evan said weakly, his entire body cramping painfully from where he was perched on the toilet, not moving. His hands were trembling where he held his phone, and he really didn’t want to admit any of this to Cherry, but he was half-afraid he would pass out cold and not have a chance to tell her.
“I’m… never eating… seafood again…” Trophy moaned right before he threw up once more in the toilet nearby. If it wasn’t so pathetic, Evan would have laughed when Trophy’s shoes appeared under the wall of the bathroom stall, indicating that the man was sitting on the grimy floor, far beyond caring as well.
They were both in a pretty sad state.
“Holy smokes, what died in here,” Ohio’s voice rang out in the distance. Evan and Trophy both said in unison, their voices weak.
“Me…”
“Memphis! Moonbeam! Shellac! Hey, y’all get in here and help me…” Ohio said loudly, and Evan heard a scuffle. Someone rattled his bathroom door as Trophy groaned loudly nearby. The shoes moved out from under the stall wall as the toilet flushed. A flurry of voices echoed off the walls as their ‘rescue’ team arrived.
“Oh mercy… heaven help me…”
“Dude, you are sicker than snot.”
“Can you walk?”
“How long have you two been like this?”
“Orion, open the door.”
“My dungaree pants are around my ankles.”
“Well, I ain’t taking a picture, you big dork! We’re going straight to medical, and I promise they’ll be covering your butt when we stagger down the hallway…”
Evan was so far gone that he couldn’t tell who said that to him as he leaned forward to unlock the stall and saw black crowding his vision. Distracted and lolling weakly, he tucked his phone into his shirt pocket to keep from losing it as he was dragged limply off the toilet by several sets of hands and dragged to medical.
He awoke sometime later in a bed, staring at fluorescent lights and slowly turned his head to see Trophy beside him, sound asleep. His arm was hanging out to the side, fully extended, his mouth wide open, and one leg hanging off the bed, completely uncaring. There was an I.V. hooked up to Trophy’s arm, and the bag was half-empty, causing him to slowly look at his own arm.
Sure enough, he was hooked up to an I.V. as well.
“Are you going to make it, Buchannan?” a corpsman said, grinning. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of cleaning the vomit off your cheek, temple, and out of your hair. I’m guessing you threw up, leaned against something, and dragged it down the side of your face. That’s a new one for me.”
“Am I dead?”
“Do you feel like it?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are very much alive.”
Evan nodded, closing his mouth and swallowing painfully. He remembered throwing up only moments before his dinner was running out the other side of his body. He vaguely recalled putting the gifts he’d purchased on his rack, breaking out in a sweat, and hearing Trophy say nearby, ‘I don’t feel so good’… before all hell broke loose. At least he could mail Cherry and Jeremy’s gifts tomorrow or the next day – and groaned.
“Do you need something, Buchannan?”
He slowly nodded again, his head pounding as the room spun, and weakly pointed at his chest.
“Can you text my wife?” he rasped hoarsely, completely drained and fighting sleep. “Tell her I’m okay and in the clinic… please.”
“Sure thing. I’m going to get your phone out of your pocket. What’s your wife’s name?”
“Cherry… first text message on there.”
“All right,” the corpsman said simply. “There you go. Get some rest. Your wife has been notified you are okay.”
“Thanks…” Evan breathed, sagging and letting sleep finally wash over him again, grateful that the ordeal was over.
Hours later, Evan crawled into his bunk and checked his phone – wincing, slapping his forehead, and dragging a disbelieving hand down his face as he stared in horror at the text message sent by the corpsman. Currently, he didn’t even have the energy to address it and Cherry had already seen the text message.
It was too late.
Some people… sheesh, Evan thought, closing his eyes in exhaustion. I hope she understands Navy humor.