Chapter Twenty-Three
Rylee
Sunday
As soon as the plane landed, Cerberus Bravo was in motion. Packs on their shoulders, tools in their hands, booties to protect their dogs’ paws, they jumped into the backs of three pickup trucks that waited for them then raced the team toward the hotel that had collapsed around their protectees.
Good job, Iniquus Logistics, that flowed like water.
That was the standard that WorldCares strived for. Every minute of delay could cost a precious life.
Bravo asked that WorldCares clear their gear and supplies out of the plane because Cerberus would camp in the passenger area and set up their first aid station there.
And the pilot and staff would remain with the plane throughout.
If they needed to conduct an emergency evacuation to save a life, they would take off without hesitation or warning.
As WorldCares got busy setting up the tents and moving supplies, an elder who could speak Arabic wandered over to speak to Rylee.
He said that he helped staff the tiny airport and wanted to let the responders know their building had some cracks, but was holding up.
The rescuers were welcome to use the toilets and showers they had available.
Another pickup pulled forward. This one held the local leader who would take George, Quebec’s tactical lead, out to get a visual of the situation and make plans aligned with the locals’ needs and wants.
WorldCares didn’t show up to step on toes.
They were there to put their expertise to work.
And because volunteers—who always arrived, desperate to help save their friends and loved ones, their fellow villagers—didn’t always know what to do, there was usually an educational component. Sometimes, the best of intentions could lead to complications or further disaster.
Before they landed, George had come back to her area of the plane to ask Rylee not to help. They had a system, they had roles as a team, and even something as simple as opening a box could mess things up. “Glad to have you observe and take notes.”
“But stay out of your way,” Rylee said.
“There is actually a way to free someone up to be able to sleep, and that’s to stay in the supply tent.
Boring as hell, I warn you. I also warn you not to move or rearrange anything in a way you think would be more efficient.
It’s already efficient because everything is in the same spot, it always is. ”
“I get that,” Rylee said. “Hands off. Twiddling my thumbs. What about when I need to sleep?”
“Tie down the flaps and sleep across the entrance. That’s not to say you won’t be woken up. If we’ve made contact with someone in the rubble, we’re not asking them to wait until we have a good snooze before we dig them out in the morning. We keep going.”
Dakota had accepted her offer that he and Tank sleep in the supply tent with her. Rylee figured that Tank would alert her to anyone trying to sneak in and stick some counterfeit bills in her pack.
And so, while the worker bees flew about putting up the tents and shuffling supplies in what seemed to be miraculous time, Rylee stood out of the way.
Dakota got busy wandering amongst the backpacks and supplies on the off chance that things weren’t on the up and up from the get-go. By doing an initial sweep, he could testify in court that he had done his due diligence.
Dakota had Tank sniff everything.
Then Tank got a pair of booties, and the two of them took off to see if they could lend Cerberus a hand digging out the people trapped in the hotel collapse.
Rylee, trying to stay out of the way, decided to head over to the tiny municipal airport to see if their hangar areas would be a good place to use for a medical team if Mandy was successful in finding a disaster medical assistance team routed their way.
Everyone was trying to get their hands on medical supplies along with field-deployable doctors and nurses.
Mandy said to expect a medical unit from Egypt by Tuesday.
That was the same day that WorldCares Team Mike would arrive.
Later than expected. But, after reviewing satellite imagery of the village, Logistics decided to bring in heavy equipment to move cement walls and lift roofs.
Was that too many days?
Yes.
Given the scope of the disaster zone and the number of people affected, it was fortunate they were able to connect their supply cars to a train and head in the right direction. Everyone was scrambling for limited resources and access to open delivery routes.
Standing in the yawning opening of the hangar, Rylee thought it would be adequate for maybe a hundred people.
The elder, who had escorted her over, showed Rylee the three shower stall areas, with their slimy-looking cement floors and rusted showerheads.
Compared to Afghanistan, this was luxe. The toilets were the variety that had ceramic footrests while you squatted over a hole, then filled an orange plastic jug with water from the spigot to pour behind you.
The TP was tissue paper-thin. Rylee would remember to bring her own roll with her when she needed the facility.
It was nice that she wouldn’t be squatting over a hole she dug in the dirt.
Her mini tour brought her to the glass tower with the controller. There, she was looking through his binoculars to see what she could of the village. As soon as the tents were in place and the solar powered link panels were up, Rylee would check on the latest satellite imagery.
From this vantage point, what she saw were buildings that crumbled from the violent shaking.
They looked like the ruins that remained after the dust of battle settled.
Rylee’s nervous system remembered the horrors.
The controller said those who made it out of their homes slept just over the hill, safe from aftershocks, but now that Quebec was set up, they’d move the camp closer in.
“Have you had any aftershocks?” Rylee asked. The language they shared was Arabic.
“One big. One small.”
“We don’t have a large number of refugee tents with us until Tuesday. I believe it’s fifty. But those are fifty families that won’t be out in the open. They’re pretty stable despite aftershocks.”
Looking east, Rylee saw the dust churn up, and her body clenched. In her memory, she was back on the battlefield, tending her wounded Marines when over the hill came another round of insurgents, and devastation followed.
With shaking hands, Rylee handed the field glasses to the controller. “Any idea who that is or where they’re coming from?”
After looking for a long moment, the controller said. “That’s east. The only people who are east of us are the Syrians. Two pickup trucks. Six men.”
“Weapons?”
“There are always weapons. Come, we will go welcome them.”
Rylee was hyper-aware that she was walking around with a backpack filled with $50,000 in cash. It was a vulnerability, and yet she had nowhere to stow it.
Reshaping her countenance to meet the norms for women in this part of the world, Rylee adopted a stance of dignified modesty as she stood at a respectful distance from the controller, yet close enough to be under his male protection.
Rylee had learned a thing or two about survival as a woman in the Middle East.
“Assalamu alaikum,” peace be upon you, the driver said as he exited the first pickup, rifle in hand.
The others clustered by the trucks, watchful.
“Wa-Alaikum As-Salam," and upon you, the controller responded.
The driver’s gaze landed on Rylee. So she took a step forward and placed her hand on her heart. “Rylee Jones, I’m with WorldCares. We’ve come to help,” she said in Arabic.
“Yes, we saw the plane and came to tell you of the destruction on our compound that was wrought by the earthquake.”
“I’d like to hear. Shall we talk inside?” Rylee gestured to the hangar, and they all gathered in a circle, sitting on the cement floor. Quebec must already have the satellite connections up, because when Rylee pulled her computer from her backpack, she was able to access an intake portal.
“We have come because our people suffer,” the leader said.
“Can you show me where this is on the map?” Rylee pulled up her latest satellite image. And as the leader pointed to a spot, she zoomed in, looking up and down the dirt road with the crushed building. “This damage is from the earthquakes?” she asked.
“Yes.” The leader was staring at the image, and Rylee passed him the computer. “You can look around. It might give you a better idea about where to put your rescue efforts.”
When he handed the laptop back, Rylee put the coordinates into the computer program. “How many people are usually in this compound?”
“A hundred and three.”
“How many have been accounted for?”
“Fifty-seven.”
“Do you have dead?”
“Among the fifty-seven are three dead.”
“What are you doing with the bodies?” Rylee asked, and he didn’t respond. “Do you have cloth for shrouds?” Rylee knew there was a supply amongst the boxes.
“This, I have,” he said.
She continued down her list documenting the man’s responses to what resources they could access: water, food, and sanitation.
“This is very limited. Perhaps a day or two as our storage room was crushed and the wells caved in.”
“Do you have access to medical help? Bandages, ways to clean out wounds? Diapers for the babies?”
He did not.
“Do you understand that you should not just dig people from under the buildings because crush injuries kill?”