The Last Town on Earth (21 page)

XVI

T
he first thing Philip had thought that morning when he woke up was: how do I feel? He swallowed. No pain. No thickness in the back of the throat, no suffocating tightness. He sat up and his head did not throb. His chest did not hurt, his lungs did not burn. His ears did not ache or ring. He was not dizzy.

Morning, and I’m still healthy.

Poker for breakfast. Poker for dinner. Poker for supper. Philip and Frank had played poker for so long that Philip suspected there were certain twigs that had circulated between them a hundred times. When he closed his eyes, he saw aces, clubs, royalty.

“I say we burn these cards when they let us out,” Philip said.

Frank made a show of dropping the cards he had been shuffling. “We can stop. What time is it?”

“Five.”

“So we only got an hour to go?”

“Yeah. Doc Banes said this morning he’d come in at six o’clock.”

“But nobody’s said anything since. What if they’ve changed their minds?”

“They said six o’clock. They wouldn’t lie to me.”

Frank nodded. “Since it’s going to be night by then, I thought I might stay in town until the morning, if that’s all right.”

“If Doc Banes doesn’t say anything against it, maybe my parents will let you stay at our house. No one can give you a ride to the cantonment, though. If we left, we wouldn’t be allowed back in.”

“That’s all right. I can make it.”

“How are you going to get there?”

“Anybody ’round here got a horse I could steal?” Frank smiled, but something about the way he said it made Philip wonder whether he really was joking.

“You going to be in trouble with the army for being away so long?”

“I don’t know. Never been away before.”

“Maybe it’ll turn out to be a good thing you got stuck here. Maybe you’ll miss the boat to France, and by the time they get around to the next one, the war’ll be over.” But then he felt stupid after saying it, for his childlike need to paint happy accents on an undeniably gloomy picture.

Frank looked away. “Let’s talk about something else, Philip. I’ll be getting all I can stand of the army by tomorrow. Let’s pretend there’s no war going on right now.”

The knock on the door came at quarter past six in the evening. Frank had asked Philip twice for the time, at 6:02 and 6:13, and he seemed increasingly anxious. At the sound of the knock, he jumped.

Philip started counting to sixty in his head, but before he got to ten, he heard Doc Banes’s voice: “Philip, I’m coming in.”

For the first time since Mo had trapped Philip inside two days ago, the door opened from the outside. Philip hadn’t realized how moved he’d be by seeing someone else stride into the building. Banes closed the door behind him, his medical case in his right hand.

As Banes entered the tenuous reach of the light from the lantern and the fireplace, Philip saw that he was wearing a gauze mask.

Philip and Frank were standing, tense, unsure what would happen next.

Banes nodded at the soldier, whom he was seeing for the first time. “I’m Dr. Banes. I thought I would examine Philip here first, Private, then move on to you.”

Frank said, “Yessir.” He stood there awkwardly, then sat back down on the dirty floor.

Philip grew embarrassed about the smell emanating from the cellar.

Banes told Philip to remove his shirt. He asked how Philip was feeling, how he’d been sleeping, if he’d had any chills. Philip told him he felt perfect. He had his temperature taken, and he stood silently while the doctor listened to whatever his heart and lungs had to say. Banes seemed to spend an awfully long time listening to the lungs, Philip thought, and for a moment he got nervous. Could he actually be ill even though he felt fine? What mysteries did his body contain?

Banes had Philip cough, hold his breath, inhale and exhale deeply, repeat. Banes listened through Philip’s chest and through his back and through his sides. The stethoscope had felt painfully cold at first, but now it had warmed to Philip’s body temperature.

Banes made his diagnosis: Philip was healthy. Or, more precisely, he was exhibiting no sign of disease. Hopefully, that was the same thing.

“Well, son, I think you’re as fit as can be.” Philip couldn’t see the doctor’s lips through the mask, but he could tell the old man was smiling from the way the wrinkles around his eyes lengthened.

Philip smiled back. “Good to hear it.”

Banes gestured to the door. “Go on out. Your family’s waiting.”

Philip pulled his dirty shirt back on and grabbed his coat, but before he could head for the door, Banes grabbed him by the forearm.

“If you feel anything suspicious, anything at all—no matter how minor—you come to me immediately. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Banes seemed to judge that the look in Philip’s eyes was sufficiently serious, and he released his arm.

The first thing to hit Philip as he walked through the doorway was how clean the air tasted now that he was free of the stench inside. The wind on his face brought the scent of the fir trees and the wet earth and the smoke escaping from distant chimneys. He was free.

The sun had set, and only trace amounts of light were filtering in from the bottom of the western sky, but still it seemed bright to Philip compared to the inside of the storage building. About twenty yards away stood Charles, Rebecca, and Laura. Off to the side and behind them stood Graham and Mo and their rifles.

Philip smiled, feeling self-conscious. It was then that he remembered his feelings upon first being locked in, the shame of failing in his duties, of putting the town at risk. That shame returned as he scanned the faces before him.

His fear of what the others thought was fleeting, however, as Rebecca took the first steps toward him and then Charles and Laura followed. Everyone was smiling, and Rebecca was embracing him. He felt Laura’s hand on his shoulder as Rebecca said welcome back. Her voice was choked up, and he realized there was a lump in his throat as well; his eyes were watering and he felt happy and ashamed and loved all at once.

After Rebecca embraced him, he looked at Charles, who was smiling broadly and also seemed on the verge of tears. He stepped forward and embraced his son, for the first time that Philip could remember.

Philip looked over his shoulder at Graham, who had not approached. Maybe he didn’t want to interrupt the family’s moment, Philip thought. So he waved to his friend, and Graham nodded back.

“How you feeling?” Graham asked without a smile.

“Just fine. Doctor says I’m all right.” Philip stepped toward Graham, but Graham and then Mo backed away. Philip stopped.

“I think we should keep away just for now,” Graham said evenly.

Philip looked down instinctively, as if he had been scolded. He stepped back into the fold of his family and looked at Charles.

“He wants to be extra careful,” Charles said quietly. “He has a baby at home.”

Philip nodded as if he understood, but he was confused. Doc Banes had just given him a clean bill of health. So was he a threat or wasn’t he? Philip saw that Graham continued to watch the storage room as if he still feared the soldier inside it. Charles, too, wore a look of concern, one that his smile and embrace had momentarily concealed. “Is everything okay?” Philip asked.

Charles nodded, then suggested that maybe Rebecca and Laura could head home and prepare supper. This seemed to be a coded message of some sort. Rebecca nodded, and the two were quickly on their way.

“Philip,” Charles said once they were out of earshot, “what has the soldier told you about himself?”

Philip shrugged. “Plenty. We’ve been locked up together for two days.”

Charles asked about the soldier’s family, where he was from, what he did for a living. Philip answered as best he could.

“Is there anything about him that you’ve found…suspicious?” Charles asked.

Philip didn’t understand where this was going. He thought of the times during the past two days when the normally jovial Frank would go quiet, the moments that had left him feeling cold.

“What do you mean?”

Charles told Philip about the morning visit from the APL, and though he didn’t share all the details, he mentioned the possibility of a German spy in the area.

“A spy?” Philip felt betrayed, though he wasn’t sure who had betrayed him. He liked Frank, even felt that they’d become friends. “He told me he’s from Missoula—”

“Did he say anything about three soldiers being killed?”

“No. He said he was in a naval accident, and he and one other guy landed together. I think that was the guy that we—” He cut himself off. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing—never mind. I didn’t believe them, either.” Charles patted him on the shoulder, offering a smile that looked forced. “Why don’t you catch up with Rebecca and Laura? I just need to stay a moment and speak with Dr. Banes after he’s finished.”

Even though he didn’t understand what was happening, Philip turned around and, without looking back at Graham, hurried off as quickly as his wooden foot would allow. Rebecca’s and Laura’s figures were barely visible in the fading light.

“That bodes well for me, I guess,” Frank said to Doc Banes after Philip had walked out the door.

“Let’s not take anything for granted,” Banes replied, examining Frank as closely as he had Philip, inspecting his throat and ears, listening to his heart and lungs.

Within minutes, Banes had reached his conclusion: the man was healthy.

“Are a lot of the men at Fort Jenkins sick?” Banes asked, knowing the answer.

“A few. Not many.”

Banes listened again to the man’s lungs, which he had already determined were healthy. “That’s fortunate. Other camps aren’t so lucky.”

“I’ve heard.”

Banes stepped behind him and put the stethoscope on Frank’s back again, asked him to breathe normally. He noticed abrasions on the sides of Frank’s neck, as if he had been in a fight, wrestled to the ground. The marks looked like they had faded with time; they must have been quite bad a few days ago, though his shirt collar would have concealed them. His right shoulder was badly bruised.

“You said you were in a naval accident?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You didn’t fall in the water, did you?”

“No, sir. But it was pretty hairy out there.”

“Why were you on a ship? I thought you were in the army, not the navy.”

There was the shortest of pauses. “It was a landing drill. Everyone in the army does them, far as I know.”

“What exactly happened?”

“I’m not too sure. Either we hit something or something hit us, and the boat started going down. It was at night, and I was below deck at the time.”

Banes contemplated how far he should push this. His fingers had started shaking somewhat, which is why he was spending so much time at the soldier’s back, where his nervousness would not be on display. But he wanted to see Frank’s eyes when he asked the next question. He walked around and put his thumb on Frank’s right eyebrow, pulling up. The idea of examining an eye in this dim light was absurd, but hopefully his patient wouldn’t realize it.

“Is that how the three soldiers died?” Banes asked.

Frank’s neck twitched, dislodging Banes’s finger.

“What soldiers?”

Banes considered reaching for the eyebrow again, pretending to continue the farcical examination, but he chose against it. He felt unsafe now. He should walk away, but he felt tantalizingly close to discovering what he was looking for.

“The three soldiers who were killed at Fort Jenkins last week.”

The soldier looked at him long and hard. “Is this examination over, Doctor?”

Banes stepped back. “You appear healthy to me, Private.”

“Then I’d better be going.” Frank gave Banes a final glance, then picked up his shirt, buttoning it as he quickly walked toward the door.

“Graham!”

Banes’s shout was a shock to the soldier, who barely had time to understand what the word meant or why it was shouted when the door before him swung open. Frank had been less than ten feet from escaping his dark and stinking prison, ten feet from the night and the cold and the stars, when two men with rifles stepped in and pointed their weapons at his chest.

“Stop right there, buddy,” Graham commanded. Charles followed right behind Graham and Mo; all three wore gauze masks.

Doc Banes stepped to the side, walking out of the rifle’s sights in a large semicircle until he was standing alongside the guards.

“What is this?” the soldier asked, and despite the dim light, his inquisitors could see his face turning pale.

Doc spoke into Charles’s ear, loudly enough for Graham and Mo to hear but not the soldier. “I don’t believe him. He’s hiding something.” Banes paused. “But he does seem healthy.”

“I’m a United States soldier,” Frank declared. “You can’t keep me here anymore. You let Philip out—”

“Philip hasn’t been accused of being a spy, and he hasn’t been accused of murder,” Charles said evenly.

Frank shook his head. “I am not a spy.” He did not seem to be startled by the accusation.

“What’s your real name, and where are you really from? And what were you doing at Fort Jenkins?”

“My name is Frank Summers.” His voice sounded choked, from either the strain of lying or something else. “I’m from Missoula, Montana. And I was doing what every other American man was doing—except some of the guys in this town, so I hear.”

Charles folded his arms. “I find it strange that you haven’t asked us to contact your base, Private. If this is all a misunderstanding, couldn’t you clear things up with a quick telephone call?” Of course Commonwealth had no telephones, but Charles wanted to hear the man’s response.

“Please…” Frank looked down at the floor, then back at Charles. Whether he was trying to find a possible weapon, an escape route, or an answer to Charles’s question was unclear to his captors. “Please, just let me go. I’m not a spy, I’m just…” He shook his head. “I’m no danger to anyone.”

He still hasn’t denied the murder charge, Banes thought, somewhat amazed. The man before them suddenly looked so pitiful—a dirty tatterdemalion with uncombed hair, an untended beard, and a look of absolute despair. But if the guns weren’t trained on him, perhaps he would be grinning behind their backs.