“They’re showing signs of contamination,” she said. “It could lead to sepsis, and we’d find the five of them dead the next time we came in here.”
Sunday thought a few moments, said, “I don’t like that. If they die, I want it to be at my hands.”
“What I thought,” she said. “But your quack doctor there told me that if this kind of contamination ever happened, we should remove the tubes and change the depth of the comas.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they wouldn’t be out cold like this, and they’d be able to breathe on their own without the tubes. But they’ll still be so doped up, they won’t move.”
Sunday studied her, said, “What about food?”
“The IVs will carry them through the next check.”
“Your call,” he said finally. “You’re the medical professional.”
Acadia nodded, relieved. “It’ll take me ten or fifteen minutes. You might want to go tell the captain so he doesn’t come snooping around.”
“Oh, he’s …” Sunday said, then hesitated. “No, that’s a good idea. Lock it up when you’re done.”
“Tight,” she said.
At each bunk, Acadia reprogrammed the Harvard pump, cutting off the paralytic and lowering the dosages of the other two drugs by 55 percent. She also shortened the duration of the infusion so that about forty-two hours from that moment, they would all start to wake up.
Last, Acadia loosened the restraints so that in forty-five hours or so, one of them might be able to get free and help the others. If the change in the medications worked the way she expected, a few hours after that, by the time they reached New Orleans, they’d be able to pound on the walls, make enough noise to attract attention, and get themselves rescued before Sunday could return.
She’d done enough, she decided as she exited the container, locked the hatch, and tossed the triple-wrapped garbage bag to Sunday. She climbed down, looked up, and said, “So what happens when they get to New Orleans?”
He looked back at her, grinned, said, “I want it to be a surprise. But I guarantee you’ll love it.”
“What’s the matter, Marcus? Don’t trust me?”
CHAPTER
56
SUNDAY COCKED HIS HEAD at the question before saying, “No, it’s just that at this point, there are a few ways this can go, all of them fantastic. For now I’ll keep my options open but close to my chest.”
He turned and went down the gangway to the docks where the barge captain, Scotty Creel, was waiting.
Creel said, “So how’s the new system working for you?”
Sunday acted the entrepreneur, said, “So far, so good.”
“You think this will work all over the world? Solar-based refrigeration?”
“Wouldn’t that be something?” Sunday said, and he laughed. “I came up with this idea off the top of my head. We’ll see you in two and a half days and let you know.”
The captain said, “We’ll be there faster than that. Probably less than forty-eight hours. I figure we’ll be at the port before two or three Wednesday morning. River’s really starting to move now, heading toward flood stage.”
“Excellent,” Sunday said.
But Acadia didn’t think that was excellent at all. The Cross family might be coming around by then, but they certainly would not be capable of making much noise.
She followed Sunday off the docks, and they walked up the bank to a small lot where their rental car, a Chevy Malibu, was parked. On the road outside the fenced-in area, another Kenworth tractor-trailer idled with Cochran behind the wheel. They’d rented the rig in case something catastrophic had happened and they were forced to remove the container.
“I’ll go tell him we’re good,” Sunday said, checking his watch. “We’ve got a few hours before the flight back, and he’s going to want to eat. Any preference?”
“I’m not really hungry,” Acadia said.