Cho could see the diagnosis shocked Kary, but she stayed focused, probably because she had patients to take care of. She asked, “Is there any treatment that you know of, other than atropine, administered immediately?”
Cho shook his head sadly. “No, at this point it’s just supportive care. But they probably still have the chemical on their clothes or skin. If so, they’re still absorbing the toxin, increasing their dosage. They have to be decontaminated immediately, along with anything they have touched.” He held up a gloved hand. “Your instincts were good. We can’t touch them directly. The good news is soap and water — lots of both — breaks the chemical down. Their outer clothing should be buried.”
Moon reported, “Fowler-seonsaengnim, this one is dead.” She was pointing to the younger man.
Kary nodded sadly. “We’ll decontaminate him as well.” For a Korean funeral, bathing the deceased was the first step in preparing the body anyway. She turned to Cho. “Will you please instruct the militia soldiers while I tend to my patients?”
While Kary gave orders to her helpers, Cho explained to the militiamen how to decontaminate the stretchers and anything else the patients had touched, and what symptoms to watch for.
He also told them to note any shells or rockets that did not explode with their customary force, or that seemed to give off smoke or vapor. They were so rattled by the words “nerve gas” that he had to repeat his instructions twice, and he wasn’t sure they would remember any of it.
She was waiting for him after he sent the militiamen off. “Those men are afraid,” she observed.
“They have every right to be,” Cho answered. “They have neither the knowledge nor the materials to protect themselves, or this town.”
“How long does nerve gas last?” she asked.
“Sarin is ‘nonpersistent.’ It breaks down after several hours, although pockets in sheltered areas can remain dangerous longer. Sunlight and water causes the gas molecule to break up. It’s hot today, which will speed the process, but it also makes the chemical more active, more lethal, until it does. Other types of nerve gas are ‘persistent.’ Their effects can last for weeks or months. If someone has used chemical weapons in the fighting, then part of Pyongyang, probably a large part of the city, is poisoned.”
“Why a large part?” she asked.
“Because nerve gas is an area weapon. Using only a few shells or rockets accomplishes nothing.”
“Someday I hope you will tell me how you know so much about sarin, and about your phone.”
“When we have the time, Fowler-seonsaengnim, you may ask me any question you wish, and I will tell you the truth.”
They were almost at the entrance to the clinic when Cho suddenly stopped walking. “Fowler-seonsaengnim,” he said firmly, “we must leave this place. Now. Immediately.” Cho’s tone was urgent, almost frantic.
“Are we in danger here? Can the gas drift that far?” she asked.
“Not from the center of the city,” Cho answered, “but from western edge, yes. And the fighting will spread,” he added. “Parts of Pyongyang are now impassible. The combatants will have to fight elsewhere.”
The look of fear on Kary’s face told Cho she understood the threat. Like the other horrors of war, civilians always suffered far more than the soldiers.
“But my patients, the staff…”
“Anyone who breathes is at risk. The whole town should get as far away from the city as possible.”
“Then go,” she said. “You’re recovered enough. The stiches can come out…”
“No,” he said firmly. “Not without Cheon Ji-hyo and her family. I can’t leave them after all the effort to get them here. And I won’t leave without Moon Su-bin, or you.”
“But they need me here.”
“You have to be alive to help them. And we might meet one or two people on our way that could use your skills.”
Cho could see that she was weakening, and felt a surge of hope. Cho pressed his point, mind racing as he proposed a plan. “We do it right away — this instant. Tell your staff and patients to gather their families here.”
“But the neighborhood monitors will find out. They’ll never allow it.”
Cho shook his head in disagreement. “Didn’t you say Sergeant Choi was in charge of this neighborhood? Considering what you’ve told me, he’ll probably help us load the trucks.”
“What trucks?” she asked.
“The ones I’m going to get from the town’s collective, ‘on the orders of Song-dongji‘”
“But…”
“Right now, those panicked militiamen are spreading news of the nerve gas through the town. The mayor and his officials will be so terrified that by the time he understands what’s going on, we will be gone.”
She remained silent, considering his plan. Her face was a mask, and his fears grew that she’d say no. Finally, Kary reluctantly nodded. “All right. I’ll get us organized here, but I’m sending Moon Su-bin with you. Her cousin Ja Joon-ho works at the collective’s motor pool, and he can drive.”
Cho walked off at a brisk pace with Moon in tow. Kary had placed her trust in a surprisingly knowledgeable stranger with a mysterious background. She said a quick prayer for their success and ran into the clinic. It only took a few minutes to tell everyone what they were doing. It really wasn’t a detailed plan. Most nodded, willing to trust her — in fact, willing to trust her with their lives.
Messengers ran off to gather families. By now, word of the desperately sick patients that had just arrived was spreading through the town, overlapping with the stories about the nerve gas. She proposed that, if questioned, people were coming to the clinic “to check on their family members.”
Once the staff was moving, Kary took the time to speak with each of her patients. Gam Sook-ja, Cheon Ji-hyo, and the other patients from Pyongang were eager to leave. They had no ties to Sinan, and had already suffered in the fighting. Now their home was poisoned. They couldn’t go back for some time.
The other patients were also willing, except for Rang Gi-taek. He was barely conscious, and one of his grandchildren spoke on his behalf. “We were preparing to take him home anyway. We will do it now.” If it was possible, Koreans near death were brought home, not only for comfort in their last hours, but so that their spirits would be rooted to the place where they had lived, and not become lost.
There was precious little food and medical supplies to take, and Kary knew that eventually they would have lost it to looters, or seen it destroyed when her mission was engulfed in fighting. It might be enough to keep them alive until they reached the advancing Southern army.
Thoughts about armies caused her to step outside and listen to the sounds of the fighting. To her newly experienced ears, the shelling and gunfire seemed no closer, but intense. She often compared it with the sounds of a summer thunderstorm. She prayed it would remain distant.
Families began arriving in ones and twos and threes, and they were told to wait in the clinic. Some of them were telling wild tales about the fighting in the capital, or what was happening elsewhere in Sinan. None of the news was good, and Kary saw justifiable fear start to become unreasonable panic, to the point where she told Ok Min-seo, the cook, to put every able-bodied soul to work at anything she could think of.
With no immediate crises apparent, Kary took a few minutes to gather a few personal items from her quarters and the office. She wanted to take the Bible from the chapel. It had been a gift from her family, but she weighed its worth against the danger of being discovered with “religious items.” Standing in the chapel, considering, she heard the sound of truck engines.
She ran outside to see two, then three trucks turn off the road into the mission. She waved them around back, behind the dining hall, and ran in between the buildings to meet them there. Cho and Moon were in the first one, a blue stake truck that had been fitted with wooden sides, then a military-looking flatbed, and then another stake truck that might have been white, a long time ago.