Fourth: this is the frightening part. These items, when burned, produce toxic gases and particles. Particles are measured in PM (Particulate Matter). Anything that is smaller than PM2.5 (this would be a regular flake of ash — comparable to a snowflake) can be ingested very easily. The smaller the particle, the more dangerous it is, as it can be breathed in deeper. The chemicals are scary, and include: PCPs (banned), hydrochlorine, benzene, dioxins, cadmium, arsenic. Alongside heavy metals: lead and mercury (from batteries). It’s a serious list.
Five: To some degree the health problems help to indicate what has been burnt. Throat, mouth, and nose problems can be caused by exposure to smoke over any period of time. Dry coughing, numbness anywhere (chest, arms, legs), heart problems (palpitations), headaches, migraines, problems with sight, passing out — all indicate a smaller PM and a bigger problem. This is a crude outline, but if you can look back over your correspondence and see if there is any mention (nosebleeds, headaches, passing out) give me the dates, as far as you know, and the length of time that this lasted.
Please. If you know anything different, or have any information, please send it to me at this address: cgunnersen@hotmail.com
I hate to send you news which can only make things harder. Remember that most times a headache is simply a headache. But if you are hearing of other problems, then we have to think carefully about what our men have been exposed to, and we need to consider what kind of action to take.
If you have any questions, please use the above email.
Cathy
* * *
In the late afternoon Rem drove Sutler around the compound perimeter, and they found most of the fencing gone or in poor condition, the posts leaning forward so that the fence could be easily straddled. In some places there were no signs, or wire, or posts to delimit the camp. On the map the compound ran roughly three miles by one, a panhandle cut by the Beach into the top left corner gave it the same outline as Utah.
While Rem drove with care, the ground changed from pockets of sand to hard shale and the drive took longer than he wanted. Beyond the Beach the land dropped and Sutler agreed that the view was missing something. A strong wind pulled toward them and the horizon gave out to an itchy pink fuzz. Every half-mile Sutler told Rem to stop and he hopped out to hold up a piece of equipment, a compass, as far as Rem could tell, which he kept in a small worn leather pouch. Rem cautioned him about the sun. If the vehicle broke down they’d face a hot walk. It might be late in the day but the sun could still cause trouble.
Sutler’s paleness distressed him, the man wasn’t covered up, and skin that delicate would sear in no time at all. He explained how the sun here cooked you, how you wouldn’t feel it until it was too late, and in that thin shirt the man didn’t stand a chance, but Sutler seemed not to listen.
‘Your first time in a desert?’
Sutler weighed a compass in his hand, shook it, and held it up. ‘I didn’t have much of a warning. Put together what I had at hand. Didn’t have much time to think it through.’
Sutler couldn’t get a proper reading as the compass would not lock onto GPS. He held the device up, shook it, studied the screen.
They both looked at the screen, Sutler’s hand providing shade, and watched it register north, then north-north-west, then twist suddenly south.
‘It shouldn’t be doing that.’
‘It’s the same with the phones. They work fine in the evening. Any other time it’s hit and miss.’
Sutler strode about the vehicle. ‘It’s something in the car.’ He held up the compass. ‘No. Now it’s indicating north again.’
Rem asked if Sutler could help him out.
‘I’m thinking maybe you should have someone working with you? Kiprowski, for example. Someone to drive you about? If that’s what you need?’
Sutler slid the compass back into its cover. ‘Kiprowski? You’ll have to point him out.’
Rem said he’d give the compass to Watts. See if he could take a look. ‘I need to ask something else as well.’
Sutler looked up, eyes tight from the sunlight.
‘I need to ask that you don’t share the information you have on the camp closing.’
‘It’s public. It was in the papers. If I found it—’
‘Keep it to yourself for now. Until we’re told something definite, I’d like this not to be discussed.’
Sutler set his hands on his hips. ‘They should close these places.’ He looked at the smoke rising over the shoulder of the Beach. ‘You don’t even know what’s in that. If any of them ask what I’m doing, I’ll have to say.’
‘And what are you doing?’
Sutler’s expression became weary. ‘I’m here to gather basic information about the site before it’s developed.’
‘Developed into what?’
‘You should get everyone together and I can address this in one go.’ Before Rem could ask for more particulars, Sutler added. ‘Tomorrow would probably be better.’
* * *
Once they were back he left Sutler to it. Watts set up the satphone and Rem failed to speak with Geezler again and told himself not to fret. He ate supper, a pack of plain couscous, and realized when he was eating that he’d used non-potable water. He sat with Chimeno, who pressed for details about Sutler.
‘So what’s he doing here?’
‘I don’t know.’ Rem shrugged. ‘I don’t think he knows. In fact, I don’t think he has a clue.’
They both looked to the Quonset. Sutler sat deep inside, leaned over the table, occasionally animated, but mostly bent close to his maps, studying. As far as Rem could see the maps showed next to nothing, the desert being marked as a blank and featureless expanse.
‘He’s surveying what? The desert?’
‘I guess. As far as I know.’
‘They send one man? That’s not right.’
Rem agreed.
Chimeno sat back and folded his arms. ‘Think about it. When they dig up a street they send an entire crew, they mark up the road, they take measurements, they make all kinds of inconvenience for the utilities alone. A whole desert, you’d reckon they’d send a team. A whole delegation. Some support. No, this is something else.’
No longer hungry, Rem offered his bowl to Chimeno, who said he wasn’t hungry. His stomach, he complained, just wasn’t good these days.
* * *
Rem checked on Sutler before returning to his cabin. He took a quart of water with him and suggested that Sutler should make sure he was drinking enough. The man hadn’t eaten, hadn’t come out of the Quonset.
At first Sutler didn’t pay any attention. His concentration didn’t appear genuine, the way in which he referred to the map, returned to his notebook, drew small designs quickly on one page then another, then leafed back to earlier pages struck Rem as self-conscious, performed. Sutler set down his pencil then seemed to become properly aware of Rem.
‘Which would the men prefer? Beer or whisky?’
‘Beer. I guess.’
Rem didn’t state the obvious, that alcohol was not permitted. The camps and municipal units were dry, and Southern-CIPA demanded compliance. Sutler’s confidence that he could run against regulations bothered him. He spoke about importing booze — an almost impossible task — as if this would incur no effort at all.
What would Rem say, he asked, if he could guarantee one crate for each man in the unit, if Rem could get him a secure long-distance line out of Iraq? Sutler gave a quick smile. ‘There’s equipment arriving tomorrow.’
Rem said he would speak with Watts, they should be able to find a secure line to Southern-CIPA.