Why indeed? It wasn’t only food, they imported ammunition, clothes, vehicles, medical supplies. This is how it worked.
‘They eat and drink with polystyrene cups and plates,’ she explained. ‘Three times a day.’ Three plates, three cups, three sets of knives and forks. Every person out there adding to the problem.
* * *
The light from Kiprowski’s alarm lit the room. A small battery radio with shortwave and FM, which picked up nothing but static. Kiprowski slept on his side and faced Rem, and in his sleep he shunted the sheet and blanket down to his feet. In the morning, before the temperature rose, he curled up tight with his arms locked about his knees, and while he didn’t snore he breathed through his mouth with a slight rasp. He appeared restless, on guard, inward, wrapped up.
Rem lay for as long as he could manage, then rose and collected his clothes and boots to dress outside. When he looked at Kiprowski he was surprised to see him awake.
‘What’s the time?’
‘Still early. There’s no need for you to get up until the convoy gets here.’
Kiprowski gave a small nod. ‘I’ll get up.’
‘There’s no need. There’s another hour.’
The boy swept his hand down to his calves to find the sheet.
* * *
Two convoys arrived pre-dawn, a total of thirty-two trucks loaded with trash accompanied by a military escort. The first driver jumped out of his cab in a white suit with a hood. The man, already short, appeared shorter because the leggings rutted from his ankles to his knees, showing orange rubber boots, white gloves with red palms.
‘I’m thinking circus.’ Watts coughed, struck his chest to clear his throat. ‘Maybe Christmas.’
Rem watched the drivers disembark, one after another, in white hazmat suits, full-body, zipped up, protective boots and padded gloves. The military also wore breathing gear, visors, and gloves. A few had wrapped scarves about their heads.
‘This is not my favourite part of the movie. This where we learn bad things.’
Rem was told to keep his men away. The fires would be started and they would not be required.
‘That’s Level C. What they’re wearing.’
Rem took his cue from Watts, who didn’t appear worried.
‘Known contaminants which aren’t airborne. You have any idea what they’ve brought?’
Pakosta joined Rem and Watts outside the Quonset.
‘The bags inside the trucks are white. That’s medical. Those bags are medical waste. That’s thirty-two trucks of medical waste.’
‘They shut the hospital at Amrah?’
‘I don’t want to know.’
‘Look at the dirt.’ Watts pointed at the wheels as the trucks rolled slowly in line toward the pits. ‘Looks like they’ve come a ways.’
* * *
The men remained at the camp and gathered under the new awning, a little concerned by the change in procedure.
Sutler followed after Watts and pestered for a comm-link. ‘I’ll take what I can get. I need to get a message through this morning.’
Watts said he would stay on it. If something came through he’d find him immediately. Watts made a face to Rem signalling that he wanted to talk.
‘He wants to speak with some guy in Washington, DC, not state.’
‘Any idea who?’
‘Some guy called Jesus. I’m not kidding.’
From the direction of the burn pits came a soft percussive bump, followed seconds later by a similar noise, louder, harder.
The men came out from under the canopy and looked up, puzzled. Some shielded their eyes — all focused on the rising block of smoke.
Fires burned in one, two and four. And from Pit 4 the smoke began to change from black to brown to yellow.
Santo sought out Rem. He thought he’d recognized one of the drivers from Anaconda. White bags meant plastic and polystyrene, right? ‘Nothing but plates? Right?’
‘They were in hazmat suits. White bags are bio or medical waste. Black or blue bags are plastics.’
‘You think it was military?’
The base of the column roiled a thick pure yellow. ‘Any idea what makes smoke turn that colour?’ Rem asked.
‘No idea.’
Rem shielded his eyes. ‘You think that’s chemical?’
Santo nodded. ‘There’s no telling what they’re getting rid of now.’
Rem returned to the awning. ‘I don’t want anyone going near those pits today. Keep an eye on it. If you see that smoke descending, if the wind changes, if you smell anything different, I want everyone out of the way. In future no one goes near the fire without protection. Masks. Suits. No excuses.’ Captivated by the smoke, the men nodded. ‘Watts.’ Rem walked with Watts back to his cabin. ‘I want you to contact Amrah, get Markland, and find out what was in those loads today. Get back to me as soon as you can.’
Sutler, Rem noticed, walked to the Quonset.
* * *
The smoke flattened above the camp, thick enough to block the sun and rob the colour from their lips. Chimeno, as a joke, dressed in one of the protection suits and staggered zombie-fashion between the cabins.
Sutler sat with Rem as they waited for their calls. Watts came first for Sutler. Sure enough, the same guy, Jesus, he was talking with the other day.
Sutler, a little irritated at the name, made his excuses and hurried to take the call.
Rem looked to the cabin and noticed that Sutler had closed the door. ‘Any luck getting hold of Markland?’
‘He’s not available. I asked someone at his office to get back as soon as they can. Apparently Markland’s the wrong man for the job. This comes under someone called Rose. He’s the environmental specialist. Guess where he’s gone? Damascus. And the way things are going he won’t be getting out any time soon.’
An idea struck Rem and he asked Watts to repeat the name of the man calling for Sutler. ‘Just humour me, what was the name again?’
‘Jesus or something. Cheese. Cheeser.’
‘Geezler?’ Rem gave deliberate emphasis to the hard gee, as in grease.
‘Greesler. Right. That’s what I said.’
Now Rem was interested. What was Sutler doing talking with Geezler? And why was Geezler available to Sutler but not to him?
‘Did he ask you to call him?’
Watts said yes, then thought for a moment. ‘He didn’t give me the name, I overheard it. I thought he said Jesus. I recognized the voice.’
Clark walked by, towel in hand. ‘What’s all this talk about cheese?’
Watts turned sharply. What was Clark talking about?
‘Jesus? Cheeses? What are you talking about?’
‘You think I talk funny? You don’t like how I talk? I’m not fancy enough?’
Clark held up his hands. ‘Jesus Christ, Watts, what did I say?’
Watts walked off to his cabin, leaving Rem with Clark and Pakosta.
‘What was that about?’
Pakosta blew out his cheeks. ‘Time of the month.’
‘Pakosta, just once, leave it alone.’ Clark unwound the towel from about his neck. ‘It’s his daughter’s birthday.’
Sutler came out of Watts’ cabin rubbing his hands together.
‘You know Paul Geezler?’ Rem asked.
‘No. Just as a name. He was passing on some information, third party, contracts.’ Sutler smiled, satisfied, an explanation so thin it carried no conviction. ‘The delivery comes this afternoon. Did you have any luck finding out what was in the load this morning?’
Reluctantly Rem admitted that he was wasting his time. But seriously, Geezler? From Europe?
‘Why?’ Now Sutler sounded suspicious.
‘I’ve been trying to speak with him for a while.’
‘Well, I can’t help you. Try calling him back.’ Sutler looked up to the cloud. ‘You need to speak with someone about that. There’s no telling what they’re getting rid of. What was wrong with Watts?’