Indivisible Line (3 page)

Shutting her eyes, her mind wandered back to Lily’s bellyaching the day before. There was no doubt her best friend would’ve taken off at the first opportunity if she’d been able to leave with Trimble at her side. That was the crux of her friend’s dilemma. Lily and Trimble were in love with each other, and she didn’t have the heart to leave him behind. Therein lay the problem, since he and Sarah had been promised to each other since they were children.

Being her father’s daughter, she was subject to one of the traditions of the tribe. Ahila had to make one sacrifice as a rite of passage before he would be heralded as the tribe’s leader, and so he had betrothed his first-born to a suitable family. So she and Trimble had been paired up, even before they had taken their first steps or uttered their first words.

And that was that. No ifs, ands, buts, or whys. You just accepted what was handed to you.

Regardless of her feelings, she didn’t have the courage to criticize the arrangement. This unwillingness had earned her Lily’s favorite words—
sad
,
unfair
, and
cruel
. Being Ahila’s daughter had definitely complicated her life. Throughout their childhood, she, Trimble, and Lily had tried to think of ways to break the arrangement. If he eloped with Lily, it would enrage and shame their families. Sarah and Trimble tried talking to their parents to discuss the possibility of dissolving the arrangement but to no avail. They both had been turned down so fast they still reeled from the experience.

“You will be a suitable wife to Trimble when he becomes the next leader of our tribe,” her father had repeated once again when he’d sensed her resistance to the betrothal. Suitable? He made it sound as if they were pairing clothes instead of discussing his daughter’s eventual fate.

Still, the three friends continued to concoct scenarios during their summer breaks in high school, looking for an acceptable excuse to sever the deal. Most were flimsy at best, leading them back to where they’d started, the clock still ticking away like a time bomb waiting to detonate.

Their wedding had been scheduled during the winter solstice after her graduation from med school, which was in a year. Then what? She’d live a long life devoid of real love, never having known the true meaning or feeling behind the celebrated sensation. Sarah had no unrealistic notions about marriage, being well aware of the sacrifices associated with the union. It was a binding tie that was expected to achieve a greater sense of purpose and service that would help lead their people into a better tomorrow.
 

Fantastic!
She rolled her eyes and blew a harsh breath. To her, it sounded more like a nightmare. This future with Trimble might as well be damned even before it began. Heavens! The whole situation could take forever to fathom. Choking back the wave of nausea that blanketed her while thinking of her eventual destiny, she tossed the pillow aside, got up, and marched out of her bedroom.

The creaky floor complained under her weight when she crossed the hallway to the bathroom she shared with her father. He knew her schedule, and he deferred to her more pressing needs before getting ready to set out on his tribe-related tasks.

“Good morning, Papa,” she said in a cheerful voice before closing the door behind her. She heard him grunt in reply and smiled to herself. The man didn’t have an affectionate bone in his body. Dry as toast, his emotions were often masked and guarded, as if displaying sentiments diminished his pride and sense of self-respect. To Ahila, caring and providing had more to do with putting food on the table, planning her life, and seeing her preordained future come to pass.

It took her less than ten minutes to wash her face, brush her teeth, and comb her hair. Donning her raggedy running outfit of shorts and tank top underneath a faded UCLA sweatshirt, Sarah hustled out of the house with a casual wave to her father. She stopped on the porch, giving the quiet street a brief assessment. Darkness was waning and was beginning to give way to the pink tint of the sun cresting on the horizon. There were two ways that would take her to her usual path—either left or right.
 

Instead, she decided to run toward the outer lying wilderness, a decision that would be frowned upon by her father and the rest of the male population. While the tribe wanted to believe the forest was safe, it was home to hungry bears and occasional wolves. As a general rule, these animals would not attack unprovoked unless cornered, but accidents did happen. Sarah pulled down the hood of her sweatshirt and started walking to the left toward the wooded area.

The minute she cleared the rows of houses, she quickened her pace. “Dotson’Sa, what do you have planned for me today?” Yeah, she’d been reduced to calling out for the Great Raven to answer her prayers for guidance, strength, and well . . .
something
constructive to occupy her time. “Can you give me something more exciting than reading and rearranging the supplies for the hundredth time?”

A nippy breeze shot across her face when she broke into a jog to get her heart rate up. There were a few people walking in the street—early risers, just like her. They waved at her as she passed by. She raised her hand to wave back before breaking into a faster pace.

Hours later and a few pages away from finishing the book she’d been reading, the walkie-talkie blasted with a resounding crackle.

“Just when I’m getting to the juicy part,” she muttered. She picked up the portable radio, but her eyes never left the page. “This is Sarah,” she grumbled, before releasing the button and resuming her reading.

“Sarah, it’s Trimble.” His voice boomed from the speaker.
 

She shook her head at the unnecessary introduction. Who wouldn’t recognize his deep voice even with their eyes closed?
 

“Get ready. Place a call to Dr. Ancheta, if you can reach him.”

“Get ready for what?” Sarah shot up out of her chair, dropping the book on the desk to pick up the transmitter again. “What’s going on?”

“We’re bringing in a gunshot victim,” Trimble’s voice rumbled over. “We’re a few minutes away.”

Heavens!
She’d asked for action but not this.

“Okay, I’m calling Dr. Ancheta now.” Sarah sprang to her feet and skidded across the room to get to the phone that was attached to the wall. Dialing with feverish speed, she waited for an answer, but the voice mail kicked in instead. While the message played, she made mental notes of what to do when the group arrived. “Dr. Ancheta, you have to come right away. We have a gunshot victim. I don’t know the patient’s condition yet.”

That was the problem with not having a resident doctor. Dr. Ancheta was based in Fairbanks, but he had taken on the task of visiting the neighboring small towns to help out. He traveled nonstop, and there was no way of knowing if he would be able to get there in time.

Sarah grabbed her lab coat from the hanger behind the door and put it on just as the sound of screeching tires and shouts rang out from the street. She peered out the window while soaping her hands.

Curious Gwich’ins started filling the street, and the same question marked their faces:
What the hell is going on?
The once-quiet and sleepy afternoon had turned into a circus. People closed in on the jeep, making the process of unloading the passenger cumbersome.

“Please, step back!” Sarah heard Mark Simpson, one of the expedition employees, yell.

“Sarah?” Trimble’s voice echoed in the tiny clinic when the pounding of heavy footsteps got closer.

“I’m in here.” Sarah snapped the second glove on her hand and removed the plastic covering from the exam table. She flicked on the big industrial lamp, and the dim room came alive, bathed in light.

Trimble, Mark, and Mr. Compche, an elder in their community, rushed in. Between them they carried the body of a bloody, unconscious man. With trepidation, Sarah shot a look in Trimble’s direction, her eyes posing the question she couldn’t make herself say out loud.

“You have no choice, Sarah. If you don’t do something, he won’t survive.” Trimble knew her well enough to know what she needed to hear. Ethical or not, she had to do something. She had sufficient training to know what to do in these types of situations.

Where the hell is Dr. Ancheta?
 

She gave a grim nod.
“Put him down on the exam table, but be careful,” she instructed, rushing to get the instruments she’d need to perform the impromptu surgery. Laying her tools on a steel rolling cart, she heard the men make grunting sounds while they hoisted the man up onto the table. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed the length of the man’s body made the other, average-sized men look rather small in comparison. Fatigue marked their faces, especially that of old Cyril Compche. The weathered eyes shot a brief glance at Sarah before they flickered back to the patient.

“Did you try to call Dr. Ancheta?” Mr. Compche asked, still catching his breath.

“I did and left him a message.”

“I heard he’s in College today. No telling how soon he’ll get here, if he can even make it before this man . . .” Mark’s voice trailed off.

Running back to the exam table, Sarah picked up the stranger’s wrist to check for a pulse. Faint. His breaths were shallow. “Bring the oxygen tank here,” she ordered, and Trimble jumped to get the breathing apparatus. Once the oxygen tank had been rolled closer, Sarah grabbed the mask, placed it on the man’s face, and adjusted the elastic over his head.

She picked up the scissors and cut through the man’s expensive-looking snow parka and the layers of thermal shirts underneath. Shoving aside the garments and examining the blood-soaked skin, she found the entrance wound. It was located in the lower abdomen, and there was no exit wound, which explained the decreased external bleeding. She shook her head and took a deep breath. Time was of the essence, and there was not a moment to lose.

Sarah glanced at the man’s face and silently implored,
Please don’t die.

Already in “doctor mode,” she started barking out orders to Trimble since Mark was standing motionless next to the table with his face frozen into a shocked expression. “Trimble, grab the IV bag and bring it here.”
 

Her sharp command made everyone in the room jump, but Trimble sprang into action. He came back with the bag within seconds.

“Hold the bag upside down, then hang it on the pole.” She was working at a feverish pace, connecting the cannula to the IV bag and placing a tourniquet on the man’s arm. When she found the vein, she inserted the needle with practiced ease.

“What can you tell me about him?” she asked while she inserted the syringe and taped it into place.

“We don’t know who he is. We heard the gunshot, and by the time we got there, he was already unconscious.”

Sarah pursed her lips and shook her head, feeling an indescribable cloud of despair wash over her.

“Where is Lily?” Precious seconds were ticking by, and the sooner she worked on the victim, the better his chances of survival. Her eyes returned to the man’s face, noting its regal features despite the pallor of his skin.
Don’t you dare die on my table!

“She’s coming. I sent someone to get her.” Trimble’s calm demeanor had fallen away, but it was understandable. It wasn’t every day they saw a white man—or anyone for that matter—get shot on their land.

“Check his pockets to see if he has any identification,” Cyril, who had been leaning against the wall watching the process, suggested. His expression was unreadable while he observed Trimble slip his hand underneath the man’s body to fish for a wallet.
 

Trimble shook his head and moved to the other side to try again. “Nothing. He has nothing on him.”

Sarah’s head shot up. “No identification? How could a tourist have traveled here without any? Don’t you guys have that as a prerequisite for each hunter you take with you?” It seemed odd that the company would agree to bend the rules for anyone, let alone allow him to get injured on their watch. “Who shot him?”

Trimble shrugged. “He is not a part of our touring group. We found him three miles off the clearing after Mars caught his scent. As far as who did it, your guess is as good as mine.”

A gust of wind swirled around the room, followed by the sound of the clinic’s front door opening and closing. Lily burst into the room, holding her sewing supplies. She worked as an assistant in the clinic in addition to being the town’s seamstress.