POSTHUMAN

Chapter Fourteen

Marcus spent two weeks visiting every Providence installation in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. He had seen each province of the country in excruciatingly boring detail. At long last, he would finally be allowed back to Kinshasa for some well-deserved rest. As was his custom upon returning from the field, he went to check in with Philip.

He arrived at Kinshasa HQ early enough to know that Philip would be on duty at the Save the Children's medical unit. In his hands was a cardboard box filled with gifts for the patients, his adjutants carried boxes of gifts too. It neared Christmas, well December, and Marcus had come over all paternal. He decided to order presents for the kids, using his position to make sure they arrived in Kinshasa when he did. Now he led a little procession through the aid camp, to the long medical tents where ailing children slept. His adjutants spread out amongst the tents, he could hear the excitement build as tent after tent realised what was happening.

        Marcus entered Angelene's tent, two of the beds were empty and a nurse was there instead of Philip. Angelene glanced at Marcus, a look of pity. "Hey, have these kids been moved?" Marcus placed the box on one of the unoccupied beds.

        The nurse, her name tag said Shauna, looked up at Marcus, she spoke warily, "Complications during surgery, something the FY2 missed, he couldn't have known it with the equipment we have out here. We lost both children. What's in there?"

        She pointed at the box of presents, Marcus felt numb, "Gifts...Where's Dr Albion?"

     "He said he needed some time. I'll make sure the kids get these, they definitely need them," Shauna offered a small smile, he tried to send one back. He turned to leave and a soft voice called out to him just before he could pass the threshold, "Dépêche-toi Marcus, s'il te plaît,dépêche-toi." ~ Hurry to him, Marcus...please, hurry.

        Marcus broke into a run, Angelene rarely spoke. He needed to get to Philip's tent.

Philip's door was rolled down and zipped up. Marcus recognised the song he could hear being played, but couldn't quite remember the name, something for cello and piano. He unzipped the flap and lifted enough to get inside but then let it fall back down once he was inside. Philip sat at his desk, his terminal was on (playing the music), the desk lamp the only other source of illumination. A bottle of bourbon and an empty tumbler stood on the desk, next to them lay a pistol, Philip's hand rested on top of it. Marcus could feel his heartbeat in his throat, for a single awful instant he thought Philip was already dead. A fraction of the tension was alleviated when Philip's looked to him, the man was alive for now. "What the hell are you doing?" Marcus stood just in from the entrance.

        "Being a fucking coward, on top of a being a failure. But you're a little early, you should have been here just after..." Philip ran his eyes lazily around the tent, as if he thought this was the last chance he'd get to do so, "Here I am the clinically depressive, bleeding-heart liberal getting ready to blow his brains out."

        Marcus was opposite him all of a sudden, on the other side of the desk, "You couldn't have helped it, Philip, you couldn't have known those kids wouldn't make it through."

        "Yes, I fucking could! I'd been around them for weeks, and I didn't know they were inoperable!" Philip snapped at Marcus and leapt up, his features set in a grimace.

        "What are you now? A miracle worker! A fucking psychic! How in god's name are you supposed to know a kid's medical records if they've been found dying in the street?" Marcus leaned across the table, hands balled into fists, "You brought them back from the brink, Phil – you did everything in your power for them and they loved you for it."