“We don’t have supplies,” said Reinhardt.
“We have a few,” said Mazer. “And we have more medical training than any of them likely do. We can help. And we can organize the ones who are unhurt to help as well. These people are fragmented and terrified. They need to gather, get their bearings, and get out of the open. Who knows how much of that defoliant has been sprayed. They could run right into a cloud of it. The best place for them is up high, out of the valleys, where there’s more wind. That farmhouse is as good a place as any.”
“We’re not a transporter,” said Reinhardt. “This thing can only take a few people at once.”
“Then we’ll take a few people at once,” said Mazer. He climbed up into the cockpit. “Take us up. Fatani, watch the skies for incomings. Patu, you and I will help the survivors into the HERC and get them fastened in.”
They all acknowledged, and Reinhardt took them up again.
They flew south but didn’t have to go far. They landed near a family running across a field. The woman had an infant in her arms. Both she and the baby were crying. The father carried two toddlers, both of them clinging desperately to his neck. The children were maybe two and three years old. The family was poor and barefoot and dirty and terrified. They came to the HERC without hesitating. Mazer and Patu were out and helping them inside. The children were frightened and screaming. The mother huddled with her infant inside, knees up, trembling.
When everyone was secure, Reinhardt took them up again. They didn’t go far before he was setting the HERC down once more, this time for an older couple. Each of them was carrying a bag. Their clothes were muddy and ripped. They looked as if they were still in a state of shock. Mazer and Patu helped them inside.
“We’ve only got room for one or two more,” said Reinhardt.
Mazer saw a group of five people running toward them, waving their arms.
“Wait!” they were shouting. “Wait for us.” They were crying and desperate.
“We can’t fit all those people,” Reinhardt said to Mazer.
“We’ll squeeze them in,” said Mazer.
The last group was a mix of people, likely unrelated. A teenage girl. An old woman. A child, maybe ten years old. A middle-aged man. A woman in her twenties. Some of them looked injured, limping or favoring an arm, but nothing looked serious. They had likely fallen during the earthquake or in the mad rush of it all.
Mazer squeezed them all in tight, putting the child and teenage girl up front in his seat, while he stood in the back. Reinhardt took them up and headed toward the farmhouse. Mazer addressed the people inside. He and his team were taking them to a farmhouse. They would make it a hospital. They would bring more people. Real doctors would likely come later. In the meantime, he needed everyone’s help. Those who were uninjured would assist those who were. He asked about the ten-year-old boy: Was anyone related to him? No one was. He told the boy to stick with one of the women. She would tend to him. The woman agreed. Mazer told them to cover their skin once they reached the farmhouse, explaining as best he could about the defoliants. They needed to stay indoors. Supplies would come later. Water and food. There was already some of that at the farmhouse. He distributed what little other supplies he had in the HERC.
By then they had reached the farmhouse. Mazer slid back the door and began helping everyone inside. The middle-aged man assisted as much as he and Patu did, carrying in children and lifting the bags for the elderly. The old man and Bingwen were inside. They seemed grateful that Mazer had returned. They were happy to see the others. The old man recognized several of the people. They embraced.
Mazer turned to the middle-aged man. “What’s your name?”
“Ping,” the man said.
Mazer put a hand on his shoulder and addressed the crowd. “Everyone, Ping here is in charge until we get back with the others. Remember, stay indoors.”
“We’re not safe here,” said the father of the young family. “Those planes. They could come back.”
“You’re safer here than where you were,” said Mazer. “The military will come.”
“Why aren’t they already here?” said the man. “Why do foreigners save us?”
“Your military is desperately fighting to protect you,” said Mazer. “It was their idea to make this location a hospital. They’ll send someone. Supplies will come.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” said the man. “You don’t know. You can’t be sure of anything. I saw the helicopters, the ones with the doctors, the ones the military had sent. They blew up. They went down. No doctors are coming. I saw it happen. I saw it with my own eyes.”