From Sand to Nand

Chapter Fourteen

As the poor hog kicked its legs and flexed its back muscles in repeated agony, the four men restraining the creature on its rear tensed and tightened their grips. The knife cutting through its abdominal cavity did little to soothe and instead only increased its pain. It writhed and struggled with all its power to break free from the torture, but to no avail. The animal shrieked a desperate howl as the realization of its inescapable predicament became clear.

Some folks nearby protested but were ushered away by the crewmen overseeing the process. Pei couldn't bear to watch any longer and stepped as far from the scene as possible before nearly vomiting. It had been Pei, after all, that was responsible for what was happening.

In the previous days, a young girl had been growing frighteningly frail. She had been staying in the medical ward where the physicians tried everything to help her through her condition, but nothing apart from insulin would do. The girl was diabetic and had run out of her injection hormone several weeks prior. The potions and natural concoctions made from the medicinal plants among the island relieved some discomfort for the girl, but the terrifying reality—like most of the diabetics who survived from aboard the Elevation—was that she was going to die.

The captain refused to mandate sharing of insulin between the survivors in need, but he also had the crew keep close watch on the problem. Many parents, friends, and helpless victims prepared for conflict that might arise to save the lives of those who needed the insulin but didn't have it. To the captain's surprise, nothing ever became of it. Those who had bountiful supplies of their own medication managed to avoid having it stolen by the many who were growing desperate.

"They know that one person's insulin is only going to prolong the inevitable for both of 'em. It be not worth the time in jail, I wager," said a former, sea-dwelling fellow at small group one evening.

"Still. It's just sad. The haves get to live while the have-nots just get to die?" asked one girl.

"Aye, but the haves are going to die too once they run out," McSchmitt replied. McSchmitt was one of the most active participants in the nightly, small group circles. He had always been an emotionally sensitive person. Some people thought that he was acting as the captain's spy, but the truth was that McSchmitt had a lot of built up guilt where he too felt compelled to bond with everyone else.

"Then, we should make them all split up their insulin evenly!" the girl challenged.

McSchmitt calmly answered, "It's their medication. We aren't going to force them to give it up."

"Besides, I hate to say it, but then everyone would just die at the same time anyways. Even sooner, in fact," Pei contributed.

"It's not right. We have to try!" the girl exclaimed.

Thi, the group leader, chimed in therapeutically. "Well, I think it's very noble that we're all concerned for each other's well-being. On one hand, almost a dozen people have died because they ran out of diabetic medication. A few dozen others have died from medical causes where they ran out of some other type of medication. On the other hand, we feel helpless and can't save them. Every case is unfortunate."

"Yeah, and everyone is being so selfish!" the girl snapped. "How can we just watch these people die like this?!"

"What do you suggest we do?" McSchmitt returned.

"I already told you! We should divide the remaining insulin among those who still need it!"

McSchmitt was growing impatient but managed to relax his uneasiness. "And how do we justify that to the people we're taking it from? They have a right to their medication that they brought with them. Trust me, they know they'll eventually croak too when their supply runs out. We can't just force them to divide up the remaining life they have left."