“Vipers? What vipers?”

“Just joking,” he said, regretting the quip.

Frank stepped into his sandals and slipped out onto the graveled path that led down to the clinic. Someone started up the generator as he approached. Lights flickered on.

He found Itzel holding her prostrate mother’s head in her lap. She was worse off than he expected. Rales crackled like bubble wrap with every labored breath. Her blood pressure was lower than it should be. Her lips were blue, her eyes panicked.

He clipped a portable oximeter over her index finger. Her oxygen saturation hovered around 60%. A stethoscope revealed one of her lungs fully congested and the other well on its way. He got her into a bed and put her on intravenous ceftriaxone – a broad-spectrum antibiotic that could deal with all of most common bugs. She needed ventilation urgently, but he had to fumble with a balky oxygen regulator for half an hour before he could get it to work.

It was after two when he left Itzel at her mother’s bedside and returned to the bungalow. A candle still flickered on the night stand, burnt down to a nub. Liz slept deeply, her breath whistling gently. The night air had cooled. He collapsed under the net beside her, kissing her gently on her bare shoulder.

He awoke to the sound of Father Leo calling through the window. The sky was bright. Liz was already up and dressed.

“Don't tell me you two overslept,” said Father Leo, in a scolding tone. “The launch is all ready. Our guide is waiting.”

“Frank had a busy night,” said Liz. “I let him sleep in a bit.”