The Grim Reaper Comes Calling

by Darrell Maloney

  Now he was a scared little boy, unsure of himself. Terrified that maybe he wasn’t as smart or as talented as he thought himself to be.

  Now he was crying for help. Screaming for guidance.

  Or at least confirmation he was on the right track.

  Dave was a man whose wife and family meant everything to him.

  He’d spent a year and a half planning a mission to find and reconcile his family, then to bring them back home.

  Now he was half convinced that instead of saving his family he was destroying it.

  And now he didn’t know what to do.

  Or not to do.

  His words were a cry for help.

  Sarah came to his rescue.

  “Honey, in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve always been my hero.

  “In a thousand different situations, you’ve come up with a solution to a major problem.

  “I don’t know how many times you’ve been right and how many times you’ve been wrong.

  “I do know, though, that everything always worked out in the end. That you made things better. Or at least got us to where we needed to be or fended off whatever attack we were facing or made us well or whole again.

  “I’ve noticed the same thing… that it’s taking me longer to start retching than it did when this whole thing started.

  “As for the weakness… Yes, you’re right. I’m so weak I can barely lift my bottle to drink. But that’s nothing you’re making me do or not doing for me.

  “That’s because I haven’t been able to get any food into my system in almost a week now.

  “Any time the body is deprived of nourishment it gets weak. I know that and I haven’t even had any medical training.

  “Why don’t we do this, honey?

  “I think your plan to purge my system until we get all these germs… or cooties… or whatever is causing this whole thing… out of me, is working. I really do.

  “I mean, it’s good common sense that every time I vomit I get a little bit more of it out of me.

  “At the same time, I am so sore I can’t even touch my abdomen. Even changing my clothes causes me indescribable pain.

  “I’ve felt more pain than I’ve ever felt in my life.

  “I remember a comedienne once tried to describe what labor pain felt like. She said it was like taking your eyelids and stretching them both over your head.

  “I remember laughing at her joke and then agreeing with her, saying yep, that describes it just about perfectly.

  “Honey, I hurt ten times that much now. I hurt so much I’ve been making secret deals with the devil. I’ve been whispering to him that I’ll spend eternity burning in his fiery pits and will even carry his pitchfork for him if he can just find a way to take away this pain.

  “Then I feel even worse for trying to make a deal with the devil. But I’ve been praying to God to take away the same pain for days and He’s been ignoring me. I guess I’m no longer in His good graces.”

  Dave tenderly took her hand and said, “Honey…”

  “No, Dave, let me finish.

  “I want you to keep doing what you’re doing.

  “It seems to be working. Not as fast as I’d like, and it’s a lot more painful than I ever thought it would be. But I’ll admit I don’t have any ideas that would work better.

  “I have one request, though.”

  “What’s that, honey? Anything at all.”

  “Give me a day off. Just one day from the pain. That’s all I ask. I’m begging you, honey. Give me a day off and start the water again tomorrow.”

  “Honey, you haven’t had any water intake for days. You’re severely dehydrated. Giving you a day off could be fatal.”

  “I accept the risk. Please. You said anything.”

  They never finished the conversation.

  They were interrupted by a blood-curling scream from daughter Lindsey.

  Chapter 7

  Dave was off like a shot in the direction of the scream, leaving Sarah feeling helpless.

  She was in no shape to run to help. She couldn’t even walk or crawl.

  That, more than anything, drove home the point Dave was trying to make to her.

  Dave had no clue where Lindsey was.

  He was headed due south, down the highway, as that was the general direction the scream had come from. But he didn’t see anyone ahead. He didn’t know which side of the highway she was on, or how far.

  Then a second scream came.

  It came from west of the highway, perhaps a hundred yards away.

  He went off the road and in the brush, fighting his way toward he imagined his daughter to be.

  As he went he called out, “I’m coming, Lindsey, honey. Hang in there. I’m on my way.”

  Then he heard a second voice, this one from Beth.

  “Dad, we’re over here. Be careful, there’s a cliff.”

  He answered, “Keep yelling, honey. Keep yelling so I can find you.”

  He only then realized he’d left in such a rush he’d forgot his rifle. His AR-15 was leaning against a guardrail where he’d been talking to Sarah.

  This wasn’t like him. He was a combat-trained Marine. He didn’t freak out and he didn’t rush into battle half-cocked.

  This thing with Sarah was affecting everyone. Everyone in the family felt empathy for her. They all cried for her. They were all losing sleep every night worrying about her.

  They were all frazzled beyond belief.

  If the girls were under attack by bad men Dave would be at a disadvantage. He’d left his primary weapon behind.

  But it wouldn’t make much difference. It was not a close quarter weapon. He still had his handgun. He still had the Bowie on his belt and the tactical knife in his boot.

  And he still had his hands.

  If any slimy bastard had tried anything with his girls he was still capable of strangling them with his bare hands.

  Beth, bless her heart, was doing exactly as he told her to. She was calling out constantly, her voice getting louder with every step he took.

  Wait a minute.

  Her words finally registered.

  She wasn’t just directing him: “Over here, Dad, we’re right here!”

  She was also warning him: “Over here, Dad. We’re right here. Below the cliff.”

  The cliff.

  He brought his body to a screeching halt.

  Quite literally so.

  Were he playing softball at the regiment picnic back at Kaneohe Marine Corps Air Station he’d have completed an almost picture-perfect slide into home plate.

  And just in the nick of time, too.

  He was on his feet in less than a second.

  Moving cautiously this time.

  A few more feet through heavy brush and he saw the cliff.

  Running willy nilly through the brush like he had been he’d have gone over the side.

  Instead he peeked over the edge.

  There he saw, fifty yards away at the bottom of the same ridge line, Lindsey sprawled upon the ground and Beth kneeling beside her, still calling out to him.

  The “cliff” wasn’t much of a cliff.

  Not by Dave’s standards, anyway.

  There were longer drops on the obstacle course at Camp Lejeune.

  But it was plenty high enough to do some damage.

  Dave went to his side and dragged his hip quickly but carefully down the side, using his hands and his balance to slow the drop.

  Just like his drill instructors had trained him so many years before.

  Once at the bottom he glanced up.

  He estimated the sheer cliff face to be maybe twelve to fifteen feet high.

  High enough to be scary to any eight year old girl, and to cause severe injuries to anyone who went barreling off of it.

  He’d remember to commend little Beth later for thinking on her feet and telling him about the cliff. He’d tell her she probably saved his life. Or at least a world of hurt.

  That was l
ater.

  Right now he had an injured daughter to worry about.

  He had eyes on both of them, and by now Beth had stopped yelling because she spotted him too.

  Lindsey was conscious. He could tell because she was sitting, having propped herself up by putting both hands behind her.

  He could see the pain upon her face.

  It wasn’t dissimilar from the pain he’d seen on Sarah’s face less than two minutes before.

  That worried him as he ran, closing ground fast between them.

  What worried him even more was the position of Lindsey’s legs.

  Her left leg was drawn back, raising her knee to its highest point.

  It was moving back and forth. Dave had seen enough battlefield and sports injuries to know that the injured frequently move a limb back and forth in an effort to draw their attention away from the pain.

  He saw the movement as a good thing; Lindsey wouldn’t have been able to move it in such a manner if it was injured.

  The other leg; the right one, was the one which bothered him.

  It was outstretched and wasn’t moving at all.

  That wasn’t good.

  Chapter 8

  He came to a stop at Lindsey’s side, certain she was in great pain and heartbroken he couldn’t take it away from her.

  A hand on her shoulder, he tried to calm her.

  For she was near hysterics.

  “Shhhh…. Shhhh, honey. I’m here. We’re gonna get this taken care of.”

  It turned out many of her tears were tears of guilt.

  She sobbed, “I’m sorry, Dad. I was stupid. I wasn’t paying attention. I went through some tall weeds and went right off the edge. By the time I saw the drop I was already on my way down.

  “I made everything much worse. I’m so sorry.”

  He held her.

  “Honey, you didn’t do anything wrong. I almost did the same thing myself. It’ll be okay.

  “Is the right leg the only place you feel pain?”

  “Yes. And it’s broken. I know. It feels like it did when I broke my arm four years ago.”

  “Okay, honey. Just be careful not to move it at all, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Dave examined the leg first before laying hands on it.

  Lindsey was wearing blue jeans which were fairly tight upon her thighs and a bit looser over her calves.

  Dave could see no blood stains or abnormalities. That was a good thing. Blood would indicate an open or compound fracture; the worse possible scenario. Not only would the leg be broken, but the bone would be exposed outside the leg.

  The problem in that case would be much worse. A sharp bone could cut through a vein or even an artery. And an infection in such unsanitary conditions would be an almost certainty.

  Dave was worried because Lindsey had indeed broken an arm when she fell out of a tree four years before.

  She knew first hand what a broken bone felt like, and already did a self-diagnosis.

  Dave hoped she was mistaken.

  And he was terrified she might be right.

  He moved down to her foot and removed his tac knife, then tenderly started cutting the pants leg, upward from the hem.

  “Let me know if this hurts you, honey,” he said.

  He knew his words were unnecessary, for Lindsey wasn’t one to hold her tongue when she was in great pain.

  After she fell from the tree she very loudly cursed half the people she knew, from God in heaven to her middle school teachers and especially the young man she’d been trying to impress by climbing the tree in the first place.

  Dave knew if he moved her leg in such a manner to cause her a stab of pain she’d likely let loose in the same manner; perhaps call her father a few things she’d have to apologize for later.

  Slowly, carefully, he used the knife’s razor-sharp blade to slice through the denim.

  When he was almost to the kneecap he curved the cut to the left. Then he made a second cut to the right.

  It was a technique he learned in the Corps, and very closely mimicked the classic “Y” cut a coroner uses to gain access to the body cavity during a routine autopsy.

  After the cut was complete he was able to fold each side of the pants leg aside, exposing the entire calf.

  And his heart sank.

  Lindsey, of course, with her upper body elevated, saw the same thing at the same time.

  She summed it up much better than Dave could have.

  She said, “Holy shit! I told you so.”

  Most fathers would freak out to see what Dave and Lindsey, and now little Beth, were looking at.

  Dave wasn’t freaking out, but he was incredibly sad. For he’d had two closed fractures of his own in his lifetime, and seen enough others to understand the agony his daughter was feeling.

  And he knew, as well, that the worst pain was yet to come.

  He’d set several bones in the past.

  He was actually pretty good at it.

  But even being pretty good, he knew he’d cause her even more pain. And it would be the worst kind of all, for it would be administered directly by her father. The man who was supposed to take away her pain and not give her more of it.

  An old adage which goes, “This will hurt me more than it will hurt you” is typically applied to a situation where a father is forced to spank one of his children.

  But it would apply in this case as well.

  The wound was invisible beneath the jeans, but now that they were cut away it was clearly evident.

  Her lower leg was crooked, bent slightly about halfway between the knee and the ankle.

  But that wasn’t the tell.

  The tell was the hideous lump right over the fracture.

  The only good news was that the fracture was a simple one. The broken bone hadn’t broken the skin. This… this would be hard enough to deal with already.

  But in the grand scheme could have been much worse.

  Now, Dave had a pretty good bedside manner when it came to dealing with an injured Marine or an injured daughter.

  He knew what to say and what not to say.

  For example, he wouldn’t tell Lindsey she was lucky to have suffered just a closed fracture.

  They both knew she was anything but lucky.

  He knew to be honest with her; not to pull any punches or mislead her.

  Honesty, when dealing with the injured, was the best policy.

  “Honey, when you fell from the tree and broke your arm, I was deployed. Who was it that set your arm?”

  Lindsey winced from the memory and said, “The paramedics started to but I wouldn’t hold still. They waited until we got to the hospital and the doctor gave me some sedative and then he set it.”

  “You understand we don’t have that option here, right?”

  “I know, Daddy.”

  “You know what I have to do now, right?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Are you as tough as I think you are?”

  “I think so, Daddy. I’ll try.”

  Chapter 9

  Teenaged girls are almost universally the same, in that when they become teens they stop calling their fathers “Daddy” and start calling them “Dad” or “Father” instead.

  They do so because “Daddy” seems so juvenile. It seems much more grown up to call them “Dad” or “Father.” More sophisticated too.

  And teenaged girls are all about proving to the world they’re all grown up. Or at least well on their way.

  What’s funny, though, is that there are two cases when they almost always revert to their little girl habits and go back to calling their fathers “Daddy.”

  One is when they want something.

  As in, “Daddy, guess what! I saw this great pair of boots at the mall today… and they’re only two hundred dollars! I love you, Daddy…”

  The other time is when they’re in great pain.

  In the first instance, of course, they’re tugging at their father’s heartstri
ngs in an attempt to sucker him out of his money.

  In the second case, they’re usually not even aware they’re doing it. But subconsciously they’re harking back to their little girl days when their fathers were their heroes.

  Heroes capable of taking away their pain and making things all better.

  Before Dave started in on Lindsey’s leg he gave Beth some instructions.

  “Honey, walk along the cliff face until you find a spot where you can safely climb back up. But before you go up I want you to stop and yell at me so I know how far it is, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Then after you get my attention and you see me, I want you to climb up carefully and safely. Then go to the highway and go back to your mom.

  “I know she’s very worried. Tell her it’s okay and that we’ll be there shortly. Then I want you to stay with her and take care of her until Lind and I get back. Okay?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Any questions?”

  “No sir.”

  “Atta girl, Peanut. You be very careful climbing back up, okay?”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  She turned and scampered off.

  Dave turned his full attention back to Lindsey.

  “In the old west the doctor gave his patient a couple of shots of whisky before he did this. I know you can’t legally drink, but if I had a flask of whisky I’d give you a couple swigs anyway. It would help.

  “Unfortunately, honey, I don’t have any. I’m sorry.”

  Despite all her pain, Lindsey’s sense of humor was still working.

  “That’s okay, Daddy. I’ll settle for a rain check. When we finally make it home I’m going to try two shots of whisky and I’ll say you owed them to me for setting my broken leg.”

  He smiled.

  “Okay, deal. Now, this is going to hurt a lot worse than you’re hurting now, but it’s only temporary. A few minutes from now you’ll be happy when the worst of it subsides and your pain level returns to what you’re feeling now.”

  She winced and nodded her head.

  She understood.

  He removed her sock so he could monitor her blood circulation after the wound was set.

  He rolled up the sock, making sure the clean part was on the outside.