Walk A Lonesome Road: 12
“Dek. Dek, wake up.”
He can’t move and his head’s killing him, a combination of a sharp pain behind his eyes and a generalised throb that makes him want to puke, except he knows if he does, it’ll hurt like fuck. He makes some kind of noise—he’s afraid it’s probably a whimper. That makes the annoying voice—Ren—start up again. “Dek? Come on, you’re scaring the hell out of me.”
“What....” It’s dark, but there’s a light off to the side. Trying to turn his head sets off all kinds of agony in his neck, down his shoulder and arm. “...happened?”
“You decide to dance over a cliff with a kildit. If I’d known you were that eager for company, I’d have offered myself.”
He mumbles at the man to shut up because he’s making Dek’s head ache, but Ren takes no notice. “Dek, I need you stay awake for me. I can’t lift you up on my own. You’ll need to help.”
He tries to sit up and discovers it’s not just his head that’s buggered. “You dislocated your shoulder when you fell,” Ren helpfully explains. “I’ve put it back in the socket—be thankful you were out for that—but you won’t get much use from it. Dek, I’ve got a rope tied off above us, and I can pull you up some of the way, but you’ll need to use your legs.”
“Help me up.”
“Easy.” Ren’s arms are under him, but sitting up is torment. “Try not to be sick. The world’s most useless advice, I know, but....”
Oh, now that’s really not good. Dek just wants to lie down again, but under Ren’s cheerful demeanour is a note of pure panic. Dek doesn’t remember anything after he started off looking for firewood, but Ren said.... “Kildit?” Why isn’t he mincemeat? Kildits are vicious bastards.
“Dead. Unfortunate for him, lucky for us. Dek—I need to get you up this slope.”
Dek’s vision is blurry, and it’s dark, but he can tell by the stillness of the air and the muffled sounds that they’re in the forest. “All right. Let me stand.”
That’s a lot easier said than done because he’s hurt his knee, and he can’t use both arms to support himself. Ren’s made a makeshift sling out of his own shirt, immobilising Dek’s surprisingly painful left shoulder. Dislocation. Fuck. When he’s on his feet and wavering, Ren ties a rope harness around him. “Right. What I’m going to do is try and haul you up. Now I wish I’d paid more attention on those rock climbing courses.”
Ren’s plan is simple, but needs brute strength to work. He’s got the rope looped around a tree above, and he’s going to climb up first, then pull Dek up after him, using the tree as a pulley. He’s got a makeshift harness around himself too. “Baby,” Dek mumbles, reaching over to touch Ren’s stomach.
Ren pats his hand away. “Don’t worry about it.” He cups Dek’s cheek and brings the light near his eyes—Dek winces and tries to jerk away. “I think it’s just concussion. The sooner you’re up top, the better. Normally I wouldn’t want you walking around, but we’re losing the light and I can’t guarantee our dead friend there doesn’t have brothers and sisters. Let me do the work, I just need your legs for stabilisation. Don’t exert yourself more than you have to,” he adds sharply. “I won’t be long. Just need to get up top.” He loops the strap of their second torch over Dek’s head. “You wait for me to pull you.”
Dek nods and Ren leaves him leaning against the rocks. Then Dek hears the scrabble of dirt and pebbles and Ren’s grunts of effort as he begins to pull himself up the cliff. Dek peers up, trying to hold the torch to help Ren. The wavering light isn’t much use to him because of his blurry vision, but he can tell he’s fallen about a hundred midecs—a trivial climb for a fit man, but not a pregnant one or an injured one. Ren’s moving slow, carefully, and Dek can’t help but worry what the exertion and the bite of the rope around his gut is doing to him. He can’t help but worry too about another kildit, and about his head injury. If only he’d been hurt when they’d got off the mountain—this is a disaster.
He loses track of time, maybe even loses consciousness. He hears Ren calling his name frantically, so he probably did. “Yeah?” he says.
“Don’t you fall asleep on me, damn you! Dek! Pay attention—look up at me.”
Blearily Dek obeys and repositions the torch which he’s dropped. Ren’s pale face is some distance above him. “Here.” Damn, he wants to puke. He sternly tells himself to hold it together, which works about as well as he might expect it to.
“Dek, I’m going to start hauling. Face the rocks. Let me do the work.”
Dek tries not to groan as the rope goes taut. Ren takes it slow as Dek starts to move forward and up. Despite Ren’s orders, he tries to pull a little himself, but it’s hopeless with one arm—he can’t grab anything worth a damn. Every jerk and jar, the harsh grip of the rope, makes his body throb and his head pound crazily.
Ren keeps stopping—getting his breath back, Dek guesses, and can’t be cranky, but those few seconds dangling in the air aren’t a lot of fun. Neither is it when he finally gets to the top and Ren has to drag him over the edge—there’s just no way to do that which doesn’t hurt like fury. He collapses next to Ren on the ground, heaving in air, and thinks he will definitely puke any second now. He also thinks he would just like to....
A slap on the cheek, and he’s shaken by his good shoulder. “Dek! Damn you! Don’t go to sleep!”
“‘m not,” he says indignantly.
“Of course not.” Ren sounds rough, his breath coming in gasps. “You think you can stand?”
“Got any choice?”
He hears Ren laugh rather breathily. “No. All right, up you get.”
Whoa. His knees buckle and Ren has to grab him. “Come on, Dek, you’re heavier than you look. Just...that’s it. Slow. Hold onto that tree while I get the rope.”
He clings to the tree for dear life, knowing the second he lets go, he’ll fall down. It seems to be hours before he senses Ren near him. “Let’s go home, Dek.”
“I wish,” he mutters.
“Me too. Come on, this is easier.”
Hardly, since they still have to walk up hill, and Dek’s legs seem to be made out of string. “Come on, Dek, you have to help me a little,” Ren cajoles him. “It’s not far. That’s it. One step at a time. Good.”
Dek collapses as they reach the camp and he sees the dim glow of their dying fire. “Need to get wood,” he rasps.
“Need to get you horizontal first.” Ren hauls him up. “Just a little further. Please, Dek.”
Ren gets him into the tent on top of the sleeping bag and furs. “Now you can rest. And now I can check you properly.”
“Fire,” Dek mutters, grabbing Ren’s arm. “Important. Animals.” If they don’t get a fire built so the smoke and smell deter wildlife, Ren will be at risk too.
“One minute. Just let me check you.” Ren flashes a light into his eyes, asks him how he feels, checks the arm. Everything hurts, it’s all sickeningly loud and bright. Finally Ren stops tormenting him and covers him up. “I’ll build the fire, and bake the bread since I’ve made the dough. You need to rest. I’ll bring you some painkillers as soon as the water’s boiled.”
Ren’s gone before Dek remembers he’s still got Ren’s shirt around him but he’s too befuddled to call him back. He still can’t remember how he came to be injured. He doesn’t know how the hell Ren found him, but he’s very grateful that Ren’s a soldier and not some useless city boy. Grateful that Ren’s not too far gone to help him.
He wakes later—how much later, he has no idea—because Ren’s tugging at his boots. “Fire’s built up, the bread’s cooked and stored because if I look at it I’ll puke and so will you, and I’ve got some painkillers and tea for you. I won’t ask how you’re feeling because I know you feel like crap, but you’ll feel a little better in the morning.”
“Thanks,” Dek whispers.
Ren helps him sit, and as Dek lies back against his bump, Ren feeds him pills and tea. Dek swallows them, grateful for the warm tea which seems to help h
is rising nausea. He reaches up to feel where he hit his head. Ren tugs his hand away. “Leave it alone. How’s the shoulder?”
“Lousy. You want your shirt?”
“Not for now. I’ll make you a better sling in the morning when I’ve got the light. The important thing is not to move it for a few days. I think we’re stuck here until then.”
Dek grasps his wrist. “Can’t. Supplies.”
“Dek, we have to. You need to rest your shoulder and your head at least for two days. We’ll manage. I can find food, and we’ve got at least ten days’ worth in the pack. You just concentrate on healing. By the way, I’d be very grateful if you didn’t scare the crap out of me like that again.”
“...try....” Dek mumbles, closing his eyes.
After a moment or two, Ren eases out and lays him down. “Get some sleep.”
“You all right?”
Ren doesn’t answer straight away and even through the concussion, Dek’s anxiety spikes. “I’m fine,” Ren says quickly, laying his hand gently on Dek’s head. “Calm down, it’s bad for you. “
“Baby?”
“Kicking away. Didn’t approve of the unscheduled exercise, or you scaring the crap out of me. Go to sleep.”
There’s something there, Dek thinks, but he’s in no shape at all to consider it. “You too,” he insists.
“Oh, I plan to.” He feels Ren shuffling about, hears the soft thud of boots being placed at the front of the tent, and then Ren comes back and slips under the blankets and sleeping bag. They’ve switched sides—Ren usually faces away, lying on his left because it’s most comfortable. Dek usually sleeps behind him, spooning up, but tonight he’s flat on his back, with Ren’s belly hard up against his side. Within seconds, he can distinctly detect something moving.
“Can feel it,” he whispers drowsily.
“Wish I couldn’t,” Ren says. “Go to sleep.”
Dek opens his mouth to argue, but then a delicious calm seeps through him, like he’s taken some of the good drugs they gave him all those years ago in the hospital. It must be Ren doing it, and he’d protest but he’s suddenly too relaxed and weary to open his mouth, so he stops resisting and lets it tug him under to where it’s silent and warm and free of pain.
Walk A Lonesome Road: 13
Waking is hell, but Dek’s had concussion a few times, and been injured more than that, so he expects nothing else. He cautiously assesses his condition before he moves. Head’s still very painful, both from a headache and the actual bruising, but his vision is clear. He remembers the kildit now, and everything but actually falling over the outcrop—which he’s happy not to know about—so his brain cells are only about as shaken up as they normally are.
He tests his knee—mobile, so he probably just wrenched it. Could have done without sleeping in the brace, but Ren did well to even get him to the tent so he’s not complaining. Shoulder—ugh. Very sore, and the most serious problem. Having been around soldiers with dislocated shoulders in the field before, he knows he was lucky to be unconscious while someone who knew what he was doing put it back, but he also knows that it’ll be useless for days, if not weeks, to come. He turns his head carefully. Ren has his arm slung over Dek’s stomach, and is still asleep. He looks paler than usual, and he’s frowning as if he’s in pain. Dek’s suddenly worried that Ren’s done himself harm in the rescue. “Hey,” he whispers.
Ren’s eyes snap open, dart around looking for the noise, and then sees Dek. “How do you feel?” he asks, quickly moving his arm. There’s intense relief in his eyes, quickly hidden as he forces a smile.
That relief tells Dek just how close a call it had been. He makes himself grin in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “Rough, but I’ll live. I need a piss. Help me up?”
Ren has to move slowly these days, but the way he’s moving now is even more clumsy than usual. He sees Dek’s anxious look. “I’m fine. Just stiff. The...it’s moving around. Kicking me in the bladder, in fact.” Dek winces. Sometimes Ren tells him way too much.
Shoes need to be dragged on and they stagger out of the tent, Dek lurching drunkenly, and Ren struggling to hold him up. “You know this is the thing about all this I find the hardest,” Ren confides as he steps back to let Dek do his business. “I was always the tallest, strongest guy at school, the academy, and this whole thing’s made me so fucking feeble. I used to shinny up ropes for fun, you know. That nearly killed me last night. Not for real,” he adds hastily as Dek shoots him a worried glance.
“You’ll get that all back,” Dek says, though he’s not sure if that’s true. He has no idea what having a baby cut out of your belly does to a person’s fitness.
“I hope so. I just want....” He gives a short laugh. “I was going to say for things to go back to normal. Not much chance of that.”
Dek fumbles at his fly and fastens everything one-handed, then turns to face Ren. He wants so much, suddenly, to give this man his life back. To make it all better, to restore what he’s lost, because he did nothing to bring this on himself. He wasn’t feckless or foolish or careless or criminal—he was just the wrong person in the wrong place. He stares at Ren, not knowing what to say, not having the words or the ability to offer comfort, but he...wants to. And he doesn’t even know why he wants to. He reaches out as if using Ren’s arm for stability. “Let’s get off the mountain first, worry about the rest of it later,” he says, voice gruffer than he means it to be.
Ren’s thoughts are unreadable in his normally too expressive eyes. “Uh...give me a second. Need a piss too.”
Dek turns his head politely, and forces his unwanted sentiment down. It’s like those refugees, he thinks. He can only do what he can, and trying to be everything to anyone, is asking for disappointment for both parties. He can’t do more than he’s promised. Right now, he’s not sure he can even do that.
As Ren fashions a proper immobilising bandage for his arm and shoulder, and then makes up the fire to prepare breakfast, they argue about Ren’s insistence that Dek needs two, if not three days’ complete rest before they even think about moving. “We’re running low on stores. We need to get moving. Been concussed before,” Dek says curtly as Ren hands him some khevai and toasted camp bread. “I can manage.”
“The fact you’ve had a head injury before actually makes it more important that you rest, you idiot,” Ren snaps. “Damn it, I’m not going to try and deal with an intracranial bleed out here, and it’s a miracle you’ve not got a subdural haematoma, so you’re going to stay still and like it. It’s going to be hard enough you trying to ride with that arm, but if you’re dizzy with it....”
“I’m fine....”
Ren suddenly tosses his empty mug on the ground and walks off, his hands clenching at his side. Dek stares at him in perplexity. What did he say?
Ren’s grabbed one of the axes, and is now tackling a fallen branch on the far side of the camp in a way which is bound to blunt it. Dek struggles to his feet and wobbles over to him. “You should use the saw.”
Ren whirls. “I told you not to move around. Did you think I was joking? Dek—you start bleeding inside your fucking skull and there is nothing I can do about it. I’ll have to watch you die like I....” His nostrils flare. “Sit down. There.”
He jabs his fingers at a boulder and Dek hitches his arse onto it, before folding his arms. “What’s biting you all of a sudden?” Ren makes another couple of whacks at the wood. “And quit that. You’re wrecking it.”
Ren tosses the axe to the ground. “We need the wood,” he grinds out.
“We need the axe more. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Everything’s just bloody marvellous. I’m a five month pregnant man trying to climb down a mountain with a head-injured guy who nearly killed himself last night. Nothing there to be cranky about at all.”
“I’m not badly hurt. Accidents happen.”
“And if you’d been killed? If you’d hit your head just a little bit harder or you’d not broken your fall
by grabbing onto that sapling?” Dek just looks at him. The ‘what if’ game is a pointless one. If it comes to that, what if Dek had never found Ren at all? “It’s not just you scared me nearly to death and made me relive some of my worst nightmares. It...you know what really bothers me?” Dek shakes his head—carefully, because being upright is making it throb. “It’s how the whole thing’s make me less than human. I shot a man without the slightest hesitation or conscience. Last night when I saw your body over the side of that outcrop, my first thought was what the hell would I do if you were dead? Not ‘poor Dek, I better help him.’ All I could think of was my own fear, my own future if I had to go on alone. That’s not who I am,” he says, raising a fist. “They’ve made me into this...self-absorbed, self-interested...brood barchin. I’m a doctor!” he yells at the landscape. “I’m the one that does the helping!”
Dek crooks his finger and points to the rock next to him. “Sit,” he orders, and Ren, perhaps taken by surprise, does what he’s told. Dek takes his wrist and holds it carefully. Ren stares up at him, eyes stark and wild in a much too pale, drawn face. “They changed you, didn’t break you.”
“I would have thought of your welfare first, once.”
“How long before you did?”
“A few seconds, I guess.”
“Did it make any difference?”
“No. But I should have thought of you first.”
“No, you shouldn’t. First rule in a rescue is...?”
Ren bites his lip. “Evaluate the scene....”
“...to protect yourself and others from injury or danger. Protect yourself, Ren. That’s what the books tell you, the army drills into you. You can’t help me if you’re injured. You can’t look after anyone if you are. A couple of times, I had a soldier assigned under me who didn’t have a proper care for his own safety. I always got rid of them.”
“It’s not the same....”
“Yes, it is,” Dek says as gently as he can manage. “You were scared about what would happen to you. Me too. First thing I thought when I came across you was ‘crap, I don’t want this’. Nearly left you there to die. You didn’t think of doing that, did you?”
Walk a Lonesome Road Page 11