Walk a Lonesome Road

by Ann Somerville

  “No. I thought you were going to die anyway...like the others. From the flyer crash.”

  Dek just looks at him, rubs his thumb a little on the back of Ren’s arm. “They didn’t make you less than human. You’re not an animal.”

  Ren rubs the heel of his other hand against his eye, grits his teeth hard. “I was...just so scared. Just didn’t know what I’d do if you were dead. I don’t know what I’ll do now if something else happens to you. I’m so sick of being in someone else’s hands.”

  Hard, Dek thinks, for a doctor to be in this position. They play god all the time, control people’s lives and their health, take charge. “Boot’s on the other foot now,” he says. “I need you to help me. Don’t like it much. Got used to being on my own. But it’s what has to happen for now. You take care of me, then I’ll take care of you.”

  “Until you can get rid of me,” Ren says, unsmiling.

  “Until you don’t need taking care of,” Dek corrects. “Now—you want to help, you get the saw, cut that wood up right.”

  “Only if you go and sit by the fire and stay warm,” Ren counters, and Dek nods, goes to get up, but Ren’s hand is on his arm. “You really think I’m not broken?”

  “If you were broken, you’d never have made this far. I’m not going to lie and say everything’s fine, or that it won’t get harder before it gets easier, or that there’s not a good chance one of us will end up dead, or both. I know you’re scared and that’s natural. But you’re still you, in there,” he says, poking at Ren’s chest. “Hang onto that. I...forgot to. You lose that, you lose your mind.”

  “You’re still you too,” Ren says, but Dek shakes his head.

  “No. That guy died a long time ago. You’ve got more to live for, Ren. You’ve got to prove they didn’t defeat you.” He pats Ren’s hand. “Go get that saw.”

  “Go sit down.”

  “Deal.” He doesn’t know if talking about it helped. It never did with him, but Ren likes to talk, needs to connect with other people, and Dek’s all he’s got now. If it’s not enough, then Dek doesn’t know what to do.

  Walk A Lonesome Road: 14

  In the end Dek doesn’t return to the fireside, but instead goes back to the tent because he’s really not feeling so good, and if it stops Ren worrying, he figures a day’s halt won’t make that much difference. He’s not happy about it but he’s not in a position to force it, and fighting with Ren over it will just make them both feel lousy. He dozes off, his sleep troubled by bad dreams. He wakes to find Ren sitting at his feet, one hand on his ankle. He tries to move and grunts as his shoulder protests. “You stay there,” Ren says. “You want another painkiller?”

  Dek shakes his head a little. “Save them for something serious,” he says, and Ren laughs.

  “You’re a hard arse, Dek, you really are.”

  Ren leans back and rubs at his lower spine, his expression pained. “You all right?” Dek asks.

  “Yeah. Just...glad to have a rest. Been busy, and my stamina’s not what it used to be. I’ve cut more wood, boiled water, cut forage for the animals, and checked that snare of yours....”

  “Don’t you go into that wood again!” Dek snaps. Ren raises his eyebrows. “What if you get hurt?”

  “How am I going to get food if I don’t set traps and go collecting? I found some edible fungi—they’ll be lunch.”

  “Too dangerous. Don’t do it—we can manage until I’m fit.”

  “We’re talking a while there, Dek. Probably not until we get to the lowland. I’m being careful—you already know I can use the gun,” he adds with a wry twist to his mouth. “I don’t see we’ve got much choice.”

  Dek grits his teeth. Ren’s probably right, but he hates it. No point in going on about it though. “You need to take it easy.”

  Ren smiles. “The most unnecessary advice in the world. Now, do you want anything?”

  A time machine, Dek thinks, so he can avoid being pushed over a cliff by a rampaging carnivore. “No.”

  “Then get some sleep, it’s good for you. I’ll be in and out to check on you.” And then Ren sits with him until Dek falls asleep again.

  That’s how the rest of that day goes—Dek dozes off, and more often than not, he wakes to find Ren sitting there, watching him, always with one hand on him, on his arm or his leg. By the evening, Dek realises this isn’t for his benefit as much as it is for Ren—Ren needs the contact, the reassurance that Dek’s still alive. Dek allows it gladly as it makes him feel like he’s doing something, and Ren seems to get a comfort from it. It’s oddly comforting to Dek too, and he wonders exactly when he stopped minding Ren’s intrusions on his personal space so much.

  By the next day, he’s feeling better and raring to go. Ren won’t hear of it. “Forty-eight hours minimum,” he insists, arms folded and his jaw set in a way Dek’s learned means no giving in.

  “I can sit on Jesti. It’s not like I’ll be walking.”

  “Nice try. Forty-eight hours. And horizontal too, or they don’t count.”

  “Arsehole.”

  “Thank you. Arseholes are both useful and enjoyable, so I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dek glares at him, but Ren just grins. It’s nice to see him smile again, even if it’s at his own stupid jokes.

  So he takes it easy, though the enforced leisure chafes, especially as he can see how tiring Ren’s finding every extra movement. He’s worried about riding one-handed and he’s worried about supplies. They’re going to have to change plans when they get off the mountains. He’d been intending to avoid as many urban settlements as possible, hoping they would only need to restock a couple of times before they got onto a river transport. But they’ll need supplies sooner than that, and so they will have to make their way to a small town a hundred and fifty pardecs due east of their present position, instead of heading to Finmeilidze which is further south. At that point, if absolutely necessary, Ren could go on alone, though Dek doesn’t like the idea, and Ren won’t hear of it. Time enough to force the issue later—Dek’s learning which battles to fight with Ren and which aren’t worth the stress.

  He’s well enough to sit by the fire for supper the second night, and even keeps the food down—more fungi with some nuts Ren found, some animal’s forgotten winter cache. Ren’s good at that too—he seems to be naturally adept at most things, except sewing. Cooking isn’t of much interest to him but that’s probably because he’s spent so much of this trip battling nausea, indigestion or constipation. Meals are more a battle to be won than something to be savoured. Dek’s surprised himself how much of that need to enjoy his food has survived all that’s happened to him. Lomare loved his cooking, and he’d used it in his wooing. Maybe Ren had never needed to woo anyone. In good health, he’d be a good looking man. Spectacular looking man. Women probably wouldn’t care if he couldn’t tie his shoe laces.

  “What are you thinking about?” Ren asked.

  “You tell me,” Dek says, sipping his khevai to hide his smirk. The need to tease Ren has survived their journey intact so far, and is a nice distraction from his bodily pains.

  Right on cue, Ren rolls his eyes. “Empath, not telepath, you idiot. It was nice, whatever it was. Why don’t you share?”

  “Just...thinking about Lomare, when we were courting.” Ren’s mouth turns down—figures it’s not something he wants to talk about after all. “You tell me something nice.”

  “All my nice memories are tied to my family,” he says, poking the fire. “I miss them so much it feels like being choked sometimes.”

  “Maybe....” Ren looks up, curious at what he’s going to say. “Maybe if you made a big enough stink. In the Weadenal, where you were safe. Tell people what happened to you. There might be enough outrage that you could go home.”

  “Thought about it, and yeah, maybe that would work. But you’re forgetting how restricted our media is, and how ruthless these people are. They might just send someone to kill me—or take Meram hostage to force me to return. I can’t do that,
Dek. He’s probably already copping it at school for being the son of a traitor. I can’t put him, the rest of them, in danger. Besides, who’d believe a convicted criminal?”

  It sounds like paranoia and yet Ren’s walking proof that nothing he’s said is too outlandish for reality. “I could....” Dek shuts his mouth before he continues, because it sounds like boasting.

  “What?”

  “They’d believe me. I’m a hero. Got the medals to prove it. I could tell them. I’ve got no one they could threaten.”

  Ren blinks at him, several times, eyes wide in shock. Dek sips his drink again, this time to hide his embarrassment. “You...do you...?” He stops, smiles quickly, then, to Dek’s surprise, puts his arms around Dek’s shoulders and squeezes. “You’re a good man, Dek, don’t let anyone tell you different.” He gets up and walks away from the campfire, over to the animals. Moments later, Dek sees him leaning against Jesti, his face apparently pressed against her neck.

  Dek sets his mug down and hugs himself, still feeling the weight of Ren’s arm around him, the firmness. This is different than Ren’s careful touches on leg and arm, the accidental embraces at night at they tried to fit together in a too small, too cold space. Different, too, from the desperate clinging of a man fighting off nightmares and flashbacks. This is someone at ease around him—when had that happened? When had Dek’s stern warnings about being touched become like so much melted snow? Ren isn’t scared of him any more. That’s probably not very wise, but Dek doesn’t have it in his heart to rebuild that fear. Ren will be out of his life in a month. So what if there’s one less person on the planet who thinks he’s a dangerous lunatic?

  He builds up the fire again since it’s their only deterrent against predators, then gets clumsily to his feet. Before he can take more than two steps, Ren’s there at his elbow. “You be careful, your balance is affected,” he says, conveniently ignoring the four or five parkigs of weight on his gut that are seriously affecting his bloody balance. He carefully helps Dek across the snow to the latrine, then to the tent. Dek would snap at him but Ren’s so genuine in his solicitousness, really trying to make this suck less for him, that it’d be like kicking a baby harwe.

  “I can walk fine,” he says, keeping his tone mild as Ren takes his boots off for him.

  “You could slip on the snow. If you hit your head again now, it could kill you. Doesn’t have to be hard.”

  “I survived being blown up, being shot, being in a war zone for three fucking years. I’m hard to kill.”

  “People die from organisms smaller than the naked eye can see all the time, Dek. Doesn’t have to be a big thing.”

  Dek grips his chin, forces Ren to look at him. “I am not going to die. Knock it off.” He moves his hand, lays it on Ren’s swelling stomach. “You’re the one we’re supposed to be worried about. What?” he says, frowning at Ren’s grin.

  “Um...you know, people do that to pregnant women all the time. Touch their bellies without permission.”

  Dek snatches his hand away. “I was just making a point.”

  “I know. I don’t mind. Dek—I can’t let you help me, but the fact you even...considered it.” He shakes his head as if in wonderment. “It’s the first time in four years I truly haven’t felt alone.”

  “But I offered to help you with this trip.”

  “Not the same. I was...a burden. Something you had to get rid of, and since you’re too nice a guy to outright shoot me or abandon me, you kind of had no choice—you being you, I mean. But you offering to...that was pure kindness.” He puts his hand out, and when Dek doesn’t flinch, he touches Dek’s chest, over his heart. “There is a core of goodness in you. You were hiding it for so long, but now I’ve seen it, it’s as obvious as sunlight. No one destroyed the man you are, and I’m glad I met you, whatever happens to me.”

  Dek twists away from Ren’s touch. “Don’t talk crap. Anyone would have....”

  “No, Dek,” Ren insists, his hand now on Dek’s shoulder, gently restraining. “No, they wouldn’t. The fear of ordinary men and women let what happened to me, happen. You’d never have stood by and watched.”

  He pushes Ren’s hand away, and lies down, wriggling to try and get comfortable on the furs and sleeping pad. “You talk too much,” he mutters.

  “Always did. Thank you.”

  Dek doesn’t ask what for because Ren could probably spout this mushy stuff all night and it’s intensely embarrassing. He doesn’t want to be Ren’s hero, he doesn’t want to be on any damn pedestal. He opened his mouth without thinking. Didn’t take much bravery. Just took having his brains shaken loose by a rebel bomb six years ago in Denebwei.

  Ren removes his boots and lies down beside him. “Tomorrow, we’re leaving,” Dek says firmly. “No arguments.”

  “We’ll see,” Ren says, smiling at him. Insubordinate bastard.

  Walk A Lonesome Road: 15

  They face an immediate problem as soon as Dek tries to mount Jesti—between his arm and his bum leg, he just can’t do it without a lot of awkward help from Ren, and since the path is tricky enough that he needs to get on and off pretty frequently, he reluctantly concludes he’ll have to walk, at least until they get off the mountain. Ren isn’t happy about him having to exert himself so soon after the concussion, but there’s really little option—their stores aren’t healthy enough for more delay, and it’ll be weeks before Dek’s arm is strong again.

  “How far can you walk a day?” Ren asks as he adjusts Dek’s sling and then eases the jacket over it.

  “Far as I need to.” Ren gives him a look. “Five, seven pardecs. More if I rest. We can’t go much faster than that anyway.”

  “No, but I think we should limit it to five hours walking with breaks. Will holding onto Jesti help?”

  “A bit.” The problem is that his bum leg and his bad shoulder are on different sides, so he won’t get as much benefit as he could do from it.

  “A stick!” Ren exclaims. “You need a walking stick.”

  “We haven’t got time for that,” Dek growls, already out of patience with the whole being injured thing.

  “We need to make time. It’ll give you a lot more....”

  “No. I’ll hang onto Jesti. Now let’s get moving.”

  The going is slow and treacherous, and he’s sure they’re barely making a demidec an hour. His knee is sore and the unnatural gait wrenches all his muscles and his back, and by the time they stop for the night, he makes a decision. “This comes off,” he says, tugging at the immobilising sling.

  “You need it for....”

  “Off. It’s making me walk wrong.”

  Ren purses his lips disapprovingly. “Tomorrow. Leave it tonight. And you need to try and not use it for another day. Then I’ll start some exercises to build up strength. Another couple of days would be better.”

  “We don’t have that kind of time,” Dek says, glancing at Ren’s stomach. “We’ve used up all our slack.”

  “I guess. Take it easy just for tonight.”

  He has little choice since he’s as tired as he’s been in years, and his head is throbbing painfully with every beat of his heart. Ren’s exhausted too. A lot of women work almost up to delivery, Dek knows, but they’re designed to carry a child, and Ren isn’t. Ren wasn’t in good shape before he started. Neither of them should be out here.

  It snows that night and a thin bitter wind whistles through their camp, making Dek’s teeth ache and the urtibes squeal as they shuffle around to try and get away from it. In the tent, head buried under the blankets, Ren clings to him, shivering and miserable. Dek thinks longingly of his comfortable house and its generous heating, and of how much easier it would be for both of them to be sitting there tucked up and warm. But the pregnancy means they could never have had that option—at least Ren couldn’t. They’re committed now. Just got to get off the mountain. Things should be easier.

  In the morning, Ren removes the sling, though he’s not happy, and Dek can feel why keeping it still a
little longer would be sensible, because his shoulder hurts like hell as soon as his arm swings free. Ren makes a loop arrangement out of a bandage and sticks it around Dek’s neck. “Support it in that whenever we stop. Don’t use your arm for anything today, tomorrow too if you can. And take these.” He holds out a couple of the anti-inflammatory pills—there are hardly any left.

  Dek shakes his head. “Keep them for....”

  “Something more serious? This is serious. Dek—a dislocated shoulder can cause you problems for the rest of your life if you don’t look after it. I don’t want...I don’t want my legacy to you to be a permanent injury. Please—stop fighting me?”

  Dek has no power to resist Ren’s big eyes, not staring at him out of a white, exhausted face. “All right. Might be easier today anyway.”

  Ren’s expression relaxes as Dek takes the pills from him. “Let’s hope so.”

  But it doesn’t get easier. The thaw’s working against them, and heavy afternoon rain forces them to make camp early. They huddle under a tarp and brush shelter Ren’s dragged together, and Dek hopes like hell the path isn’t going to be flooded because there’s only one way down from here.

  The rain stops before nightfall, but the going the next day is muddy and dangerous—Ren falls heavily as they walk down a difficult patch, his feet suddenly going out from under him as he walks incautiously over slick stone. He lands on his back, the air out bashed out of him with a sickening grunt. Dek rushes to him and helps him sit, patting him all over. “The baby?”

  Ren’s wheezing, can’t answer, but he holds up his hand. “Fine,” he gasps. “Gimme...sec.” After a minute or so, he gives Dek a wobbly smile. “That was lucky.”

  “Lucky my arse.” They need those sticks, he realises, but they’ll have to wait until they get off this section—there’s nothing he can use to make them.