Chapter 47
Remy
As the days stretched on, I relied on Ripley and Vince far more than they relied on me.
The only tasks I managed on my own were tending to the fire, boiling water, and doling out portions of food.
Even when I went to the bathroom, I crouched down and clung onto Vince’s reins with my good arm, because it was hard to stand up on my own.
Vince had even learned to bow slightly, kneeling one front leg while outstretching the other, so I could more easily climb onto him. I’d made a sling for my left arm, but I was in constant pain regardless of what was happening.
I didn’t even really notice my condition was worsening until one morning, I could hardly stand. Twice I managed to get to my feet – still with the help of Ripley – and then all at once, my legs gave out, and I was on the ground again with a few minutes of time lost.
I realized that I might actually die. Not in the abstract far-off future time, but imminently. Presently.
In the history of my life, this wasn’t the first time I’d thought that. In fact, off the top of my head, I could name six times in the past I was absolutely certain I was moments from death.
But this time felt different. Maybe it was because I was alone. Maybe it was the oppressiveness of the cold. Or maybe it was the pointlessness of it all. If I died out here, half-way to sacrificing my body for a cure… all I could think was: What a waste.
I closed my eyes, and then I felt a tug on my jacket, and I started sliding on the snow. I opened my eyes again to see that Vince had grabbed hold of me, his mouth biting the hood of my jacket, and he was dragging me along the trail.
“Vince, no, this won’t work.” I waved my good arm, more flailing than swatting at him the way I intended. “Vince! Stop! You can’t drag me up the hill.”
He released me then, and he made another annoyed snort and stomped his feet in the snow.
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I can’t move anymore. You gotta go on without me if you want to live.”
He stared down at me, his ears flicking this way and that, and he considered me for a long while. Then, without warning, he started galloping uphill, continuing the trail to Xwechtáal.
In fact, he left so quickly, he kicked up snow behind him, and startled Ripley.
“You should go with him,” I told her, as she watched his retreating figure and flicked her tail back and forth.
She didn’t leave, though. She laid down beside me, on my good side, and I didn’t have the strength to send her away.
I wondered how long it would take to die. Would I freeze to death first? Or would it be dehydration? Starvation? An infection likely ravaging my insides? Something else I hadn’t considered?
At least it wouldn’t be a zombie. I found some comfort in that, as I closed my eyes and let myself drift off to a deep dark dreamless sleep in the snow.
Sometime later, I awoke to the sound of a man shouting, “Is that a fucking lion eating someone?”
“No!” I shouted emphatically from my groggy stupor, and my ribs cried out at the exertion. “She’s my friend. She’s my pet. Don’t hurt her.”
“Is she friendly?” he asked.
“Sure, if you don’t try to hurt me or her,” I replied simply.
I tilted my head back, trying to see who was approaching me, since it took so much effort to sit up. From that vantage, I could see Vince the mule walking toward us with a man following behind him.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m Jordy Duvall, and I live up the way in Xwechtáal,” he explained. His heavy boots stopped right before my head, and I finally got a look at him when he reached me, albeit with an upside-down view.
Most of his face was covered by his ski mask, so I could only get a glimpse of his deep olive skin and his disorienting hazel eyes.
The only thing I had been looking at for days was the mountain, and his eyes were, somewhat ominously, the same exact palette: gray stone and pale snow, sunlit gold and shadowed pine.
“What kind of predicament have you got yourself in?” he asked, sounding almost amused by my near-death on the mountainside.
“I fell, and I think I’ve broken my ribs and my clavicle,” I said, because playing coy about my injuries wouldn’t help any. I could hardly move as it was, and the only thing I had consumed all day had been the snow that I could reach with my tongue from where I lay.
“And that’s your mule here?” Jordy asked, motioning to Vince, who had been sniffing me all over since he returned.
“Yeah. His name is Vince,” I said. “And Ripley is the lioness.”
“So you have a hero mule, a pet lion, and a few broken bones,” he surmised, again with that amused glint in his eyes. “Have I got that all right?”
“Pretty much,” I admitted.
“Well, the good news is that I can help you with all that,” he said. “The bad news is that it’s gonna hurt like hell getting you back to town.”
“The bad news is that I’m the harbinger of death, but I really don’t want to die out here,” I told him honestly.
“That’s what I like to hear!” He started shrugging off the large pack he had on his back.
“I actually do emergency patrols around Xwechtáal, which is why I followed your friend Vince here down the hill. I figured a pack mule without a rider meant someone must be in trouble. And that’s how I found you. ”
“I’d take umbrage with that, but I think I am trouble,” I said, and then more wearily, “Too much trouble.”
“Nobody is too much trouble,” he said conclusively as he pulled a collapsable stretcher out of his pack. “Or rather, all humans are too much trouble, but we’re all mostly worth it anyways.”
“You really believe that?” I asked.
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here loading you onto a stretcher,” he said. “I’m going to hook it onto your mule, so he’ll be the one pulling you along. It’s going to be a bumpy ride, but it’ll be the fastest way to really help you back in town.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
“I suppose if I’m going to be helping you, I should at least know your name.”
“Remy King.”
“Nice to meet you, Remy,” he replied. “Let’s hope this is the start of a pleasant friendship.”