Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
HAILEY
D ean’s eyes fly open, and his shrill wail pierces the air.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” I hover over him, pinning his upper body down with the weight of my hands.
Is his skin clammy? I can’t tell with this rain. But the coloring of that leg… One look and I knew this wasn’t going to be good. We’re running out of time.
“Get it off!” His face contorts in agony as Reed rakes the blade back and forth, bark chips flying in all directions.
“Dean, look at me.” I stroke my fingers down his cheeks. I’d give anything to have superhuman strength, to hurl this log off of him and take away his pain. But even that wouldn’t give him the instant relief he’s looking for.
“We’re going to get you out of here, okay?” I tell him. “You just need to hang on a little longer.”
He thrashes his head, moaning, “I can’t. It hurts!”
Reed stops the saw.
Dean claws at my skin like he’ll never know a moment that isn’t bound by pain, and it’s tearing me up inside seeing him like this. I grip his cheek to get him to face me again.
“I know it hurts.” My voice quivers. I’ve been calm up until this point, puking incident aside. Acted the way a professional EMT would, not the scared girl who couldn’t forgive her best friend and wasted what could be her last summer with him just to watch him die right before her eyes. But I’m desperate to help him. How do I make him forget?
I look to the one person who has been that for me, the comfort and calm in my turbulent summer. Reed’s patiently waiting for the command to continue. He offers me a subtle gesture that says You already know what to do . I know because he’s shown me how. And then, as ridiculous as I sound, I start to sing.
“Electric boobs, below her shoes.” Dean doesn’t freeze like I did on that plane. But his shaking relaxes as he focuses on my face.
“You know I read it in a wagon seat, oh, oh,” I continue.
It’s my dad’s voice who belts out the next line of “Bennie and the Jets.” It would seem I got more from him than I originally thought—pitchy lungs to be specific.
“Isn’t it boots ?” Daniels asks.
Reed laughs, and Dean is… smiling at him . It’s a soft, weak smile, but it’s there.
One by one, new voices join in until the whole crew is singing Elton John in the backcountry of the Payette National Forest like it’s an anthem to the trees.
When Dean’s distracted enough, I nod for Reed to continue, and we keep singing through his cries. The chainsaw makes a clean break, and then Reed does the same thing on the section above Dean’s hip.
“All done, buddy,” Reed says to him.
Dean rakes his heavy eyelids open so that he’s looking up at Reed. “Whoever… taught you… how to use that… did a damn… good… job,” he gets out.
Reed chuckles, a sad laugh that sounds trapped inside his throat.
“And whoever… taught you… to sing like that… did too,” Dean says, grazing my arm.
I shake my head furiously as I cling to his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her. I’m so sorry I wouldn’t let you in.”
His arm quivers as it hovers no more than a couple inches off the ground, and he whimpers. He’s trying to reach for me, and I’d let him if I thought he could. I’d hug him if I could. Instead, I press his arm back down and tell him not to exert himself.
He’s getting blurrier by the minute as my tears mix with rain, my sleeve a useless towel with how sopping it is. I brush back the wet strands of hair matted to his forehead as he gets out a weak “You let… him in… and… that was all… that mattered… to me.”
At first I think he’s talking about Reed, but then his gaze finds my dad before eventually making its way to the sky, staring at a fixed point, the fight slipping from his eyes. Defeat takes over the weight of his limbs and he stops struggling, lying limply against the ground.
“Dean, stay with me!” I clamp my fingers to his carotid artery. His pulse is more of a hum now. This can’t be the end for us; there has to be more. I need more time.
“Hayes, step back. We’ll get him transferred,” my dad says, looping his hand beneath Dean’s armpit. He and Murphy work at a quick pace to support both sides while Reed stabilizes the log. They gently guide Dean’s body on top of heavy orange plastic, snapping together buckles. Pulling tight on the straps, the sked stretcher forms a U-shape with a flat end beneath his boots.
“Let’s go,” my dad says, dragging it over the ground behind him just as the chop of copter blades splits through the sky.