Chapter Twenty-Three
The Pop
My heart still has that rushing sensation that we’re about to fall as I hop from the bike. Our boots splash across the surface, racing to Atlas as he lies still on his side. Zeke pulls his arm, rolling him onto his back, with raindrops ricocheting from his unconscious face.
Zeke holds his ear over Atlas’ mouth. “He’s breathing!” He claps above his face with each shout of his name. “Atlas! Atlas! Atlas!”
Atlas stirs as if someone has rudely awakened him, spitting the rain from his lips. Water streams from Zeke’s chin as he asks, “Hey, buddy? You hurt?”
Atlas looks confused as he sits up, releasing a tremendous roar when his left arm shoots over to hold his right shoulder.
Zeke’s hands hover above him. “Your shoulder?!”
Leon steps forward, producing a flashlight and illuminating Atlas’s bloodied nose, trickling with the rain into his beard. His right arm shows crimson skin blooming beneath the grated denim of his jacket and T-shirt sleeve.
“Let’s get you up, brother,” Leon says, helping him to his feet. “Can you ride?”
Atlas doesn’t even reply as he winces with a gritted jaw, while Zeke helps him stand. Leon jogs over, pulling up Atlas’s bike, shining his flashlight to check for signs of leaks or disrepair, but it appears to have held up much better than Atlas, with only scuffs tattering the chrome and framework.
“Zeke, get Atlas to the cabin. Me and Lee will meet you there.”
Atlas gives out a groan at the suggestion. “No! My bike?! It’ll be scavenged to pieces out here!”
“No! You need to get out of here,” Leon says. “Don’t worry about your bike. I’ll bring it back.”
“But what about your bike?” Zeke asks.
“Lee will ride it.”
My eyes widen at the suggestion, with the rain dripping from my slack jaw. I don’t want to let Leon down, but I have zero confidence in this plan, especially after witnessing someone as seasoned as Atlas take a fall.
“Leon… I’m not sure… I don’t think I can.” I have only ridden dirt bikes, and they don’t measure up to these metal monsters, especially in this storm.
“Take my bike. It’s smaller,” Zeke says, jumping onto Leon’s bike as we help Atlas climb aboard.
He stoops over Zeke, tucking his wounded arm into his body while his head hangs with a grimace, and I watch helplessly as they drive away.
But with the slowing of the rain, the looming storm seems less menacing.
This isn’t a yes-or-no situation. These guys have done so much for me, so I need to at least try. I straddle Zeke’s bike, rubbing my face dry as Leon stands before me.
“You can do this. It’s a few miles. We’ll take it slow, okay?”
I look down, nodding nervously, when his palms slap either side of my helmet, startling me.
“Hey! I’m charged with keeping you safe, and I’m not in the business of losing people. If I didn’t think you could do this, I wouldn’t ask you to.”
With that, my nerves dissipate. Thinking about it, I’m not sure anybody else could have convinced me to jump into the river that night, but when it comes to Leon, I trust him.
My thumb flicks on the ignition, and the engine rumbles beneath, with vibrations shivering up my arms from the handlebars.
Leon scurries to his bike. I gently pull on the throttle, and the bike jolts forward with the stall of the engine.
After a few attempts, I find the balance between the clutch and the throttle.
My heart jitters as I pull my feet to rest on the pegs while I dare to advance at a crawl.
Weirdly, it gets easier with speed as Leon comes to travel by my side, his smile beaming while he pumps his fist in the air.
The thrill tingles through my skin, the freedom of speed loosens my trepidations, and now feeling a little braver, I look behind at the storm, still dominating the sky, but less ominous than before as the clouds rise into the upper atmosphere.
Daylight momentarily returns before the terracotta arc of dusk stretches across the sky and sinks beneath the horizon of trees.
The woodland is dense with dogwood, cracking and creaking its stressed branches, while some trees have fallen, but caught on the branches of others, refusing to reach the ground.
The honey glow of our headlights shines against Zeke’s silhouette in the distance, and we come to his side while Atlas winces with every bounce of the bike.
The muggy heat doesn’t let up as the darkness grows, and we slow our pace while navigating the storm debris, winding through the narrow, muddied paths within the woods.
Weathered burgundy slats decorate the rickety cabin, which is much smaller than the last, while its shale tiles sit beneath a willow tree, its billowing branches breathing with the wind.
The stagnant odour of a warm lake invites a mist of gnats and mosquitos, who waste no time in feasting on our blood, and after rushing to park the bikes, we race indoors, slapping the stinging bites before slamming the door closed behind us.
The denim sticks to my legs, its damp scent filling the cabin.
We rush to help Atlas, who is puffing with every step while beads of sweat form along his crumpled brow.
I look around the room, limited in furniture with a tiny rusty kitchenette, searching for a light switch, only to find Zeke tampering with oil lamps.
With no electricity, I realise how basic this setup is as I pull a pine dining chair out, and Atlas grunts, cradling his arm while he slumps into the seat.
“Atlas, we’re going to have to cut your jacket loose,” I say, reaching into my boot for my knife.
Leon tips a saddlebag onto the dining table, spilling out gauze, bandages, and antiseptic.
I gently tease the tip of my blade beneath Atlas’s arm and down the side seam of his denim jacket.
Leon helps ease it from his good arm, peeling it away from his dampened skin, but as we lift his arm to pull it from his damaged shoulder, his fists clench, and he throws his head back with a sickening roar.
“Hey, hey!” I say sternly. “This is the worst bit now! It will be better when it’s off … okay?”
The names of his loved ones scroll through my mind.
His brothers, his mother, his wife, and his daughter.
Those people weigh on me—and wherever they may be, they all need him to be okay.
He nods, submitting to biting his lip as Leon and I continue to tease his T-shirt away.
It’s slick to his skin, and without question, we cut it, pulling at the scraps stuck to the coagulated blood stretching from the wound.
With its separation, Atlas slams his fist onto the table, tremors travelling throughout the cabin floor, but surprisingly, the flesh wounds are shallow and sparse, and it’s definitely not enough to be causing him such discomfort.
“Atlas, where’s the pain?” I ask with a puzzled stare.
He winces, circling his hand over it. “My shoulder. The whole shoulder.”
I stand in front of him. “Sit up straight.” He shuffles his butt in the seat, and his shoulder hangs lower on one side. “Oh, thank God! It’s only dislocated.”
The guys look at me with widened eyes, unable to see how that is good news.
Zeke asks, “Do you know what to do?”
“Well, yeah, but I can’t do it. I’m too small. Leon will have to do it.”
Leon shakes his head.
With a teasing smile, I go up to him, planting my hands on either side of his face. “If I didn’t think you could do this, I wouldn’t ask you to.”
He scoffs with a roll of his eyes. “I hate it when you use my own words against me.”
“My dad’s shoulder used to come out all the time. I’ll show you what to do. Here, Zeke.” He reluctantly joins me for a demonstration as I pull his arm straight. “Atlas, you need to stay still. Let him pull on your arm, and I promise you, the pain will go like that—” and I snap my fingers.
Atlas mutters beneath his breath as Leon psyches himself up, nervously fitting and refitting his cap backwards.
I point to Atlas’s body. “You might be better putting your boot into his side. There’s not enough furniture to anchor him.”
Leon chews his lip, wringing his hands. “How will I know when it works?”
“You’ll know when you hear it pop.”
They all wince, and Leon visibly shudders. I can’t believe I’m standing before guys who can survive in the woods and witness the gore of bullets, but this is what has them all quivering.
I stand beside Zeke, well away from Atlas and his swinging punches.
“Okay, brother. Here we go.” Leon lifts Atlas’s arm, plants his boot into his side, and pulls with all his weight.
The veins in Atlas’s face pulsate, and the tendons in his neck sharpen. He clenches his teeth with a deep grunt, sending them both growling, their volume growing with the pull’s tension.
Pop!
Leon releases his arm, his back bowed and convulsing as he dry heaves, while Atlas pants, bringing his arm back to his chest and softening his face.
I mop his glowing forehead as he laughs, with Zeke and me amused at the scene of Leon wrestling with his stomach, losing all the colour in his face while leaning over the sink.
“Can I move it?” Atlas asks.
“Yeah. It will be sore, but you’re okay, right?”
He slowly rotates his shoulder, smirking, “Yeah. Much better. Whooooo!”
I prepare gauze to clean his grit-ridden shoulder, passing him some to clear the dried blood from his face, and after taping down the dressing, it covers at least half of his arm.
With the mess cleared, Leon baits us to the table by tipping out another saddlebag.
Mama Cooper wrapped up an array of sandwiches and snacks.
We race to snarf up the grub, as if it has been ages since our last meal.
The circular pine table looks pitiful with all four of us around it, sitting on mismatched dining chairs.
We’ve stripped into dry clothes, but the damp scent of rain is warm as our hair remains sodden in the heat.
Zeke asks through a mouthful of food, “So, Lee, what did you think of your little bike ride?”
“I actually liked it! But next time, if I can ride without the cyclone and not straight after Atlas’s gymnastic display along the asphalt, that’d be great.”
“You hear that, Leon? Sounds like she’s ready for her own bike,” Atlas says, moving on to a second sandwich.
“We’ll get you something … or … at least the employer might get you one.” Leon’s excitement dwindles.
The silence that arrives is itch-inducing.
I forget there will be a time when we won’t be together.
Tomorrow, we will pass into South Dakota, triggering the employer to step in and meet us.
It could be our last day together, and my stomach hitches at the thought, extinguishing my appetite, so I put down my sandwich as they continue with their food.
With the employer’s identity unknown, I can’t help but brace myself for the worst. If it’s the same men who hunted me as a child, then I need to protect myself—and with that, I am ready to do something I swore to my fathers I would never do.
“Guys, how do you think this all came about?” I ask.
“The food?” Zeke says, looking confused.
“No. I mean, the Missing Girls phenomenon.” My neck grows warm, and I lift my hair up, tying it into a bun.
Atlas gulps his food away. “Well, that’s conspiracy galore. The closest thing to rational I heard was something to do with farming, trying to produce more female livestock, and it went wrong.”
Zeke only shrugs, while Leon puts down his food, resting his elbows on the table.
“My father said the government created the problem, and it got out of hand,” Leon says. “They were on the brink of a cure, and the other nations found out. They say that’s what triggered the Lost War.” He leans back in his chair, peering downwards at me. “Why? What do you think?”
I say ruefully, “Tomorrow … the employer could be … some dangerous people. Either way, it might be goodbye, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it to end on someone else’s terms.”
Atlas and Zeke look at Leon, their brows wrinkling.
Leon says, “Well, we’re not too happy about it, kid. But we’ve discussed it. And we agree.” He looks between the guys. “We’ll stick with you for as long as we can, until you’re safe. We’re not doing it for the money anymore. In fact, I don’t think it’s been about the money since we met you.”
The other guys nod, and Zeke reaches forward, squeezing my hand, while Atlas reaches out to tap it, which is equally affectionate for him. I am truly touched as they affirm our friendship, cementing my decision to divulge.
My voice is quick and stern, as if reading the terms of a contract.
“If I invite you into the fold, you’ll become a part of the rebellion, and you’ll understand why I cannot be taken by strangers.
” They all lean into the table. “I know the truth. The truth about how it started, the truth about what caused the war, and the truth about the cure.” I avoid their focused stares as they gasp.
“There’s a cure?!” Zeke says.
I nod, looking up nervously. “Yeah… It’s me.”