Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
The Brave
My racing boots rip through the undergrowth as if the earth is pulling me back.
Brambles and vines, long, knotted, and thriving at the peak of summer, dare to slow me down.
So, I run to the road, and the crack-riddled asphalt sets me free.
My arms swing to power me as I feel the subtle incline hidden within the landscape pushing back against me.
I use every ounce of strength to power my legs.
My body cries at me to stop, but my mind refuses.
I check my watch to see the minutes ticking by, and a burn blazes within my raw throat.
Nestled between the trees, the truck windshield reflects the moonlight.
I skid around the vehicle to the driver’s side and leap into the truck with a slam of the door.
My hands tremble when I steady the key in the ignition, turning it forcefully in a bid to make it start faster.
My legs are like jelly as I balance the clutch, revving the accelerator with a colossal roar, sending the wheels spinning upon the soft ground before shooting forth, flicking the headlights on, and illuminating the road.
I’m hoping to see Zeke looking better with the moment’s respite, but this is not the case.
Leon and Atlas are still supporting him as his toes drag along the road, while his head bounces with the impact of their jogging.
The brakes squeal as I halt the truck. Malcolm and Roscoe swing on the rear handles, banging the back doors open.
I jump out to help as they lower the seats to the truck’s floor, when a breathless Leon and Atlas meet us, seating Zeke on the back lip of the truck, who barely holds himself up as he perches there.
“Hey, brother. How you doing?” Leon asks him.
“Stay with him in the back! Roscoe, drive!” Malcolm says, bundling a handful of gauze into my arms.
I clamber into the back, helping pull a dazed Zeke into the truck.
Atlas pushes his boots in as he enters and slams the door closed.
Roscoe pulls away, jolting me while I readjust my position to support myself and Zeke.
He’s wavering too much with the movements, so Leon helps me lay him flat, and I take his hand, squeezing it tightly, while he politely squeezes back.
“Hey, you’ve got us all worried, Zeke.” I brush his hair back. “We’re on our way back now.”
Leon cushions Zeke’s head in his gauze-filled palm with concern painting his face as he looks down at his brother.
Zeke groans as the lunar glow highlights the silver tone of his skin. “My head’s killing me.”
Leon says, “I know, I know. The doc is waiting for you. He’ll get you everything you need.”
Zeke’s hand grips mine tightly. Occasionally, I squeeze it, and every time, he squeezes it back while offering me a tired smile. He watches me for a moment, and with the rest, he seems to grow comfortable. “Did everyone get out okay?”
“Yeah. We did it. We helped the women and children out, remember?” I reply calmly. “They’re ahead of us. We’ll probably beat them there though, with Roscoe’s driving.”
I’m finding it harder to disguise the panic with the passing of time.
Leon hovers over Zeke with strands of hair curtaining his creased brows.
If I had a smidgen of concern to spare, it would be for Atlas, who sits in a seat, twisting to face us with a wide-eyed stare.
Zeke’s icy blue eyes track the passing trees, while our clasp grows clammy.
I check the back of his hand, where his skin has turned mottled and pale, before discreetly spying the crimson rags soaked between Leon’s fingers, cradling the back of his head.
Zeke fidgets his shoulders, cricking his neck.
“Hey, what’s up? You want me to move?” I say, inching away to offer him some space.
But his grip tightens. “No, don’t go… Something’s … wrong…” he says, and his eyes clamp closed. His face grimaces as his grip tightens around mine.
“What’s wrong? What is it?”
He presses the heel of his hand into his forehead, “Ughhh. It’s so … so sharp!”
“Okay. It’s going to be okay.” I shout to Malcolm, “How much longer?!”
Zeke winces at the sound of my voice, so I bring my hand to his chest, whispering, “Sorry.”
“Twenty minutes!” he shouts back.
“Just twenty minutes, Zeke. Hold on, brother,” Leon says.
His boots kick against the truck floor as he arches his back, his face pulled tight, desperately seeking comfort with streams of tears falling from his warring eyes.
His groans turn to cries. “I’m dying… I’m going to die!” His waning breath is shallow and swift.
“No! No, Zeke, don’t panic. No, you’re going to be fine. You just need to hold on!” I hold my hand on his chest as an icy sinking feeling encloses around my heart, as if a shroud has been placed over it.
I squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.
“I don’t want to die!” he wails. “I’m not ready! Please don’t let me go!”
Leon cups his cheeks. “No, Zeke! Stop! We need you! Come on, calm down, brother!”
“Zeke, stop it! Don’t you dare talk like that!”
The scolding seems to ground him. With his shallow breath, Zeke calms, nodding, loosening his pouting lip as the panic softens with hiccupping breath.
He quietens down, and it looks like the pain has subsided with his panic, but his face drains of the last bit of colour, with a line of blood appearing from his nostrils.
There’s a glance between Leon and me with its arrival, and I mop the blood from his top lip, leaving a rouged stain against his skin. “Hey, Zeke. We’re nearly there. We’re nearly home, okay?”
He nods weakly, whispering, “Okay… Okay…” He nods again with a gentle smile. “Okay… Nearly home… Everlee… Lee… Lee… Princess… Transmission… Mercury… Mom?”
His stare softens, his shoulders sinking to the floor.
It’s like an exhale, but nothing follows.
Within the quiet of the moment, I only hear the thrum of my beating heart in my ears, like the rhythmic ticking of a clock as I listen to the seconds passing.
From his nose, twin trails of blood flow past to the edge of his mouth.
Those blue eyes are focused—not on me, but straight through me.
I squeeze his hand. He doesn’t squeeze back.
“Zeke!” I squeeze his hand again.
His fingers loosen.
“Zeke! Zeke! No… No! No! No!”
His head flops with the bounce of the truck, and Leon releases him, holding his ear to his mouth. He locks his palms over Zeke’s chest, compressing and counting aloud. “One, two, three, four—”
I stop listening. A high-pitched ringing possesses my ears as I grab Zeke’s hand, his body rippling with the compressions. His gaze is fixed, unblinking, while Leon pinches his nose, puffing air into his mouth, and restarts the compressions.
I squeeze his hand again. He doesn’t squeeze back.
Like the impact of a bullet, there’s a sensation of shock rippling from the pit of my stomach, as if I’m bleeding out.
My blood no longer warms me, and I’m turning cold, numb, and empty.
And all I can do is release a gut-wrenching wail over his body.
Leon grabs Zeke’s face, releasing a harrowing roar from deep within his soul, his own face painted in the blood of his brother, our hands crimson as we paw at him, willing him to wake.
Through my glassy gaze, I look down at Zeke, still unconvinced—or maybe it’s denial—as I tightly keep a hold of his hand and bring myself to lie by his side.
He can’t be gone. He’s still here. With a single finger, I sweep back the rogue strands of hair that have crept onto his face.
I rest my hand on his still chest, waiting for him.
Studying his face. Those long, dark lashes. The short stubble glazing his chin…
My name is called. It lifts my ears, but not my eyes. I don’t want to look away, but a fresh voice speaks.
“Everlee, let’s go.”
I glance past Zeke’s face to find Rex standing at the open rear doors, his palm outstretched, reaching towards me while my other fathers flank him.
My bottom lip shakes as I try to form words. “I can’t leave him.”
“You don’t have to, but we need to get you both out of there.”
I prop myself onto my elbow, spotting Leon standing behind my fathers with a gurney.
I look back at Zeke, the blood on his face darkening as it dries.
His beautiful eyes lie open, and I gently run my fingers over his face, shushing him to sleep as his crystal stare vanishes for the last time.
With a shuddering inhale, I lean over with my tears dripping from my cheeks to his, and my lips softly and purposefully kiss his forehead.
I finally release my grip.
With the disconnect, a cold bolt plummets through my chest when his hand drops, thudding against the steel floor.
They pull him out, and as they handle him, I see how lifeless he is, reality sinking in like a lead weight in my gut.
I am so lost as I climb out and look up to see Leon, his face smeared in Zeke’s blood, his eyes wide and quivering.
There’s a moment of stillness, the slow recognition of reality, and it doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.
His breath stutters, his eyes full of tears, but unable to cry.
We collapse, propping each other up as my knees fall weak.
With the click of the gurney, we get ready to move with Zeke through the groups of men gathered around us.
I look across their gawking faces as we make our way through, but I don’t find the one I’m looking for.
“Atlas,” I croak. “Where’s Atlas?!”
Leon shakes his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t see where he went.”
We follow my fathers as they wheel Zeke, and I look back, searching for Atlas, expecting him to appear, but he doesn’t.
The church doors are already open, and the lamps’ sombre glow illuminates the room with the echoing hum of the gurney’s wheels across the stone floor.
Roscoe asks, “Baby girl, do you want us to clean him up for you?”