Twenty-two
Shh, don’t move.”
I’m not, although my head jiggles and jerks with the motion of the train. The engine’s whistle blows mournfully, a distant sound that somehow cuts through the insistent buzzing in my ears. My whole body feels like lead.
Something cold and wet hits my forehead. I open my eyes and see a panoply of shifting color and forms. Four blurred arms cross my face and then merge into a single foreshortened limb. I gag, my lips involuntarily forming a tunnel. I turn my head, but nothing comes out.
“Keep your eyes closed,” says Walter. “Just lie still.”
“Hrrmph,” I mumble. I let my head fall to the side, and the cloth falls from it. A moment later it’s replaced.
“You took a good hit. Glad to see you back.”
“Is he coming around?” says Camel. “Hey, Jacob, you still with us?”
I feel like I’m rising from a deep mine, am having trouble placing myself. I appear to be on the bedroll. The train is already moving. But how did I get here and why was I asleep?
Marlena!
My eyes snap open. I struggle to rise.
“Didn’t I tell you to lie still?” Walter scolds.
“Marlena! Where’s Marlena?” I gasp, falling back on the pillow. My brain rolls in my head. I think it’s been shaken loose. It’s worse when my eyes are open and so I close them again. With all visual stimulus removed, the blackness feels larger than my head, as though my cranial cavity has turned inside out.
Walter is kneeling beside me. He removes the rag from my forehead, dips it in water, and then squeezes out the excess. The water trickles back into the bowl, a clean, clear sound, a familiar tinkling. The buzzing starts to subside, replaced by a pounding ache that sweeps from ear to ear around the back of my skull.
Walter brings the rag back to my face. He wipes my forehead, cheeks, and chin, leaving my skin damp. The cooling tingle is grounding, helps me concentrate on the outside of my head.
“Where is she? Did he hurt her?”
“I don’t know.”
I open my eyes again, and the world tilts violently. I struggle up on my elbows and this time Walter doesn’t push me down. Instead, he leans over and peers into my eyes. “Shit. Your pupils are different sizes. You feel up to drinking something?” he says.
“Uh . . . yeah,” I gasp. Finding words is hard. I know what I want to express, but the pathway between my mouth and brain might as well be stuffed with cotton.
Walter crosses the room, and a bottle cap clinks to the floor. He comes back and holds a bottle to my lips. It’s sarsaparilla. “It’s the best I’ve got, I’m afraid,” he says ruefully.
“Damned cops,” Camel grumbles. “You okay, Jacob?”
I’d like to answer, but staying upright is taking all my concentration.
“Walter, is he okay?” Camel sounds significantly more worried this time.
“I think so,” says Walter. He puts the bottle on the floor. “You want to try sitting up? Or you want to wait a few minutes?”
“I’ve got to get Marlena.”
“Forget it, Jacob. There’s nothing you can do right now.”
“I’ve got to. What if he . . .?” My voice cracks. I can’t even finish the sentence. Walter helps me into a sitting position.
“There’s nothing you can do right now.”
“I don’t accept that.”
Walter turns in fury. “For Christ’s sake, would you just listen to me for once?”
His anger startles me into silence. I rearrange my knees and lean forward so my head is resting on my arms. It feels heavy, huge—at least as large as my body.
“Never mind that we’re on a moving train and you’ve got a concussion. We’re in a mess. A big mess. And the only thing you can do right now is make it worse. Hell, if you hadn’t been knocked flat and if we didn’t still have Camel here, I’d have never gotten back on this train tonight.”
I stare between my knees at the bedroll, trying to concentrate on the largest fold of material. Things are steadier now, not shifting so much. With each passing minute, additional parts of my brain are kicking in.
“Look,” Walter continues, his voice softer, “we’ve got three days left before we off-load Camel. And we’re just going to have to cope the best we can in the meantime. That means watching our backs and not doing anything stupid.”
“Off-load Camel?” says Camel. “Is that how you think of me?”
“At the moment, yes!” barks Walter. “And you should be grateful we do, because what the hell do you think would happen to you if we took off right now? Hmmm?”
There is no answer from the cot.
Walter pauses and sighs. “Look, what’s happening with Marlena is terrible, but for God’s sake! If we leave before Providence, Camel’s done for. She’s going to have to look after herself for the next three days. Hell, she’s done it for four years. I think she can last another three days.”
“She’s pregnant, Walter.”
“What?”
There is a long silence. I look up.
Walter’s forehead is creased. “Are you sure?”