Strikers (19 page)

The moment is broken by the flap of wings and I look above me to see the hawk standing outside the nest and looking at me, his head cocked a little to the side as if bemused to find me there. I can hear rustling in the nest so I know there is a missus hawk at least. The rising sun breaks the horizon and he switches to look at me from the other eye. A flare of golden light shines when the sun catches his eyes and I see Jovan in that eye.

I’m familiar with this type of hawk, far more familiar than I should be, and I’m transported back home to the garden in my backyard for a dizzying moment. The red-tailed hawk from home has been my sort-of companion for a few years, though he’s now old enough to want to find a partner and have chicks of his own.

As a fledgling, with his funny-colored feathers and less-than-graceful hunting skills, he stalked my garden from the fence, watching for the mice that raided it each and every night. Soon enough, I found a mouse and bashed it with my spade, as I did every time. But this time, he was still sunning himself on the fence and watching with wary eyes, so I tossed it toward him. The mouse hit the fence and fell to the ground, startling him, but they’re smart birds and he discovered it was a fresh bit of meat much like what his mother and father fed him.

We developed a relationship of sorts that first spring and summer. Hawks are unique creatures and his species more than any other can form bonds with humans. I was no hawker, but it was nice to have my own hawk friend to keep my garden clear. When I killed a chicken, I gave him the entrails and the organs I didn’t like after Connor cleaned it for me. And our garden, shed and house were almost entirely free of mice by the end of that first summer.

He won my loyalty without question late that first summer when I came out to gather produce one hot morning to find him agitated and pacing along the fence with his feathers ruffled and his head jerking, as if trying to draw my attention. I thought perhaps he had gotten a rabbit but lost it—he had done that before but I only found it when it began to stink—so I went to the garden, chatting to him and assuring him I would look for his rabbit.

When I drew near to the stacked stone that made up the borders of our raised bed gardens, he startled me by swooping down from the fence and crossing in front of me. His wings came so close I could smell the powdery scent of his feathers. It startled me enough that I dropped my harvest basket and heard a faint rattling in response.

The small rattlesnake had been coiled on the stones, where some of the warmth of the day remains trapped during the night. I backed away slowly and the hawk returned to the fence, watching me and the snake with equal interest. After retrieving my slingshot, I waited, talking calmly to the hawk, until the snake settled back into his tight coil. One sharp strike with a stone from my slingshot and the snake died.

I took off his head far enough back to ensure that no venom glands remained and then opened him up to make him more enticing. I’d never seen the hawk take a snake, but it was meat. It was one of the few times I ever gutted an animal myself, but I figured I owed the hawk this one.

He played with the chunks, a bit unsure of them, for a good long while but eventually settled down to eating. After that, I was never surprised by a snake and I shared whatever I had with the hawk. I like to think we were friends. Though he came less this last year and seemed more interested in other hawks he saw in the sky, he always returned. I wonder if he’s noted my absence, perhaps wondered where I’ve gone. Or did he just fly away, finally free to find the mate he must surely yearn for by now?

The hawk above says, “Guh-runk.”

“I agree,” I respond and search the area as the day unfolds. The light leaves me exposed should anyone close enough look my way, so I find myself anxious to climb down. Below me, everyone is still lying down, all of them except Jovan curled on their sides to preserve heat. I can’t see his eyes, but he’s laying face up, his arms behind his head and I can feel him looking up at me.

The fire from the abandoned settlement has almost gone out, sporadic streams of smoke still rising above the trees. It doesn’t look like the kind of orderly smoke that comes from a camp or cooking fire, but short of going down there and making a target of myself, I have no way of knowing who, if anyone, survived the night there.

Where I saw the gap in the trees, I can now see some sort of old industrial complex. There’s a huge building and a large flat area surrounding it sort of like that parking lot we passed before. There are no cars—which is too bad, because I’d like to see that—but a few trees have broken through and grown there. Whatever type of building it is that lies in the center, it’s vast. It seems as if there are acres of rooftop. It has the look of someplace left to rot.

There’s nothing else to see except trees and a snaking gap in them where there’s a road to the south and maybe another large stream or small river to the east.

I sigh and say to the hawk, “North it is, then”.

Getting Maddix to the place I saw is a nightmare, especially now that we can see him and the pain he’s enduring with each step in the clear light of day. The temptation to stop each time his groans reach a certain, unbearable level of agony is almost more than we can tolerate, but we have to keep moving.

Each one of us reaches that breaking point at different times, thankfully, and the others encourage the one faltering to move on. It works and we reach the open space before the morning is half over. It’s a slow, dragging pace compared to the ground-eating one we’ve been keeping, but Maddix is so bad that I’m surprised he manages at all.

We’re not so desperate that we’ll march into the open without checking it out first. Connor and Cassi work to make Maddix comfortable on the ground within the cover of the trees, while Jovan and I walk the perimeter of the huge lot to see what we can see. There’s nothing but the scurrying of animals disturbed by our presence and the lazy coils of a few snakes on the broken pavement.

The building is huge, bigger even than it appeared from the tower. It’s in very poor shape, the roof sagging in folds against walls that appear to be made of metal. But not all of it is collapsed. It’s simply too big to rely on any single element for support.

There are enormous bay doors that look like large versions of the garage doors at the Courthouse. I can’t imagine how large the vehicles would be that would need such doors. And even more curious, they are elevated, with huge concrete platforms extending out from the bottom of the doors like the loading bay platform I hid under before going in to see my father.

“It looks like an old transport hub. I don’t see any signs of people at all. You?” Jovan asks. In the dappled light, his eyes flash gold and I can’t help but smile, which is ridiculous given that my father has likely just died and Maddix is in such bad shape that I have no idea if he’ll recover.

He crinkles his face but gives me a tentative smile in return, and asks. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that I saw a hawk. It reminded me of something good from home,” I say.

He looks around for the hawk, but I nudge him and say, “It’s gone now. Let’s go check it out.”

There are no surprises, for which I’m grateful. It’s nothing more than a half-fallen building that hasn’t been used in decades, if not longer. Rust coats much of the metal and Jovan draws back my hand when I reach out to touch it.

“Try not to touch much. Some of this could come down if we disturb it. But that’s good in a way. If we keep our hands off, but anyone coming after us doesn’t…” He lets the sentence trail off but I understand what he means. It could serve as a good warning system, like an alarm of sorts.

I nod and keep my hands to myself as we look. The safest part seems to be the corner of the building where the first of the big doors is. There are more braces and it has been better protected from the rain because the roof is intact.

Getting Maddix into the building is tough. He’s feverish and anytime he closes his mouth he’s utterly unable to breathe. When he chokes he opens his mouth again, but he’s not responding properly to what we say to him. Connor is nearly frantic with worry and starts snapping at us with each bump and stumble when we are forced to start carrying his brother just to keep him moving. All Jovan and I can do is keep going and try to watch our steps over the uneven pavement.

Cassi runs around the border of the lot, collecting some of the ample dried wood that litters the ground. She passes us several times, dropping off armfuls at the partially opened bay door where we’ve decided to make camp.

Inside, Jovan starts a small fire and we discover only then how much we left behind at the settlement. We’ve got one pot, the smaller one, and only two of the canteens. One cup and two water carriers remain, but at least both of the carriers are full. It’s a small thing, but I’m grateful for it. The greatest loss is two of my four tins of food. We have just two entirely inadequate quarts of food, one of grain and one of dried fruit.

Jovan’s discovery of several of the military rations we stole from the Courthouse eases the panic I feel at losing so much food, but even with that, we have enough to stretch out only a few days. The way Maddix looks, we’ll need longer than that. And from what Jordan mapped out for us on the dirt, we’ve got weeks left on the road, at least ten days till we hit the border to the Southeast and freedom.

As far as I know, none of us knows how to hunt larger game and I’m not familiar with the plants in this wooded land. It’s simply too different here from the flat plains where I’ve lived my life. Maybe they’ll have rats or something like that. Connor and I can get those with our slingshots if all else fails.

Once we’ve boiled the instruments and any of the boiled cloth that hasn’t stayed sealed, there’s no more delay, though I wish with all my heart there was. Connor and Cassi take off Maddix’s pants and the flesh around the hole is red and angry-looking. The puffy flesh flares outward from the hole like a pair of ragged lips.

Jovan’s hands begin to shake the minute he picks up the little forceps so I’ve got no choice but to hand him the flashlight and wash my hands. His look of relief when I take the forceps from him is almost laughable.

I can feel the little nub of metal on the side of his thigh, so I know it went in at an angle. He’s been walking and his bones feel sound so this should be a simple matter of reaching in and pulling out the bullet along the path it went in. The real trick is to do it all without rupturing some vital artery or vein. None of us even knows where any of those might be except the one that runs along the inner thigh. Thankfully, his wound is on the outer side of his leg.

Jovan holds two freshly wound flashlights high and sits on Maddix’s other leg so that he can’t kick at me while I dig around in his flesh. Connor and Cassi each hold an arm and shoulder. He seems only vaguely aware of what we’re doing but I tell him anyway, waiting until I think I see understanding in the form of fear in his eyes.

It’s a terrible thing to have to force an instrument into the flesh of another human being. It’s the worst kind of intimacy and I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the way it feels to fish around in his leg trying to grab that bullet. It seems to move and slip around like it doesn’t want to be caught. I let out an involuntary sound of victory when I feel the forceps click together around the small bit of metal.

It comes out with a fresh stream of blood and for a moment, I worry that I’ve done exactly what I feared and torn some vital artery. But the stream is more of a trickle and I let out the breath I’ve been holding when I don’t see it pump along with his heartbeat. Maddix sags back to the floor the moment I withdraw the forceps, his face covered in a fresh sheen of sweat and his breathing ragged with pain.

“What do we do about the infection?” I ask Jovan.

He fishes around in the medical kit, curses and then digs around in the bag he took it from. With a little sound of victory, he withdraws a little pot, opens it and holds it out for me to dip a finger in.

“This is what we use in the field for cuts, even big ones that need stitches. It works.”

It smells wonderful, a bit like herbs and flowers, but it looks like an ugly gray jelly. I wash the hole, making Maddix struggle with pain again, until it bleeds enough to wash out anything that might be inside, then I fill the hole with the goo as best I can.

Maddix actually sighs as the medicine starts to work and the lines in his brow smooth. Where my finger has touched the jelly, a faint sensation of numbness sets in. Inside the kit is a curved needle and special thread for use in sewing skin, but neither Jovan or I feel like we should close up the hole. I have no idea why I feel like that is the wrong thing to do, but when Jovan says he agrees, we bind the leg snugly and let Maddix rest. We’ll deal with his face later. I don’t think he can handle more right now.

I make it outside before the shakes hit me, but when they do, they are merciless. It feels like my entire body is going to come apart at the seams, leaving bits of me to rattle around on the ground like a spilled bag of beans. The sun feels warm, like spring should feel, and I walk around in tight circles and shake my hands as if I can fling the memory of the way the inside of his leg felt away from me.

A shadow falls on me after I spend a few minutes pacing, and I look up to the open door to see Jovan standing there. He looks helpless, like he wishes he could do something for me but has no clue what to do. I stand there and something comes over me. My mind feels as numb as my finger but I raise my arms a little to the side, an invitation to a hug.

He jumps down with the same smooth athletic grace with which he does everything and doesn’t hesitate. His arms go around me completely and he presses my cheek into his chest. One hand strokes my hair while the other holds me tightly to him. It’s so very comforting, and the tremors begin to subside after a minute or two. It’s the best kind of hug, the kind that is patient and speaks far more eloquently than any soothing words every could.

When he feels me sigh and sag against him, he withdraws a little and looks at my face. His fingers push back the strands of hair that have escaped from my ponytail and are sticking to my face.