Read Online The New Moon's Arms by Nalo Hopkinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nalo Hopkinson
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front of us, panting.
“You have a cell phone?” I asked him. Lots of tourists carried their valuables in waterproof pouches when they dove. “We have to call Emergency.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, no.” He knelt in the sand, reached for the groaning child.
“Careful,” I told him. “I think his ankle break. I don’t want to move him. You will stay and watch him while I go to the emergency phone? It’s just over there.”
“Yes. But we have to move him anyway. He too close to the water line.”
“Shit.”
“It’s all right. We will take care of his spine. We could brace him on this.” He held out one of his fins, turned it over to its flat back. Yes, it was almost as long as the little boy. I got down as low as I could—blasted knee!—and helped the man slide the fin underneath the child’s back. “You take his head,” he said. Together we picked the boy up. He screamed.
“Sorry, baby,” I said. “We only trying to help.” We carried him out of the way of the water and set him back down in the sand.
“Go and phone,” the man said. As I was running away, he shouted, “I’m Hector! Goonan!”
God, yes. Should have asked him for his name. Like I couldn’t do anything right today.
The emergency phone was protected in its own small shelter safely away from the tide line. Seemed to take forever to get there. My lungs started to burn. It was like breathing glass. I kept going. I was nearly weeping by the time I reached the phone. I picked up the receiver and waited the few seconds of forever until the call rang through.
“Coast Guard. What is your emergency?”
I started to babble, gasping for air: child, storm, hurt, please.
“Slow down, ma’am. Is the child breathing?”
“Yes. I think his leg break.”
“Is he conscious?”
“Yes. He’s bawling. And he have cuts all over his body.”
“Stay on the line, please, ma’am. You going to hear me talking to someone else. I’m dispatching them to come and get you.”
“All right.” Fuck, what was the name of this beach? How was I going to direct them?
I heard the dispatcher talking, and the crackly voice of a man responding via some kind of machine. She told them which phone my call had come from. Of course! They could trace us that way. I breathed a little easier. Crackle-crackle, said the other voice.
“Ma’am?” The dispatcher was back on the line.
“I’m here.”
“The Dolorosse paramedics are on their way.”
“Yes, I know them.” It’s them had answered my call when I found Dadda on Thursday.
“Is the child with you?”
“No, he’s where I found him, over near the end of the beach. Somebody’s with him.”
“Which end of the beach, ma’am? Northeast or southwest?”
My mind went blank. “I can’t… I don’t…”
“Ma’am, take a deep breath. They know the island good. They will find him. Any landmarks where he is?”
“Ahm…yes. A big, flat rock. About waist height. Wide enough for somebody to fall aslee…the mangroves!” Only one end of the beach had mangroves.
“He’s near the end where the mangroves are? By a big, flat rock about waist high?”
“Yes.” At least part of my brain was working.
“All right. I will tell the paramedics that. Hold again, please.” I heard her talking to the paramedics. Then, from the road I couldn’t see because of the wall of sea grapes, came the wahwah of the ambulance going by, and the popcorn sound of tyres on gravel. They were going the right way.
The dispatcher came back on the line. “They going to reach in another minute,” she said.
“Okay. Thank you—”
“No, don’t hang up!”
“But I have to go back to him!”
“Please stay in telephone contact with me until Jerry and Pam-
ela tell me they find him.”
“You right. That make sense.”
“You doing good.” Her voice had gentled. “That little boy is lucky you found him.”
“Heh. I guess sometimes when you find Calamity, it’s a good thing.”
“Beg
“You have a cell phone?” I asked him. Lots of tourists carried their valuables in waterproof pouches when they dove. “We have to call Emergency.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, no.” He knelt in the sand, reached for the groaning child.
“Careful,” I told him. “I think his ankle break. I don’t want to move him. You will stay and watch him while I go to the emergency phone? It’s just over there.”
“Yes. But we have to move him anyway. He too close to the water line.”
“Shit.”
“It’s all right. We will take care of his spine. We could brace him on this.” He held out one of his fins, turned it over to its flat back. Yes, it was almost as long as the little boy. I got down as low as I could—blasted knee!—and helped the man slide the fin underneath the child’s back. “You take his head,” he said. Together we picked the boy up. He screamed.
“Sorry, baby,” I said. “We only trying to help.” We carried him out of the way of the water and set him back down in the sand.
“Go and phone,” the man said. As I was running away, he shouted, “I’m Hector! Goonan!”
God, yes. Should have asked him for his name. Like I couldn’t do anything right today.
The emergency phone was protected in its own small shelter safely away from the tide line. Seemed to take forever to get there. My lungs started to burn. It was like breathing glass. I kept going. I was nearly weeping by the time I reached the phone. I picked up the receiver and waited the few seconds of forever until the call rang through.
“Coast Guard. What is your emergency?”
I started to babble, gasping for air: child, storm, hurt, please.
“Slow down, ma’am. Is the child breathing?”
“Yes. I think his leg break.”
“Is he conscious?”
“Yes. He’s bawling. And he have cuts all over his body.”
“Stay on the line, please, ma’am. You going to hear me talking to someone else. I’m dispatching them to come and get you.”
“All right.” Fuck, what was the name of this beach? How was I going to direct them?
I heard the dispatcher talking, and the crackly voice of a man responding via some kind of machine. She told them which phone my call had come from. Of course! They could trace us that way. I breathed a little easier. Crackle-crackle, said the other voice.
“Ma’am?” The dispatcher was back on the line.
“I’m here.”
“The Dolorosse paramedics are on their way.”
“Yes, I know them.” It’s them had answered my call when I found Dadda on Thursday.
“Is the child with you?”
“No, he’s where I found him, over near the end of the beach. Somebody’s with him.”
“Which end of the beach, ma’am? Northeast or southwest?”
My mind went blank. “I can’t… I don’t…”
“Ma’am, take a deep breath. They know the island good. They will find him. Any landmarks where he is?”
“Ahm…yes. A big, flat rock. About waist height. Wide enough for somebody to fall aslee…the mangroves!” Only one end of the beach had mangroves.
“He’s near the end where the mangroves are? By a big, flat rock about waist high?”
“Yes.” At least part of my brain was working.
“All right. I will tell the paramedics that. Hold again, please.” I heard her talking to the paramedics. Then, from the road I couldn’t see because of the wall of sea grapes, came the wahwah of the ambulance going by, and the popcorn sound of tyres on gravel. They were going the right way.
The dispatcher came back on the line. “They going to reach in another minute,” she said.
“Okay. Thank you—”
“No, don’t hang up!”
“But I have to go back to him!”
“Please stay in telephone contact with me until Jerry and Pam-
ela tell me they find him.”
“You right. That make sense.”
“You doing good.” Her voice had gentled. “That little boy is lucky you found him.”
“Heh. I guess sometimes when you find Calamity, it’s a good thing.”
“Beg
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