there on the spot. But it was already too late; he'd got the guy up into a fireman's carry, or as much of one as he could manage-the guy seemed to weigh a ton, all loose and uncooperative like that-and had already stumbled with him down to the lobby. Besides, he didn't see how he could have left him all bent up like a rag doll on the landing.
He dragged the guy over to the blankets and lay him down. The eyes fluttered open as he stood back up; they drifted, then fastened on his face.
The man's lips were dry and cracked; the point of his tongue moved across them, then drew back in. His voice rasped out, "Who…" He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, having pulled up some fragment of strength inside. "Who are you…"
He wiped his hands on his jeans. He'd gotten the guy's blood on them. "Uh… my dad sent me. He told me you were out here. Said you might need some stuff."
He'd dropped his pack down by the blankets when he'd walked over to the reception counter. Now he squatted down, opened the pack and started pulling out things.
"I got something to drink here-Pepsi; is that okay?" The words tumbled out of him. He'd never seen anybody in as bad shape as this fellow. "And I made you some sandwiches, and I brought along some canned chili-we could make a fire or something, you know, to heat it up…"
He managed to get the brakes on at last. He stayed squatting on his heels, holding the can of Nalley's Extra Beefy in his hands. The focus of the man's gaze had moved from Doot's face up to the ceiling.
"Is there…" The rasp had dwindled to a whisper. "There's water there, isn't there… He said…"
Doot filled up the cup from the thermos bottle and held it to the man's lips, cradling the back of the bandaged head with his other hand. Some of the water trickled out of the mouth's corners, turning pink as it sluiced through the red-black crust and down to the throat.
The man drew his head back from the cup, and Doot laid him back down as gently as he could. One hand lifted from the blankets and smeared its palm across the man's mouth, drawing the blood and water into ragged stripes across his cheek.
"Thanks…" The voice was a little stronger. The gaze came slowly back around to Doot. The pupil of one eye was bigger than the other; it looked like a hole somebody could drop a nickel down. "So-that was your father? The guy with the truck?"
Doot nodded. "Yeah-he told me you looked like you'd got in a bit of trouble."
The man grunted, even managing a faint smile. "Bit of trouble" was the understatement of the year. He rolled onto his side, pushing with one hand-Doot could see that the other one, the right, was no good, paralyzed or something. The man grabbed one of the sandwiches, pinning it against the floor to tear off the clear plastic wrapping. His teeth tore at the white bread and pink lunch meat.
Doot let his own voice go softer. "He said it was like… law trouble, or something… That was why you couldn't go to the hospital."
The eyes with their mismatched pupils looked over the sandwich at him. The man chewed and swallowed. "Is that a problem for you?"
He shook his head. "Hell, no-I don't care." He'd learned a long time ago to keep his mouth shut about certain things. Like what his dad was up to these days. "I was just… you know… curious. That's all."
Another chew and swallow. The man took smaller bites now. "There's just some people in this world," he said slowly, nodding his head, eyes looking at some point past Doot, "that you just have to watch your step around them."
The man fell silent, working away at what was left of the sandwich. His face darkened, brooding, as Doot watched him. After a moment, Doot figured that was all the explanation he was going to get for now.
He filled the plastic cup again for the man, who drank it down
He dragged the guy over to the blankets and lay him down. The eyes fluttered open as he stood back up; they drifted, then fastened on his face.
The man's lips were dry and cracked; the point of his tongue moved across them, then drew back in. His voice rasped out, "Who…" He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, having pulled up some fragment of strength inside. "Who are you…"
He wiped his hands on his jeans. He'd gotten the guy's blood on them. "Uh… my dad sent me. He told me you were out here. Said you might need some stuff."
He'd dropped his pack down by the blankets when he'd walked over to the reception counter. Now he squatted down, opened the pack and started pulling out things.
"I got something to drink here-Pepsi; is that okay?" The words tumbled out of him. He'd never seen anybody in as bad shape as this fellow. "And I made you some sandwiches, and I brought along some canned chili-we could make a fire or something, you know, to heat it up…"
He managed to get the brakes on at last. He stayed squatting on his heels, holding the can of Nalley's Extra Beefy in his hands. The focus of the man's gaze had moved from Doot's face up to the ceiling.
"Is there…" The rasp had dwindled to a whisper. "There's water there, isn't there… He said…"
Doot filled up the cup from the thermos bottle and held it to the man's lips, cradling the back of the bandaged head with his other hand. Some of the water trickled out of the mouth's corners, turning pink as it sluiced through the red-black crust and down to the throat.
The man drew his head back from the cup, and Doot laid him back down as gently as he could. One hand lifted from the blankets and smeared its palm across the man's mouth, drawing the blood and water into ragged stripes across his cheek.
"Thanks…" The voice was a little stronger. The gaze came slowly back around to Doot. The pupil of one eye was bigger than the other; it looked like a hole somebody could drop a nickel down. "So-that was your father? The guy with the truck?"
Doot nodded. "Yeah-he told me you looked like you'd got in a bit of trouble."
The man grunted, even managing a faint smile. "Bit of trouble" was the understatement of the year. He rolled onto his side, pushing with one hand-Doot could see that the other one, the right, was no good, paralyzed or something. The man grabbed one of the sandwiches, pinning it against the floor to tear off the clear plastic wrapping. His teeth tore at the white bread and pink lunch meat.
Doot let his own voice go softer. "He said it was like… law trouble, or something… That was why you couldn't go to the hospital."
The eyes with their mismatched pupils looked over the sandwich at him. The man chewed and swallowed. "Is that a problem for you?"
He shook his head. "Hell, no-I don't care." He'd learned a long time ago to keep his mouth shut about certain things. Like what his dad was up to these days. "I was just… you know… curious. That's all."
Another chew and swallow. The man took smaller bites now. "There's just some people in this world," he said slowly, nodding his head, eyes looking at some point past Doot, "that you just have to watch your step around them."
The man fell silent, working away at what was left of the sandwich. His face darkened, brooding, as Doot watched him. After a moment, Doot figured that was all the explanation he was going to get for now.
He filled the plastic cup again for the man, who drank it down
Similar Books
