Behind him, a vision appeared. Frank, coming through the woods.
For a few moments, I could only stare at him, wondering how Parrish had managed the disguise.
A great wind came up, blowing leaves and tree limbs and frightening birds and small animals. And me, a little.
The wind passed by, but the noise of the helicopter was still all-encompassing.
Frank slowed what had been a running approach, maybe because I was holding a sharp wooden stick and a knife in a threatening manner.
“Irene?”
I couldn’t hear him over the roar, but I could see him form the word. Best of all, I could see those gray-green eyes of his — his eyes, not Parrish’s. I dropped my weapons, got to my feet, and held out my arms.
He took me in his, and then I could hear him say my name. He said it over and over.
I probably should have told him not to fuss over me, and said that there were important things that needed to be done — but I was fresh out of wise and brave, and for a little while, all I could do was weep, and say his name to him, and tell Bingle that he was marvelous, too.
29
FRIDAY, LATE EVENING, MAY 19
St. Anne’s Hospital, Las Piernas
The doctors said they might not be able to save Ben’s leg, that they might have to amputate it below the knee.
This possibility was not a surprise to Ben. He had spoken of it in the helicopter.
Although he had been weak and feverish, and obviously in pain, he had been able to converse. Bingle had refused to be tethered out of reach of him, and sat quietly nearby, watching him intently.
Stinger Dalton had offered to take Ben to the closest hospital — “Or wherever you want to go,” he said, kneeling near the litter. “You’ll be out of pain sooner, but sometimes proximity ain’t the first consideration, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do,” Ben said. I held his hot, dry hand in one of my own. He looked at me, then back at Dalton. “Take me to St. Anne’s,” he said. “I know one of the orthopedic surgeons there. If he has to amputate, at least he’ll know what he’s doing.”
He saw my look of horror.
“If they take part of the leg,” he said, “it wasn’t because you did anything wrong. Understand?”
“But—”
“Understand?”
I stared at the amateurish bandage and makeshift splint. “I should have given you all of the Keflex,” I said weakly.
“Listen to me. The bullet did the damage, not you.”
“Maybe they won’t—”
“Don’t,” he said, closing his eyes. “Don’t.”
Not this, I begged God. Nothing more. Hadn’t he already been through enough?
“Do you want us to contact anyone?” Frank asked him. “Someone to meet you at the hospital?”
Ben didn’t answer right away.
“A family member or a friend?” Frank asked.
“No,” he said, not opening his eyes. “No one, thanks.”
This answer to Frank’s question made me worry about Ben as nothing else had. It was one thing to face the loss of a limb, another to face it without the support of family or friends.
Frank had his arm around me; I leaned my head against his shoulder. He felt solid and sturdy and safe. Ben was alive. Bingle was alive. I was alive.
I was alive, and fighting to feel something other than the numbness that kept creeping over me. Numbness and thirst. I kept drinking water, but I couldn’t seem to get enough of it.
As the helicopter had taken off, Ben squeezed my hand. I realized he was trying to say something to me over the roar of the engine and rotors. He looked awful. I loosened my seat belt and bent closer.
“The story.”
I looked at him in confusion.
“The knight.”
So I began shouting my half-assed version of a medieval German poet’s tale to him, but I didn’t get much further in the story before Ben’s grip slackened and his head lolled to one side. I froze mid-shout.
Frank hurriedly moved to Ben’s side, checking his pulse and breathing.
“He’s alive,” he reassured me. “His pulse is okay. He’s just passed out. I’m sure he’s been in a lot of pain. Dalton will get us back to Las Piernas in no time.”
J.C. stared at me as if fearing the next act in my bizarre program of in-flight entertainment. Bingle, Deke, and Dunk looked as if they were hating every moment of this ride, storytelling or no. Jack smiled and shouted, “You remember Parzival!”
Dalton managed to get us out of the meadow before law enforcement or the Forest Service came in. He radioed the ranger station to say that we had a medical emergency and could be met in Las Piernas at St. Anne’s. He supplied a succinct description of the situation in the meadow, and warned that
