Page 68 of Still See You Everywhere

“And he doesn’t look good.”

I TRY TO raise Vaughn on the radio. No matter what I do, however, I only hear static. After a half dozen attempts, I give up and join Aolani in tending to Charlie.

“We have to get the tree limb off him,” she murmurs. She wipes gently at the dark curls plastered against his pale cheek. Charlie’s eyelids flutter slightly. That’s it.

He’s landed facedown in the mud, the falling branch having caught him from behind. There’s blood on the back of his head, where maybe the bough hit him first. Now it rests across his back, a massive, leafy obstruction of considerable weight.

“How long do you think he’s been like this?” I ask Aolani.

“Too long. His cheek feels cool to the touch. It’s possible he’s suffering from exposure. We need to get him back to base camp ASAP.”

Aolani rises to standing. She studies the downed branch, paces left, paces right, points a finger at me.

“You, stand there.”

I do.

“Grab the branching limbs closest to you as near to the base as you can get.”

I do.

“On the count of three.”

She counts. We heave. The log moves incrementally.

“Again.”

We repeat, the wind gusting our hoods back from our faces, allowing the rain to cascade inside our coats, down our backs. I don’t notice it anymore. I’m too intent on watching the prone form on the ground, willing Charlie to groan, twitch, scream. Something. Anything.

Please still be alive.

After the fourth attempt, Aolani steps away—it’s clear we don’t have enough brute strength between us. I play with the radio once more while she stalks around the target. I can tell from the expression on her face she will get this done or die trying.

I looked like that once. But then the dying part became too real and involved too many other people. How many bullets have I escaped now? Some part of me has always assumed there’s still one out there bearing my name. It’ll find me someday, and when it does, I won’t protest. I’ll remember cradling Paul’s head on my lap as I tried to stanch the flow of blood blooming across his stomach. I’ll remember my new friend in the wilds of Wyoming and how sure I was I could save him. Until I didn’t.

The ledger of my life is filled with red. The Beautiful Butcher hadn’t been wrong; I’m desperate for a win.

The radio is still filled with nothing but static. I give Aolani a helpless shrug. She nods once, then bends down, positioning two rocks beneath the leafy branch on Charlie’s right, then after a bit of hunting, repeats the process on his left. She picks up the walking sticks and tosses one to me.

“Leverage,” she states.

I get it. Moving behind him, we each wedge the end of our walking stick into the narrow space between the stones and the branch. On the count of three, I plant my feet and push down for all I’m worth.

A shudder from the branch. A groan from the man on the ground.

“More,” Aolani grunts through the rain.

I put my back into it, gritting my teeth, cursing, praying, cursing some more. Slowly, the limb lifts.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Aolani chants. The limb hovers an inch or two off Charlie’s back. It’s enough to ease the weight off him, but not enough to shift the branch itself. We arrive at the same conclusion at the same time. If we can’t move the obstacle any more, then we have to move him.

“I’ve got it,” Aolani barks out. “Go!”

No time to argue. I drop my walking stick, leaving Aolani shuddering with the strain as I dash around to Charlie’s head, slip both my hands under his shoulders, and pull hard. Immediate resistance. Maybe his clothes are caught? I wrestle with his body, trying to wiggle him side to side.

“Now,” Aolani screams at me, her arms shaking.

I dig in my heels and heave back a second time. This time Charlie’s hips pop free and his body slides toward mine. I just have time to scramble backward and yank his entire form free. Then, with a cascade of green leaves, the oversize limb collapses onto the ground.

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