Page 87 of Forty

“Yeah, baby. Hold on. We’ll move you.”

There’s more shouting. There’s been shouting. I don’t know how long. There’s a bunch of people, and then there’s a stretcher. Where’d they get a stretcher?

Wall and Grinder are lifting me into the back of a van while Forty keeps pressure on my hip.

The gorge rises in my stomach. I turn my head and wretch, but there’s nothing in my stomach.

“Give her water,” Forty barks.

There’s a girl in the van with us, early twenties. She has dyed blonde hair, and her tanned face is blanched white. She’s a sweetbutt. I don’t know her.

“Angel!”

“Yeah!” The girl fumbles with a water bottle, holds it up to my lips. I try to sip, but it dribbles down my cheek. “Sorry,” she whispers.

I try to smile. It’s okay. I’m getting tired, though.

“She’s freezing.” Angel presses her palm to my forehead.

“I need shirts. Cover her up.”

There’s a bustle, and then they’re heaping flannels on me, and it all smells like beer and man sweat, and I wish Forty would stop leaning on my hip; it hurts.

“Shouldn’t we take her to the hospital?” Angels asks, tentative. Yeah. That’s a good question. Why am I in a van? I need an ambulance. Drugs. Good drugs.

Wall answers her. “The nearest ICU is in Shady Gap now. The Dentist is way closer. And he has more trauma experience than any doctor outside of Pyle.”

“The dentist?” I definitely don’t think I should be going to the dentist. I mean, I haven’t been going like I should, but now?

“You know. Sunny’s old man.”

Oh, I remember Sunny. Story’s mom. A real hippie chick. I liked Sunny. When did she hook up with a dentist? This is too confusing, and I’m really tired. I let my eyes drift shut.

“Oh, no you don’t. Nevaeh!”

Forty is shouting at me. He doesn’t have to shout. It’s a small van.

“Shut up. Let me sleep.”

“Nevaeh!”

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” I chuckle weakly. Lou and I always used to say that to each other. Oh, Lou. He’s gonna be so pissed when he gets home, and the TV’s on the floor.

“Nevaeh, you need to stay with me, baby. We’re less than five minutes out. Just hold on. Everything’s going to be okay. Stay with me.”

“I’m right here.” I manage a small smile. His face is utterly serious, totally severe. There’s something in those brown eyes I don’t think I’ve seen before. Fear.

Oh.

I’m dying.

I force myself to smile for real. “Forty?”

He’s staring at where his hands are clapping a bloody, wadded up rag to my hip. Is that his shirt?

“Forty.”

Finally, he looks up and meets my eye.

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