The Lottery

by D. K. Wall

  He lifted his head an inch off the ground and looked around. Danny’s car lay on its driver side, the tires facing Nathan. Steam curled into the cold air.

  “Danny?” His voice came out strained, water and mud caked in his throat. He coughed up debris, spat it onto the ground, and tried again, “Danny? Dude? You okay?”

  Only the click of the cooling engine responded.

  He gathered his arms under his body and pushed to sit up. Pain flared through his legs, and the world grayed and wobbled. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and waited for the motion to stop.

  Praying he would not pass out, he reopened his eyes and examined his injuries. His left leg was twisted, the foot pointing the wrong way. A bone had erupted through the right leg of his jeans, inches above his ankle. Both legs were shattered. Walking would be impossible.

  “Hang on, Danny. I’m coming.” He dug his hands deep into the muck and tried to drag his body across the ground, his useless legs in the wake. He managed a yard, nearly two, before his left foot hooked on a rock and twisted. He screamed in agony and collapsed on the ground.

  Hank’s voice pierced the darkness. “That you, Nathan?”

  Nathan struggled to raise his head, spat out dirty water, and answered, “Yeah. You okay?”

  “Mostly. Hurt like hell, but I’m okay. You?”

  “Not so good. I need some help here.”

  Hank materialized from the darkness and leaned over him. “Thank God. I thought…” He hesitated and decide not to vocalize what he had feared.

  “I think both legs are broken.”

  “Yeah. And your left arm. Can’t believe you’re crawling on that.”

  Nathan looked at his twisted arm, shocked to see it was swollen and blue. “I didn’t feel it. The legs… too much pain from them.”

  “Your head’s gonna hurt too. You have a nasty gash.”

  With his right hand, Nathan swiped more gunk out of his left eye and forced the eye open. In the dark, the bright-red blood looked the same as the mud. He felt his skull and eye socket, but everything felt intact. “How’s Danny?”

  “Alive. Barely. He’s trapped by the steering wheel, and I can’t get him out. He’s talking, sort of, but not making a lot of sense.”

  “And Charlie?”

  Hank stared out into the darkness. “I can’t find him. But I couldn’t find you either until you called out. You two idiots were always too cool for seat belts. Can you hang on while I look again?”

  Nathan waved Hank away with his good hand and settled back down, scared at how good the ice-cold ground felt on his swollen face. The chill eased the pain, making it bearable. He could just close his eyes. Rest. Sleep. So easy.

  Coach Burleson flashed into his mind, rain dripping from that ever-present navy-blue Millerton High School cap. “Shake it off, son. Fight through the pain.” Nathan pushed up again with his good right arm and shook his head to clear his brain.

  Nathan listened as Hank crashed through the forest, walking in an arc and calling Charlie’s name over and over, the panic growing in his voice. He stumbled over a fallen branch. Cursed it. Stomped through piled leaves. Splashed into the river.

  “Jesus.”

  “What?”

  “I found Charlie.” Hank went silent.

  “And?”

  “He’s…”

  Nathan waited. Dreaded the answer. Prayed. “How is he?”

  “Not good. Man, he looks awful. He’s bleeding bad. His face is all smashed up. But he’s alive.”

  Splashing sounds came as Hank sloshed through the river. “Had to move him, prop his head on a rock. Otherwise, he would…”

  Nathan waited for more but realized nothing else was coming. “He would what?”

  “Drown. His face was half in the river. But I’ve got his head up, and he’s breathing… for now.”

  “Can’t you get him out of there?”

  “I don’t know. He’s all torn up. What if I paralyze him or something?” Hank waded back through the river and up the stony bank. He knelt beside Nathan. “He’s okay, Nate. He and Danny both. You too. For now. But I got to go get help.”

  “What happened?”

  “Danny didn’t make the curve. Too many beers, I guess. I don’t know—I’m wasted too.” Hank looked around at the wreckage, steam rising from the twisted metal. Shattered glass glistened on the ground. “He was going too fast, and we slid coming around the curve, hit that giant boulder, and went airborne. When we landed, we rolled over and over and over. You and Charlie just flew out of the car. I almost… I had Charlie’s leg in my hand for a split second as he flew over… but I couldn’t hold on.”

  Hank sobbed quietly for a moment before he took a deep breath. “Then we hit that tree, and everything stopped. I blacked out a little, but when I came to, I could crawl out. I undid my seat belt and slid out where the front windshield used to be. I tried to get Danny out, but he’s stuck. I mean, he’s crushed in there.”

  Nathan shivered. “But he’s alive?”

  Hank slipped the coat off his back—Nathan’s coat—and draped it over his prone body. “Yeah, they both are. But they won’t be if I don’t get help now. I’ll run out to the main road. Get to the houses out there and bang on doors until I find someone.”

  “That’ll take you an hour.”

  “You got a better plan?” Hank glanced at the car, lying on its side, then gazed out into the shadows of the river, Charlie’s head above the surface somewhere in the darkness. “God, I hope they can last that long.”

  “Help me over to Charlie. I will keep his head up.”

  “No way. Your legs are broken. I could kill you trying.”

  Nathan collapsed onto the wet soil, sobbing against the pain and frustration.

  Hank stood and shivered in the drizzling rain. “Are you going to be all right? I got to go.”

  “Got no choice. I’ll make it. Just hurry.”

  “I will.” Hank stared down the dark road before looking back. “You be alive when I get back, you hear me?”

  “All three of us will be alive. I promise. Now go.”

  Hank leaned over and rested his hand on Nathan’s good shoulder, tears streaming down his face. Then he stood and started half running down the road, a distinct limp with each stride. Nathan lay his head down on the cold ground and slipped back into unconsciousness.

  He woke with a start as filthy water flooded into his open mouth. Choking and spitting, he tried to lift his body, only to be greeted by flaring pain from his mangled arm. His vision grayed and swam, but he fought back to alertness.

  And silence.

  “Danny?”

  A weak voice came from the car. “Here. Thought I had lost you. You weren’t answering.”

  Nathan focused on the water flowing in the river. Through the murkiness, he could just make out the shape of Charlie’s head balanced on a rock. The water swirled around his neck, bobbing his body in the rapids. “Have you heard from Charlie?”

  “Not in a while. Just coughing. No words. I’ve tried.”

  Nathan studied the terrain to where Charlie lay—a dozen feet of flat ground with a thick layer of leaf-covered sticks and rocks that would snag his broken legs. Then down a rocky slope to the river, banging his legs as he dragged them down the hill. And if he hadn’t passed out yet, twenty feet of frigid water would have to be crossed with only one good arm to paddle.

  From years of trout fishing in the river, he knew the water was only knee-deep—if you were standing. And standing wasn’t possible on his shattered legs. And if he couldn’t stand, he couldn’t walk. The doubts grew in his mind.

  Can I drag myself through the river? If I reach Charlie, can I hold his head up? Would I drown trying to save him? Or would I freeze to death in the icy-cold rapids?

  But as he stared across the darkness, only one answer came to him.

  Have to try.

  He reached forward with his right hand, sank his fingers deep into the muck, and pulled himself toward the
river, his broken legs sliding over the hidden tree roots. He screamed at the effort and collapsed.

  Danny’s worried voice came from the shadows of the car. “Nathan?”

  “Trying to get to Charlie. Don’t worry.” He took a deep breath and reached forward. Driving his numb fingers into the ground, he pulled himself forward a few inches, his legs shrieking in pain. He sucked in a lungful of air, his fingers grasped for purchase in the mud, and he pulled forward again. Inch by inch, foot by foot, he dragged his mangled body to the edge of the bank and looked at the slope to the river.

  Rocks covered the bank, broken up only by twisted tree branches fallen from limbs above and pushed to the bank in a jumbled heap. The water raced by, white foam curling across the surface. The question was gone. Plunging into that water was certain death.

  “Charlie?” Nathan asked.

  He looked at the shadow of his friend lying in the swirling water, his head resting on the rock. The only sound that came to him across the flowing river was raspy breathing, shallow and weak.

  “Can you hang on, brother? I can’t get to you, so please hang on.”

  A weak cough answered, but no other movement came.

  Nathan looked back toward the car and called out, “I can’t get to him! It hurts too much.”

  Silence reigned for several minutes before Danny replied, “I wish I hurt. I can’t… I can’t feel my legs. At all. They aren’t numb. It’s more like they aren’t there. I can touch them, but I can’t feel myself touching them.” The rain bounced off the leaves above and trickled into the river. When he spoke again, Danny’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m scared.”

  Pushing himself back up on his right arm, Nathan again eyed down the rocky bank toward the swirling river. Even if he reached Charlie, he would be useless. Exhausted. Freezing.

  He turned and looked toward the car. Twenty yards. That’s it. Just twenty yards of flat ground. Maybe he couldn’t drag himself to Charlie, but he could reach Danny. He turned his body around and called out, “I’m coming to you. Hang in there.”

  Pulling with his right arm, Nathan aimed his body toward the wreckage and dragged his legs across the wet leaves. The pain flared but wasn’t unexpected that time. He could do this. Reach forward. Grab a rock or dig frozen fingers deep into the mud. Pull. Slide. Repeat.

  He felt a fingernail pull away from his numb hands, the pain from that worse than he expected, so strong that, for a moment, it made him forget his broken bones. But only for a moment.

  Reach. Grab. Pull. Slide.

  He inched his way around the back of the car and looked through the shattered back window. He caught his first glimpse of the back of Danny’s head resting where the driver’s door met the ground. “I can see you. Almost there.”

  Reach. Grab. Pull. Slide.

  Danny sniffled, choking back tears. “I’ll be okay. Have to be. But I ain’t heard from Charlie in a while. Can you see him?”

  “Barely.”

  Reach. Grab. Pull. Slide.

  “How long has Hank been gone?” Danny’s voice was weaker, his breath more labored.

  “I don’t know. I passed out. Thirty minutes? An hour?”

  Reach. Grab. Pull. Slide.

  “He’s the slowest of all of us. Matt would have been there and back by now. We’ve all passed him doing laps at practice. Maybe he can’t find anyone. Maybe no one is coming. I don’t wanna die out here.”

  “Stop it. No one’s dying. They’re coming.”

  Reach. Grab. Pull. Slide.

  His foot snagged on a rock. The pain flooded his brain, and he couldn’t choke his scream down again.

  “Nathan? You okay? Talk to me!”

  The world swam in front of Nathan’s eyes as he fought to stay conscious. Gray faded to black, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  Ignore the pain. Just focus.

  He reopened his eyes, and trees drifted back into view as his vision cleared. Rising up on his good arm, he spat blood from his mouth. In his anguish, he had bitten his tongue. “I’m okay.”

  Lying still to build his strength back, Nathan heard a splash from the river then a gagging cough and water being spit up.

  He called in the direction of the sound, “Charlie? You there? Keep your head up, damn it.”

  The gagging subsided, replaced by an uneven breathing pattern. The sound chilled him more than the wind and rain, but he couldn’t help Charlie from here.

  He turned his focus back to getting around the roof of the car to the front windshield. “Coming, Danny.”

  Reach. Grab. Pull. Slide.

  “I ain’t going anywhere. Wish I could.” The voice was barely a whisper.

  Reach. Grab. Pull. Slide.

  He reached the front windshield and stared down into the car. Except that direction wasn’t down. With the car resting on the driver’s door, he was looking sideways. Danny’s eyes were wild with fear. Scratches and cuts crisscrossed his face and framed a broken nose dripping blood. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. The darkness and crumpled metal below the steering wheel hid his crushed legs from view.

  Reach. Grab. Pull. Slide.

  Nathan dragged his body even with the front window. One more time, and he could reach his friend.

  Reach. Grab. Pull. Slide.

  His head touched the hood of the car. He lay down face-first on the ground, his chest heaving to suck in air, blood dripping from his mouth. He reached through the shattered windshield and wrapped his hand around Danny’s hand, feeling the fingers loosen their grip on the steering wheel. “I’m here.”

  “Thank God.” The rain pelted them as they huddled for shelter in the wreckage. A sputtering cough came from the darkness of the river and then settled back to a raspy breathing, rougher than earlier.

  Far in the distance toward town, the volunteer fire department shattered everyone’s sleep with its piercing siren, calling for firefighters to respond. Lights would be turning on in bedrooms, boots pulled on, trucks started.

  “Hear that, Danny? Hank made it. The cavalry is coming.”

  Danny coughed weakly and gasped for air. “Not sure if I can hold on much longer.”

  “Yes. You can. You have to. Just focus.”

  “Not sure I should.” Danny swallowed, his throat clicking with dryness. “I damn near killed you all. If I had, I couldn’t live with that. Couldn’t live one day. I wouldn’t deserve to live.”

  Nathan stared nervously at the swirling river, wondering if he had heard Charlie lately, but the approaching sirens were too loud. Police cars. Ambulances. The blasting of a fire truck air horn.

  “Stop it,” said Nathan. “Don’t talk like that. We’re all okay. Just one of those stories Coach says we will sit around and tell one day, right?”

  “Some story.” Danny sputtered, choked, and spat blood out. “I’m sorry. Sorry for everything.”

  “No need to be. We were all there.”

  “Yeah, but—“

  “Stop it.”

  The sirens grew louder, approaching far below them, then faded away.

  Danny’s breathing accelerated, and panic flared in his voice. “He’s going away. Not coming for us.”

  “No, Danny, around the industrial park. They have to go around to get to the fire road. They’re coming.” Nathan pulled his soaked coat close, trying to warm his chilled body. His teeth chattered, and his legs and arm throbbed. He could feel every beat of his heart as blood gushed from the gash in his forehead. His swollen tongue clogged his mouth, making it difficult to spit out the blood.

  The sirens regained volume as they approached the fire road, then they shut off. Silence descended.

  “Nathan? Why did they stop?”

  “Don’t need sirens on the fire road, Danny. No cars. Nothing but deer. They’re close. Hang in there. Couple of miles, max.” Hard, slow miles through the rutted logging road, but Nathan felt no need to distract his friend with that detail.

  The river rushed ove
r the rocks. The wind rattled the trees. Charlie coughed again from the river. Minutes ticked by.

  “Danny, see that?”

  Danny moaned, licked his lips, and replied in a thick voice, “See what?”

  “Lights. Flashing against the leaves over there. They’re close.”

  Danny’s eyes drifted shut, and he moaned. In the river, Charlie gagged and coughed.

  Nathan squeezed his friend’s hand. “Danny. Stay with me. You hear me?”

  Danny nodded but didn’t open his eyes. He mumbled, “Still here.”

  The red lights pulsed brighter. Minutes away. Danny’s breath rasped in and out.

  Charlie sputtered in the water, choking. A gagging breath. Something heavy slipped under the surface of the river. Then only the sound of rushing water.

  Part II

  Friday

  Present Day

  6

  “Come on, Little Man. Your mom’s making pancakes.”

  The sounds of scrambling came from inside the room as the boy searched through clothes—probably strewn across the floor—for the right outfit. Nathan fondly remembered the little boy who didn’t care if he had worn his lucky shirt five days in a row.

  “Almost ready, Dad. Just a minute.”

  “Better hustle. You’ll be late for school. And you’ll make me late for work.”

  “I know. I know.” Still a few months shy of thirteen, Jacob had already perfected the exasperated teenage growl. The sweet kid who thought his dad was a superhero was long gone.

  Rather than provoking an argument, Nathan turned his attention to the tiny hall bathroom. Tucked between the master bedroom in the back of the house and the front bedroom Jacob occupied, the single bathroom was shared by everyone, which was a constant irritant for Donna.

  When he and Donna had bought the small house, Jacob was taking his first tentative steps as a toddler. They didn’t need savings, because the banks offered no-down-payment, low-interest mortgages. The monthly payment was not much higher than their old rent. They figured by the time their son was a teenager, they would’ve traded up for a bigger house. After all, houses always went up in value. Everyone knew that.