by Coty Schwabe
stared down the top of the barrel. “Then do it. You’ll never see a drink again.”
“Neither will you.”
Burk closed his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose. “Fine. Let’s get to the next town. Then you can have your drink.”
“Liar,” he replied spitefully. He relinquished his grip on the gun, and Burk breathed a sigh of relief. He took back the buckle from the biker, and instead of wrapping the items up again, he shoved the things he deemed most valuable into the pockets and compartments of the bike, including the shotgun. The numbing of the alcohol hit him at this time, and his vision blurred slightly. I’m okay, he thought. I can still drive. He shook his head to clear it, but it felt lighter already.
Burk dragged the body off behind the same cactus he’d hid behind, and mounted the bike.
He’d only ridden a bike a couple of times, his brother’s ‘93 Harley Davidson being one of them, and now was probably the worst time to practice. But with a town ahead in danger, and more gang members on the way, he was out of options.
The bike turned over on the first try, and he stared ahead. His head felt light and fuzzy, as was the light ahead.
“We’re going to die on this thing. If we do, it’s your fault.” Burk ignored the taunt. He pushed back the kickstand, gripped the handles, and gave it gas.
He didn’t hear it over the sound of the engine roaring to life, but a coyote howled in the distance.
4
Within an hour, Burk had almost killed himself and lost everything.
The first time, he’d nearly toppled off. Whether he’d been nodding off, zoning out, or simply too drunk to focus, he couldn’t tell. What he could tell was that at one point, his knee almost scraped the ground. With quick reflexes, he was able to straighten the bike before he skinned half of his knee off. Or worse.
The second time it was a large crack in the road, at least three feet wide. After the first near-death experience, he stayed focused, gunning the bike as fast as it would go beneath the moonlight. But speed was his enemy this time.
By the time the light fell on the giant crack, he didn’t have time to slam on the brakes. The front tire cleared the gap, but struck the other edge, bouncing him into the air. It lifted him off the seat, and when the back tire hit the inside ledge, the front tire pivoted violently. The weight of the bike fell upon him, and scraped to a halt, pinning one of his legs under the frame.
Burk yelled expletives, trying to the lift the bike up and free himself. The back half leaned over the gap. The hot metal pressed against his leg, and lifting the frame was harder than he thought. The heat passed through his pants, searing his leg. He screamed out in pain, and pushed with all of his might. The leg came out, bleeding and burned. Little singes ran up and down his pant leg.
He pulled his leg back, and realized with horror that he couldn’t feel it. Terror rose up in his chest, tightening his throat. That horror turned to full-fledged fear, as the bike began to slide backward into the small ravine. “No, no, no!” He tried to get up and grab it, but his leg wouldn’t support his weight, and down he went. He dove forward and grabbed the tire. He stopped its progress momentarily, but the weight was too much for him to pull back without all of his strength.
He knew the battle had been lost.
It began to drag him with it. Burk reluctantly let go and watched as the bike disappeared down the dark hole with a CLINK-CLANK-CRASH. His shotgun, the objects, and most importantly, his ride were now gone.
“Why God, why? Why do you hate me? Is this some kind of joke?” Burk cursed under his breath. There was no bleeding from the wound, but the moonlight revealed soft, shiny flesh. He couldn’t feel the pain, only the touch of his finger to the skin.
He stared at the hole for a few minutes, silently wishing somehow that the bike would climb out, or someone would appear from the dark, saying “Lose something?” and then haul it out. Mole people perhaps.
When it finally dawned on him that nothing more could be done, he tried to stand once more. He felt a slight twinge of pain on his left side. That was a good sign, the leg wasn’t broken. Sprained perhaps, and definitely burned. He hobbled on his right foot, putting all of his weight on that side.
5
He hopped for about five minutes straight, before it was too much for him. He tried to apply weight to his injured leg, and pain shot right up his shin and into his thigh; a pain so intense it almost made him fall to his knees. The tenderness of the burn had also begun to register in his brain, sending stabbing pulses through his body. Every breeze stung his flesh like spider bites.
When the pain was too much, and he felt that he would dry heave, he sat himself down, keeping the leg stretched out before him. Using the cracked radio as a light source, he quickly surveyed the wound. Still no bleeding but his skin glistened red.
He unclipped his knife at his side, and cut off the fabric around the wound, serrating it below the knee cap (Expecting a flood, Burk? They would say with his new high-waters. And to that he would respond, maybe. Been in one before.). He did likewise to the other pant leg, and cut them into long strips. He tied them altogether and wrapped them around the cauterized wound, as best as he could. How many times had he patched himself now?
Too many.
When the deed was done, he found himself staring at the starred canopy overhead. Once again, he reminded himself of the constellations he knew. “Markus the Crab, Deltion the Warrior, that weird bear thing.” He squinted. One dot stood out amongst its celestial brethren. “And the planet Veneria.”
The layout was almost identical to that night three years ago.
6
Burk pointed at the brightest star. “And the planet Veneria, often mistaken as the Northern Star.” Burk said triumphantly. “That’s all of them.”
In the stillness of the night, on a thick comforter, spread over the grass of their backyard, they laid there; staring up at the shimmering lights that danced and flickered before them. Smoldering candles blew smoky incense into the air, and the wind had tipped their wineglasses over; not that they cared.
“How did you learn of them again?” Lauren asked him, her head nestled into the hollow crevice between shoulder and chest.
Burk stared upward, lightly stroking the top of her head with his fingertips. “My grandfather was a commercial fisherman. He would spend weeks out on the sea. Aside from drinking and gambling, he said that there was nothing else to do. So he would stand on the deck, pointing out the constellations. It’s actually how he impressed my grandmother.”
She shifted her head. “How so?”
Burk ran his fingers through her hair. “One night, as a date, he suggested they have a picnic on the beach. After they ate, they walked down the shore, and my grandfather pointed out the constellations as they went along.
“When he’d run through all them, he said, ‘There’s one more I missed.’ And my grandmother replied, ‘Which one is that?’” Burk gently pushed off the ground, took one knee and took Lauren’s left hand in his. “My grandfather took her hand, and said, ‘the Missing Wife.’
Lauren covered her mouth with her right hand. “Oh my God, Burk…” The corners of her eyes misted.
Burk reached into his back pocket and produced a small grey-black box. He flicked it open with his thumb. A white-gold ring, with five sapphires running across the band in a wave, sparkled from within the velvet casing. “Lauren White, will you marry me?”
At first, Lauren did nothing. The stillness was like stab of despair and rejection that flooded Burk from the heart outwards. The answer is no… Why did I even ask… She wasn’t ready yet… I’ve ruined everything.
And then she began to nod. Slowly at first as if convincing herself, then quickly to confirm the response. “Yes,” Lauren replied through her fingers. “Yes… my answer is yes!”
Burk gently plucked the ring from the box, took Lauren’s delicate hand and slid the ring on her finger. In the moonlight, the gems sparkled like tiny frozen beads. Lauren leaned forwa
rd and wrapped her arms around him. She whispered into his ear. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”
He hugged her tightly and replied, “I love you.”
She pulled back, but he drew her in and kissed her deeply; not lustfully with tongue, nor a quick peck, but a real passionate kiss; eyes closed, time standing still, lips creating a single seal between them.
She ran her left hand along his face, trailing his cheek. He pulled back, and kissed her fingertips, each and every one of them, and she held up her hand to admire the ring. “It’s exactly as I pictured it.”
“I knew that you didn’t like gold nor diamonds. And your favorite color is blue. So I simply put those clues together-” His cell phone chirped. He glanced at the name. Joey. He stared at the phone, indecisive.
Lauren looked from the ring to Burk. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
Burk shook his head while the phone continued to ring. “Probably needs me to bail him out of jail or something. He always needs me to fix his problems.” The phone continued to ring. “Not this time.” The phone rang a few more seconds, then kicked over to voicemail. Joey didn’t leave one. “See? Must not have been important.” Burk stared at the phone. He hadn’t talked to Joey in months. Not since he went to buy that motorcycle with him.
Lauren took his hand in her own. “You’re his big brother, Burk. That’s why he turns to you. Maybe you should
