The helicopter flew away. It flew away with Ethan’s father still dangling below it. It didn’t even take the time to bring him on board first.
Just as Ethan was wondering if Noah would have to dangle there all the way to the hospital, he noticed the cable getting shorter. The litter was dangling closer to the belly of the craft.
Then they disappeared behind a mountain, and it was over.
Ethan blinked and looked around. One of the men smiled at him. He came over and clapped a hand down on Ethan’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “They’ll come back for us.”
“Good to hear,” he said, sounding more relaxed and normal than he felt.
“They’re going to set down right where the pavement ends. There’s an ambulance waiting for your dad. Then they’ll come back and pick us up.”
Ethan briefly pictured dangling from the end of that cable. Then he pushed the image away again.
Ethan watched Jone and one of the rescuers as they were winched up to the helicopter at the end of the cable, both of their harnesses hooked together at their chests. It looked terrifying. More so than Ethan could even allow himself to process.
The same man who had clapped him on the shoulder and reassured him helped Ethan into his harness. It was not a harness like the one Sam had loaned him. It was enormous and weighty in comparison. It came up all the way to his chest. It had two huge, heavy rings that came together almost at his chin.
The copter was hovering directly overhead, so it wasn’t easy to talk.
“You afraid of heights?” the man asked, loudly, into Ethan’s ear.
“Yes, sir,” Ethan shouted. “Little bit.”
“Don’t look down. Don’t look around. Just look right here.”
The man pointed to a round patch on his nylon jumpsuit. It was embroidered with a mountain range, and letters that must have added up to a particular rescue team. That was another one of those details that didn’t stay clear in Ethan’s head.
Especially since he didn’t follow the man’s directions.
Deafened by the noise, battered by the wind, Ethan squinted his eyes and watched the man grab the disc end of the descending cable, slip its huge, heavy-looking hook through all four of the rings on their two harnesses, and lock it into place.
Ethan felt his feet lift off the ground.
He did what he was told not to do. He looked down. And around.
Not because he was afraid, although he was.
Because he wanted to see the Blythe River Wilderness one last time. Because, exhausted though he was, much as he longed for a hot bath and a warm bed, part of him didn’t want Blythe River to go away. It was dizzying to look, but somehow, in that moment, dizzying didn’t seem like such a bad way to go.
What felt like only a second or two later a gloved hand reached out and grabbed the cable, and pulled. Then Ethan was inside the helicopter, with his feet on something horizontal and solid.
He felt himself being strapped into a padded seat, with belts secured across his waist and vertically over both shoulders. But he didn’t know who buckled him in, because he was still looking out the window. Staring at the snowcapped peaks, and that amazing wet snake of a river. Which was less silver now and more gold.
His stomach dropped as the copter peeled away, tilting and turning toward civilization. Toward home.
Jone patted his knee.
“We did it!” she shouted into his ear. To be heard over the thwap of the copter blades.
A pause, during which Ethan only smiled. Or thought he smiled.
“Yeah we did!” he said.
Then he looked out the window and watched the wilderness disappear.
Ethan didn’t know he was crying again until he felt the taps of teardrops hitting his own arms and lap. Flowing with surprising gusto. Freely.
Ethan wondered if it was the first time any of his emotions had ever felt free.
Ethan stepped down out of the copter and onto the tarmac of the road between his house and Sam’s. A bit dreamily. And dizzily. As if this might or might not be reality.
The copter’s motor had shut down, and the blades had stopped spinning. And the silence felt absolutely stunning.
Sam was waiting in his jacked-up 4x4 pickup, and he had Rufus in the back.
Ethan wanted to say thank you to his personal rescuer. The one who had comforted him. Winched up on the same cable at the same time. He turned and walked back to the man, but no words came out. So instead he just threw his arms wide and gave the guy a hug. And received one in return.
Then he walked stiffly to Sam’s truck.
“You all ready to go to the hospital?” Sam asked.
Ethan climbed, with much difficulty, into the truck bed with Rufus, without speaking. Jone took the shotgun seat Ethan had purposely left for her.
Sam made a U-turn in the road and headed toward town.
The truck had rolled not ten feet down the road when Ethan found his voice again.
“No,” he said out loud, to no one. Well, no one except Rufus, who was leaning over his lap and licking his face with exaggerated enthusiasm. As if he’d been sure he’d never see Ethan again.
Ethan knocked on the truck’s back window.
Sam pulled over and opened the window’s sliding middle section.
“Yeah?”
“No,” Ethan said. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” Jone asked. Soothingly, Ethan thought. “What can’t you do after everything you just did?”
“I can’t do this next part. Not without rest. I’m just so exhausted. You have no idea how exhausted I am. I can’t even describe it. It’s like being in this unbearable pain. And not just physically, either. My brain is exhausted. My gut is exhausted. My heart can’t go another step, I swear. What we just did, that was easy compared to this next part. The part where I go to the hospital and the doctors are all touched by how we rescued him, and they figure we’re about to have this wonderful, emotional reunion. And they say something like ‘Your dad is awake now. You can go in and see him.’ And I have to say, ‘I don’t want to see him. I hate him.’ I can’t do that part without at least a good night’s sleep.”
A long silence.
Then Sam popped the truck back into gear and made another U-turn in the narrow road. Ethan sighed deeply and let a part of himself relax. A part that had been needing relaxation for a very long time.
Longer even than Ethan had known this place.
Ethan said a little prayer that his dad would make it through the night. That Ethan wasn’t giving up his last chance to see him. Which felt odd, because he tended not to pray. And because he tended not to cherish moments with his father. Still. He wouldn’t want to miss the last one.
“You going to be okay here in the house all by yourself?” Jone asked him.
Ethan looked up at her, squinting. As if she’d wakened him. As if she were a bright light and he were a hangover.
“I’m not alone,” he said. “Rufus is here.”
“Right. Sorry. You got something to eat?”
“I still have one helping of that good chicken stew. It’s been in the fridge. It should still be okay. Right? I hope so. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”
Jone counted days out loud, and on her fingers.
“Yeah. Five days or so. Should be okay. Sure you don’t need anything?”
“A hot bath and lots of sleep,” he said.
She nodded once and made her way to the door.
“Jone,” he said. Before she could get away.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“I was happy to be part of the thing.”
“Tell Sam I appreciate it. All of it. Even putting me back here at home and telling the hospital we’re not coming till morning. I’ll tell him myself tomorrow. But tell him I appreciate him anyway. Okay?”
“He knows. But yeah. I will.”
Then she let herself out.
Ethan savored th
e silence for a few minutes before rising stiffly and heating up his dinner.
Even a couple of days later Ethan would be unable to remember what he was thinking that evening. He would think he’d forgotten. But there was nothing to forget. He wasn’t thinking. Thoughts would have required a minimal level of energy that Ethan did not have to give.
Chapter Fifteen: Legs
One day after his father was found
Ethan felt himself blasted out of sleep by a sharp rapping on the door. He opened his eyes.
Just for a split second he entertained the thought—well, not even a thought exactly, but a sudden wash of possibility—that the whole rescue adventure might have been a vividly detailed dream. After all, here he was in bed. As usual.
He tried to sit up. And failed.
Every muscle in his body felt rigidly locked into place. Ethan could swear even the muscles in his forehead and ears hurt. But that might have been sunburn. Or sheer sleepy imagination.
“Just a minute!” he called. It hurt even to yell out words.
In tiny movements continually punctuated by the word “ow,” Ethan pulled on a clean pair of underwear and jeans, and a sweater, and limped his way stiffly to the door. Except he was limping on both sides. Which might not have qualified as limping at all. It might just have been . . . ruined. And pathetic.
He opened the door.
Jone stood on his welcome mat, a small brown paper bag in one hand, a larger paper grocery sack in the other. Her expansive white hair was clean and freshly braided, and she wore a long denim dress embroidered with flowers. Her face looked lighter and airier than he was used to seeing it. Ethan squinted at her, then past her into the light. Sam was waiting in the driver’s seat of his pickup.
“I wake you up?” she asked him. She sounded rested. And more than a little cheerful. It was more cheerfulness than Ethan knew how to process.
“Yeah. But it’s okay. What time is it?”
“Nearly nine.”
“Oh. Wow. I slept a long time.”
“Feel any better?”
“I had nowhere to go but up.”
“Here’s the stuff of yours you left in Dora’s saddle bags,” she said, handing him the paper grocery sack.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Sam says to tell you he forgot your dad’s shotgun, but he’s still got it. He’ll get it to you next time he sees you. Your toothbrush is in there. You can brush your teeth now. And then we can go.”
“I need to grab something to eat.”
Jone held the smaller paper bag out and up, between them.
“I brought you a scrambled egg burrito. With black beans and salsa. It’s big. Made specially for day-after the-wilderness appetites. And I wrapped it in foil, so it’s still pretty warm.”
“Oh my God, that sounds incredible. Okay, let me just put on some shoes and let the dog out to pee, and then I’m ready to go.”
Just as they passed Sam’s house, Ethan shouted, “Wait!”
Sam slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop in the road.
Ethan had been stuck between the two of them on the bench seat. Probably because it was less embarrassing to have Ethan ride the gearshift.
“I’ll be right back,” Ethan said. Then, to Jone, “Will you hold this, please?”
It was hard to let go of the enormous burrito. It felt like a treasure he’d die without. But he handed it to her, and she stepped out to let him by.
Ethan eased his sore muscles down Sam’s driveway and carefully ducked through the boards of the fence. He limped his way along until he reached the fenced paddock that held all of Sam’s stock—the horses and mules.
“Dora!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. Even raising his arms that high felt shockingly painful.
Her head came up. She made a rumbly sound in her throat, and moved to the fence to meet him, all of which Ethan found almost more wonderful and more emotional than he could bear. His gut hadn’t had enough rest. Maybe there was no such thing as enough. He still felt scraped out and sore inside, unable to hold much weight without collapsing.
He wrapped his arms around the mule’s hairy head. She had a wonderful, horsey smell. Earthy and rich. It reminded him of being out riding the wilderness trails, though he hadn’t consciously registered the smell before that moment.
“Thank you for everything,” he said. He felt almost as though he could cry, but his eyes remained dry. Probably fresh out of moisture. “Especially for getting your foot caught in that fleece. And I’m sorry I kept kicking you up at the lake when I saw those bears. And I’m sorry my legs got tired and I kicked you every time I got on or off. I wasn’t a very good rider. But you were a very good mule. Thanks.”
He kissed the long, bony front of her face.
Then he made his way back to the truck and the burrito, looking once over his shoulder. Dora stood at the fence watching him go. As though she cared about Ethan, and where he went.
Jone climbed out to let Ethan back into the middle.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m ready. Let’s get this next part over with.”
He sat back in the narrow space and took a huge bite of the still slightly warm burrito. The salsa was mild, and there was a lot of it, and the cheddar cheese was melty, and the flavor combinations were perfect. Just perfect. But there was an added factor that sharpened Ethan’s enjoyment of it. It was that ravenous hunger that comes of using your body to the brink of utter exhaustion, and then surviving to enjoy that moment when it scrambles to resupply and repair.
He sighed deeply. Chewed slowly. Almost not wanting the bite of food to end in being swallowed.
“Wow, is this good,” he said.
“Isn’t it?” Sam said.
“Oh, you got one, too?”
“Yup. I’m lucky. The woman can cook on top of everything else.”
There was something in the statement, but Ethan couldn’t quite pin it down. Something akin to the cheeriness in Sam’s whistling and singing the previous morning. It lived in the whole truck cab, he realized. On either side of him. Not in Sam and Sam alone.
He looked up from his breakfast to Sam. Then to Jone. Then to Sam. Then back to Jone.
“Oh, just eat your burrito,” Jone said.
“I can take you in to see him now,” the doctor said. “Or I can tell you what we’ve learned about his condition first.”
The doctor was dark skinned, with short hair and a lilting accent that Ethan found oddly comforting. His face wore a light trace of smile that never seemed to fade.
The four of them stood near the long desk of a nurses’ station on the hospital’s second floor.
“Is he awake?” Ethan asked.
“Yes and no. He’s not unconscious, but he’s very groggy. He’s on a lot of powerful painkillers. He slips in and out.”
“Tell me about his condition first.”
“All right,” the doctor said. “He’s stable. We’ve upgraded him to stable. No guarantees, but we all feel positive about his situation. We have him hydrated, and his blood pressure is within a fairly normal range now. I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you when I tell you he was very close to death when he was brought in. I think we all feel hopeful that if he made it through the last few hours, he can make it through the rest of his recovery. That’s the good news. His legs of course are another matter.”
“Right,” Ethan said. “His legs.”
“We may as well get that bad news over with, yes. The right patella is shattered. There’s no saving it. He’s lucky we live in an era of good prosthetic joints. We haven’t done that surgery yet, of course. We want him as strong as possible first.”
“The left one will be easier,” Ethan said. “Right? Because it’s just a break in a long bone?”
The doctor’s face lost what Ethan had thought was a perpetual smile, and his forehead was no longer without lines or creases.
“No, the open fracture is the greater problem, I’m afraid. He spent six or seven days outdoo
rs, uncovered, with a wound that went all the way down to the bone. Down through the bone, in fact.”
“You’re worried about infection,” Ethan said. It wasn’t a question.
“We have infection already. We’re worried we won’t be able to get on top of it. He’s on intravenous antibiotics, but he’s weak and depleted, and the infection has a strong foothold. Last night he underwent an initial surgery to remove as much of the infected tissue as possible. Much of what was removed was muscle tissue, so he may not regain full use of that leg, even if he’s lucky and we can save it.”
“Oh,” Ethan said. Realizing for the first time the gravity of the sum of the doctor’s words. “And if not?” he asked. Part of him knew. It went without saying. Everybody knows the opposite of being saved. But Ethan was deeply tired, and he didn’t have access to all parts of himself. Especially on short notice.
“Then we may have to amputate his left leg a few inches below the hip joint.”
“Oh,” Ethan said again.
In the silence that followed, Ethan noted that he was blinking too much.
“But let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the doctor said. “You should come in and see him. I’m sure it will help him to know that you’re here.” He glanced up at Sam and Jone. “Maybe just kin for now. You understand, I hope.”
Just before they stepped away from the nurses’ station, Ethan was struck with a sudden thought. More than struck, really. Leveled. He looked away from the doctor and looked to Jone and Sam, one after the other and in that order.
“I didn’t call my mother,” he said. “I can’t believe I forgot to call my mother.”
“If you want,” Jone said, “leave us with her number and we’ll call her. We’ll tell her what happened and say you’ll call later, when you can.”
“Yeah,” Ethan said. “Good. Okay. I can’t believe I forgot that.”
“You were pretty tired,” Sam said.
Leaving Blythe River: A Novel Page 24
