Chapter Fourteen
It was so cold. It had been dark and quiet - peaceful - but now it was just cold, and to make matters worse, something was thumping brutally in the middle of his back, over and over. For a second his mind flashed back to his tormentor, and he wondered if she had put her boots into action again. He opened his mouth to tell her to stop, that he would tell her what she wanted to know - or make something new up, anyway - but to his surprise the motion provoked a gag reflex and he vomited instead, water pouring from his mouth, the motion dragging on the abused muscles of his abdomen and chest, sending fiery lines of pain dancing up and down them, forcing him to vomit harder. He curled on his side, shaken by the spasms over and over, feeling the pounding on his back gradually lighten to patting then settle into a light, still pressure between his shoulder blades. He screwed his eyes tightly shut as the retching turned to dry heaves, then slowed to weak coughing, leaving his mouth and nose filled with and acrid burning. He ground his forehead into the dirt, waiting for the coughing to stop and the burning ache in his chest to pass. God.
"Guess he's still breathing." Despite the lightness of the words, Jesse's tone sounded surprisingly grim.
God, he was cold. He tried to pull his arms tightly around him, fighting for some scraps of warmth, realized with a sudden rush of memory that his arms actually were free and in front. That was something anyway. Of course, they just seemed to be lying there, not listening to what he wanted at all, but at least they were no longer fixed behind him. That had been chewing away at him, both physically and psychologically.
He thought he'd use them to push himself up, to look around, but oddly, his muscles seemed to be heavy and held to the ground as if by some giant magnet.
"Yes, but he needs an ambulance." The pressure on his back started to move, tracing small circles. That sparked another memory. Oh. He recognized that touch, even without the voice. "How's she?"
"Breathing. But I'd like to have her on oxygen, too."
She. She, she, she…who was…? Images danced in the front of his brain, like flash cards. Damn, he knew it was important - who was…? Oh, God. Of course! What was the matter with him that he couldn't seem to keep a thought in his head for…she was the one who…other images jumped in front of his eyes…his father, Jesse, Amanda… and he sucked in an incautious breath, setting a new string of deep, rasping coughs clawing at his lungs. He tried to curl into a ball against the pain.
"Sh, sh, Steve - just take it easy. Take short breaths - we'll be sending for help…"
The circles on his back increased in speed. He tried to push himself up, but nothing seemed to want to obey him, so he tried to speak instead. "Restrain…" his voice was a harsh croak, barely human.
"Ssh - it's all right. We got rid of them, see? Your wrists are a little torn up, but - "
"No - " He closed his eyes and paused to cough again. Speaking was like trying to push words through a lead wall. "Her - restrain…"
"Hey, easy, buddy…" He recognized Jesse's voice this time. "She's not goin' anywhere. She's not even conscious."
Steve felt air heave in his lungs. He was exhausted, but he couldn't rest until…"No. Dangerous. Don't…" He ran out of air, coughing again, more feebly this time. The pressure on his back moved to his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.
"Dangerous? Look, I'm trying to tell you - "
"I'll take care of her." Steve recognized Amanda's voice and opened his eyes to try and give her a grateful look. She was a fuzzy outline against a sun-drenched sky, her hair slicked back and dripping water, and what looked like his father's flannel shirt around her shoulders. She was briskly pulling her belt from her jeans, her mouth set in a tight line. He tried to follow her motions as she moved a short distance away, noticed for the first time that the Butt Kicker was laid out on the ground nearby, with Jesse kneeling at her side and a flannel shirt draped over her - Jesse's? That would explain why Jesse was in just his undershirt anyway.
Amanda rolled her onto her stomach without ceremony and efficiently gathered her hands behind her back, ignoring Jesse's sound of protest. Steve watched her fasten the belt with a sense of immense relief.
"Feet…too…" the words were barely a whisper, but Amanda seemed to understand. She reached around in front of the Butt Kicker for her belt and removed it with a flourish.
Jesse seemed to feel compelled to protest. "Look, buddy, given her medical condition, I don't like this. There are three of us and she can't weigh more than 110 pounds. What possible harm…?"
A derisive snort from Amanda stopped him in mid-sentence. "You don't think a woman can be as dangerous as a man?" Her voice dripped with challenge.
Jesse hesitated. "Well - sure - I mean, I know how scary YOU can be - " The chilly look Amanda shot him had him stumbling to clarify. "What I mean is, I'd never want to be on YOUR bad side. Now that's dangerous - " Amanda's face showed a gathering storm cloud and he floundered. "That's not what I - what I meant is - um…" he trailed off helplessly. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he muttered ruefully. "Women can be MORE dangerous than men."
Amanda bayonetted him with a look. She fastened the belt around the Butt Kicker's ankles and yanked it a little tighter than was necessary.
Steve closed his eyes in relief and Jesse let out a low whistle. "Amanda, I'm seeing a whole new side to you today. What exactly do you have against this girl, anyway?"
Amanda tested the bonds. "Well, have you gotten a good look at Steve? I doubt he did all that damage to himself."
Jesse's voice sobered. "No. You think this little girl did all that? How - ? I mean, Steve - "
"Size and weight aren't everything, Jesse. You, of all people, should know that. Besides, aren't you the one who found these…?" Steve had been drifting, but he slitted his burning eyes at that, trying to see what she was talking about. She was waving a handful of thin, cut fibers. Oh, yeah. Those. "In case you haven't noticed, they correspond to these…" She was waving what looked like his sodden flannel shirt now, poking her fingers through some rusty colored slits in the sleeves and shirtfront. He felt the grip on his shoulder tighten protectively.
Jesse frowned. "So, what - you're saying that she…?" He looked down at the still form at his knee, his face suddenly wrinkled in distaste.
"That's right." Amanda wrapped the cords and the shirt carefully together. "Besides, thanks to her, my hair is going to frizz for the rest of the day. She deserves whatever she gets."
That made Steve smile, though faintly, and he tried to curl into a tighter ball. He was becoming aware of a whole smorgasbord of aches and pains that had previously escaped his attention, and his teeth were banging against each other so hard that he was afraid that they were going to break. He ground his forehead into the dirt again to distract himself, wishing that that nice, friendly blackness would return.
"No, Steve - I need you to stay awake, son."
If he could have found the energy, he would have whimpered an exhausted protest. He was shivering so hard that it felt as though his bones were going to fly right out of his skin.
"All right…all right…" To his surprise, he felt himself shifted into sitting position. For a second that started a new round of vomiting, then the rubbing returned to his back and he felt something solid and sure and familiar bracing his forehead. Without thinking, he leaned into it. A strong band of warmth curled around his shoulders and he relaxed a little. He realized for the first time that he had something draped over his shoulders, too - something besides the familiar arm - but he couldn't make out what it was. He knew it wasn't his shirt, because Amanda had that. Well, it was too much trouble to work it out.
The arm tightened around him and he discovered, with a sense of dizzy peace, that he was being rocked in a gentle, seesawing motion. Gradually he felt a little warmer and with it, a little more alert, and, as he figured out what was happening, a little bit embarrassed. He needed to tell his Dad that this kind of thing wasn't for public display - especially in front of Jesse. And Amanda. Not to mention the Butt Kicker. Not that he had the energy to move.
There was a familiar whop-whop sound from far in the sky overhead and he idly tried to place it. He thought he had it for a minute, then discarded the idea. That was Vietnam…he had left Vietnam…
A burst of voice unexpectedly close to his ear made him jump, and he felt the arm draw him closer, sliding up and down his back. "What on earth…? Do you suppose we could flag it down…?"
"It could be for us." That was Jesse. Everything seemed to be happening so far away… "I called 911 back when I found those cords. I know I probably jumped the gun, but I wasn't sure how long it would take way out here - "
"Oh, Jesse - " There was a world of relief and gratitude in his father's voice, but he couldn't quite figure out why.
He turned his head so that his cheek pressed into the shoulder ridge instead, forced his eyes open again to keep track of the Butt Kicker. Her eyes were open now too, narrowed at him with that malevolent glare he had become so familiar with.
"Steve." She spat it as if it were an epithet. Her voice sounded almost as bad as his did. "Who the hell are you really?"
He cleared his throat. "You have the right - " The words disappeared in a harsh cough. He whoofed a breath and tried again. "You - you have - " Another staccato explosion from his lungs swallowed the words and the hand at his back massaged gently at the convulsing muscles.
"The right to remain silent." His father's voice in his ear was less startling this time. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
"You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning," Amanda put in briskly.
"If you desire an attorney and cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you free of charge," Jesse interjected triumphantly.
"If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney present you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney," Mark finished.
Steve could hear the smile in his father's voice and tried to smile too as the rattling coughs died away, taking the last of his strength with them. He fixed his eyes on the Butt Kicker and tried to speak again, more carefully this time. "Do you understand these rights as they have been explained to you?"
His voice was an unrecognizable croak, but at least he got the whole sentence out. The Butt Kicker narrowed her gaze further and spat at him. This time Steve did smile, letting his eyes sink closed.
"Good," he rasped. "You're under arrest." That would probably be a whole lot more authoritative if he could actually sit up by himself, but what the heck. He was much too comfortable. Well - comparatively. He swallowed a yawn and felt himself drift again. "And you guys have obviously been doing this much too long."
