It's amazing what adrenaline can do for a person. Warrick's feet splashed in puddles, slipped in mud, and dug into the soft ground as he launched his body up the mountainside. When he fell, he scrambled for handholds, fingers wrapping around roots and branches, toes pushing off from whatever rocks would hold his weight. No rain, but the air was still heavy with humidity and his eyes burned with sweat dripping from his hairline.
It had taken him an hour to pick and flail and ultimately fall his way down the trail, only making it several hundred feet down. The rain hadn't stopped long ago enough to dry the trail but fear fueled him and he climbed like a man possessed.
He hadn't heard a peep from above since Nick's pain-filled scream some twenty minutes before.
In his haste he very nearly passed the shelf right by. Covered in the dark blue coat and wearing dark jeans, Nick was hidden in the shadows at the back of the shelf; the feeble light reflecting palely off of his skin was the only reason Warrick saw him.
"Nick!"
He saw a ghostlike hand wave at him, but no verbal answer.
"What's goin on, Nick? Talk to me, bud," Warrick shouted out as he planted his toes in the crevices and began to make his way over.
"Still here…"
"Yeah, I kinda figured that out, bro. Hang on, I'll be right there."
He landed on the shelf and quickly dropped down into a crouch next to where Nick sat in the oddest position.
Left leg sitting atop the two knapsacks, the toes of his right boot tangled in the arm strap of one of them, Nick lay on the cold stone floor, staring up at his rocky roof.
"Doesn't look too comfortable there, bud," Warrick said quietly. "You mind telling me what the hell you're doin'?" His harsh sounding words were mollified by the hand he placed on Nick's shoulder, feeling his partner shaking like a leaf under the coat.
When no answer was forthcoming he shook the shoulder lightly. "C'mon, Nick. You shouldn't lay here on the cold floor. You're freezing. You should sit up."
Nick's head shook no. "Need to keep m' feet up," he managed to say between teeth chatters. He waved a hand towards a small booklet laying open on the ground.
Warrick picked it up and scanned the contents of the page in the waning light.
"Shit, bud. I'm sorry. Here, let me figure something out. You're all tangled up in the backpack. Let me find something else to prop your feet up."
"Didn't get tangled. Was tryin' to set it."
"Set what? Your leg? Jesus, Nick! Why? Everything I ever read said don't mess with setting a broken bone- let the professionals do it."
"You got an osteopath around?" Nick asked with a grim smile. "I gotta set it. 'less it's set it'll keep bleeding. Needs a better bandage. I tried, but the bag wasn't heavy enough."
Warrick put one and one together and came to a horrifying conclusion.
"Damn, that's why I heard …" He saw Nick's eyes turn away in embarrassment. "…Singing. What was that song you were butcherin'?" he quickly joked to save his friend's pride.
"Old Scout song. Hadn't sung it in years."
"Yeah, well, we gonna do this, no more Scout songs. That ain't no kind of song to set a leg to."
"Oh, yeah," Nick asked, sides of his mouth lifting in a tight smile. "What you got in mind?"
"I'll figure something out. A'ight. You sure about this, Nick?"
A short nod. "Gotta be done."
Warrick nodded his head. "Tell me what to do."
"First, get the damn bag off of it," his partner said with annoyance.
Warrick untangled the arm strap, easing it down off the toe of Nick's boot, lowering the leg back flat down on to the ground. He pulled the blood-soaked gauze free from the gory wound; it pulled free without resistance, the bandage tape completely loosened by the still oozing fluids.
" 'kay. What next?"
"Not sure. Kinda wingin' it here myself. Pull on it. See if it'll drop back into place." He gave a short shrug.
Warrick's lip curled involuntarily but he quickly put on his game face for his buddy. He gave a short nod, then took in a deep breath.
Placing his hands on either side of the boot, Warrick looked in Nick's eyes and smiled. His lips pursed slightly and from his mouth issued the unmistakable ch-ch-ch-ch of a hi hat cymbal playing 16th notes.
Nick looked at him curiously, then knocked his head lightly against the ground with a small incredulous grin.
"You got a wah-wah in there?" he asked Rick.
"Just you wait," his partner said with a chuckle. Moments later after several measures of 16th notes, he began an admirably spot-on imitation of a 70's electric guitar, like something straight out of a porno movie, or in this case, a blaxpoitation film.
His hand tightened on Nick's boot as he wrapped his fingers over the top.
Somewhere from deep within the tall man's chest rumbled the soulful baritone of Isaac Hayes.
"Who's the black private dick
that's a sex machine to all the chicks?"
Nick's eyes stayed open and a gruesome sickly smile formed on his face.
"SHAFT!
Ya damn right!"
Warrick began tugging on the boot, his eyes flitting back and forth between his partner's face and the still exposed portion of bone.
"Who is the man that would risk his neck
for his brother man?"
Nick's grin grew wider as his face grew paler.
"C'mon, partner. Can't have me singin' by myself here."
"SHAFT!
Can you dig it?"
Nick nodded, breathing heavily, green setting in at the edges of his mouth.
"Who's the cat --that won't --cop out
When --when --"
"C'mon, buddy. You got it. Next part." His hands kept pulling inexorably on the top of the boot, now turning Nick's foot slightly, grimacing as he heard a groan slip from his partner's mouth.
"When there's danger all about?"
Nick joined in with a whispered grunted voice. "Right On!"
"They say this cat Shaft is a bad mother-"
Nick began groaning in earnest, while Warrick finally squeezed his eyes shut against seeing his best friend in so much pain. He began shaking his head, disgusted at what he was doing, petrified he was only making things worse.
"He's a complicated man
but no one understands him but his woman
JOHN SHAFT!"
Nick planted his fists in the ground and pushed hard away from his partner still grasping the top of his boot. Warrick's eyes flew open as he felt the violence of Nick's action and saw his friend's face screwed up in agony, his mouth wide open, gasping for air, little squeaks emanating from his parched throat.
A final half yelled, half sobbed sound and Warrick looked down to see the end of the bone had dropped back down into place. He quickly reached into his bag and pulled out a clean handkerchief, looping it over the wound and pulling down tightly, setting the knot slightly off center.
He laid a hand on Nick's other leg, feeling him quaking with tension and pain. "It's done, buddy. It's done. Just chill…"
Nick gave a short nod, still panting, sweat pouring down his face. The green cast had spread and what was white was now a sickly mint color.
He watched as Nick's eyes grew wider and he began breathing faster. His chest began to hitch and he looked at Warrick wildly; his eyes took on a downcast look and then he squeezed them shut altogether.
"Rick - I -- shit…"
" 'sokay, buddy. I won't look at ya."
Nick turned his head as best he could and vomited on to the cold stone floor.
With a few well-placed scoops of cold sandy mud Warrick covered the small pile of sick, tamping down the smell that had hung in the humid air.
They'd gotten Nick settled at the rear of the shelf, laying on his back, arm bent behind his head for a pillow, other arm flung across his eyes, feet propped up on the re-piled backpacks. Between chattering teeth and the still almost overwhelming urge to hurl he hadn't uttered a word since they'd set his leg, all his energy turned inward to battle pain and nausea.
Before restacking the packs Warrick had gone back through them, looking for anything else that could be used to help out their situation. The matches sat in their box, mocking him; waterproof or not, nothing to burn so far up here. Nothing that could really be called a tree - all the brush was small and thorny, the other plant life cacti and succulents. He had pulled out the Maglite, the first aid kit and his red bandana. He'd also pulled out the newspaper, reasoning if he could find something to burn they could use the paper to start the fire.
Fire. Something so rudimentary, so elementary. Frickin' cavemen made fire. Hell, he had matches, for Pete's sake.
He took a glance over at Nick's still form, then wandered out to the edges of their shelter.
He scanned the area surrounding them slowly, eyes peeled for anything that might be flammable. The setting sun's long rays filtered weakly through the lingering cloud cover, turning even the smallest of pebbles into long dark shadows that looked deceptively like branches and he found his heart leap several times, let down each time he focused on the area and realized what he was seeing.
Shaking his head dejectedly he walked back over to sit down next to his friend when he remembered his tailbone would be less than pleased to be holding up his weight on the cold hard ground. So he paced. Like a caged wildcat. Back and forth the length of the shelf.
He shivered, the evening bringing the temperature down another few notches. He grabbed his arms across his chest and began rubbing at them, drawing back with a hiss as he rubbed at the area he'd forgotten was covered with a multitude of mini-spines.
"You plannin' on pacing all night?"
He looked back over to see Nick staring at him with a small smile.
"Nah. Just doin' some thinking. How you doin'?"
"Okay. You came back."
Warrick wandered over and leaned his back against the wall. "Yeah. Couldn't make it, bro. You were right."
"Was kinda hopin' I was wrong," Nick said with a chuckle.
"Yeah. Helluva thing to be right about, partner. I… I'm sorry I left you."
Nick rolled his head on his arm. "Nah, you had something you figured you had to do. You've never been a sit back and wait kinda guy, Rick."
Warrick chuffed out a laugh. "Ain't that the truth. I was so sure I could make it. All I got for my troubles was two arms full of cactus spines. And, uh … I broke my phone."
Nick lifted his head from his arm. His brow knit and Warrick braced for recriminations about the phone. "Can I see it?"
Warrick dug into his front pocket to pull out the broken cell, then heard Nick sigh with impatience.
"Not the phone, dummy. Your arm."
Warrick raised eyebrows, but dropped down to his haunches and offered his arm in front of Nick's face. Ice-cold fingers grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm closer so Nick could see it in the waning light.
"Not spines," Nick grunted out. "Glochidia. They're like little barbed bristly hairs. Lemme guess. Prickly Pear?"
"Yeah, probably. They hurt like a mother, 'sall I know."
Nick pushed his arm away. "Paraffin."
"Come again?"
"Paraffin's what you need to get rid of 'em. Melt it up, dunk your arm. When it hardens and you peel the wax off it takes most of the glochidia with it."
"What? Like a bikini wax?"
Nick snorted. "You'll have arms fit for the beach this summer." His joke was ruined by a shiver that wracked his whole body.
Warrick rose from his squat and went over to his meager pile of goodies. Finding his old red bandana he snatched it up and walked back over to lower himself gingerly down at Nick's side.
Nick didn't miss the painful expression on his face. "So you never said how you wound up with an armful of prickly pear. Or a broken phone."
"No. No, I didn't."
Nick sighed. "You fell."
His partner laughed ruefully. "Right on my ass."
"You hurt?"
"Just my pride. And yeah, my ass."
Nick smiled, waved a hand at his trussed up leg. " 'least you didn't break anything besides the phone."
"I think you've got enough goin' on for the both of us, bro. Here. Can you sit up for a second?"
Nick raised himself up shakily on his elbows looking curiously at the taller man.
"Here, lean against my knee," Warrick said as he moved over a bit to put his bent leg behind Nick's back. Warrick shook out the bandana with a flourish and a smile then reached towards Nick's head with it.
Nick reared his head back a bit. "What-?"
"My Grams was always at me about hats when I was little. You lose like half your body heat through your head. Figure at this point every little bit helps, right?"
"You gonna put me in a babushka?" Nick asked with a raised eyebrow.
"You never seen a brother in a 'do rag before? Quit jawin' and lemme get the damn thing on that thick head of yours."
Nick grunted but relented to having Warrick tie the handkerchief around and at the back of his head.
"Your Grams teach you how to knit an afghan outa cactus?"
"Hell, given enough time my Grams could make you a suit outa cactus fibers. That woman knows how to make do."
"Smart woman, your gramma. She was right about the hats, too. 'm warmer. Thanks." He offered up a grudging smile.
Nick patted Warrick on the knee then shoved off to lay himself back down, head planted on his arm once more, struggling to adjust his position so the new knot of fabric at the back of his neck sat comfortably.
"Nick, man, it can't be good for you layin' on the cold ground like that."
" 'cording to the book it's the best I can do," he replied, not looking at his partner.
Warrick picked up the booklet and scanned the same section Nick had read.
Shock may be mitigated by elevation of the lower extremities above the head and if blood loss can be stopped. May be.
"Yeah, a'ight," Warrick said, tossing the book back down on the ground where he didn't have to see the words taunting him further.
"We make a pretty sore looking pair, you know," Nick commented. "Three legs and three eyes between us."
The taller man poked gently at his cheekbone. "Yeah, what I wouldn't give for an ice pack and some aspirin."
"Got some Tylenol in my bag, I think," Nick said with a small wave of his hand towards the bags at his feet. He started to raise his legs in an attempt to give his partner access to the kit.
"No! No. leave it be. It's cool." Man's leg is bust in two and he wants Me to take Tylenol…
"Suit yourself. Nothing gained you sitting there in pain, though."
"It's just… distracting is all. We got about another hour of daylight, maybe. You need anything else while I can still see?"
"Nope. Just relax, man. Come morning when the sun finishes dryin' everything up we'll make our break …" He laughed as Warrick winced at his pun. "Yeah. Piss poor choice of words. Sorry. So, boss. You have one job left."
"Oh, yeah? What's that?"
"Entertain me. If I'm stuck layin flat on my back I'm gonna need you to keep me from goin outa my skull with boredom."
"Entertain you? What? You want a soft shuffle ? Maybe some Shakespeare?"
"No! No Shakespeare, man. I get enough of that from Grissom. Haven't you ever been on a road trip? You know…stuck in the car for hours on end, nothin' to look at, nothin' on the radio. Like that."
"Nope. No road trips. Grams' 63 Buick Skylark was a touchy beast to begin with and she usually tried to only take it to church or the grocery store. Went to college in Vegas, and the only trips I've ever taken have been plane flights."
"Now that makes me sad, bro. To know you've never enjoyed a trip out on the open road. You and me? We are takin' a road trip."
"Uh huh. Road trip. Okay. Where to, partner?"
"Dunno. South? Mexico? North to Seattle or maybe West, to LA or San Francisco. I've never seen either ocean. We could head to Florida."
"Yeah. Picture that. You, me, and thousands of UNLV students makin' a beeline for Daytona or Ft Lauderdale. On second thought…" Warrick said with a wide grin, "you may be on to something there, bro."
"That's what I'm talkin' about. Some place warm. With palm trees and white sand and college girls in bikinis. I'll probably feel like a dirty old man looking at 'em, but no harm, no foul, right?"
"Who you callin' old? I'm just hittin' my prime, bro."
"Hate to break it to ya, boss, but our college years were a looong time ago."
"Not that long ago," Warrick huffed. "Although, that does look like a gray hair there on your head. Might be time to start looking into some Grecian Formula there, Pops."
Nick lifted his head off his arm to look at his partner with disbelief, smiling as he realized he'd been had as he saw the triumphant grin on the taller man's face.
"Ha. Ha. Jab all you want cuz your hairline's moving back a bit."
"A'ight. Conversation ends there," Warrick said, a hand rising briefly to his forehead then dropping again quickly. His eye caught the newspaper and he snatched it up.
"How about some local news? Looks like Councilman Tavares got himself into some hot water. At a press conference today, Tavares said he had gone on a 'fact finding' mission to Cabo San Lucas, but had no idea who the blonde woman was, suggesting that his opponent in the upcoming election…"
… and bake at 450 degrees for four hours. Serves eight."
The sun had gone down well over an hour before, and Warrick had the Maglite trained on the newspaper page. "That's Section C done, bro. Nothing left but the betting pages and some crap like the funnies and crossword puzzle."
Nick roused from his position where he still lay on the ground, switching arms as they each fell asleep the only movement but for shivering the man had made for the last two hours.
"Hey. Funnies ain't crap. They're like the dessert at the end of the paper."
"Man, comics suck nowadays. Far Side's gone. Calvin and Hobbes, gone. No more Bloom County. Even Funky Winkerbean has gotten lame."
"Still some good ones."
"Oh yeah? Take this one. Family Circus. Kid's pointing' a TV remote at his cryin' little brother, asking his mama why the mute button's not working on PJ?"
"That's Jeffy. He's a hoot. I like the ones where Billy rambles all over the neighborhood when he's supposed to go straight home."
"A hoot… yeah. Must be a white folks thing."
"It's comforting, man. The kids in the comics never grow up."
"How real is that? Fifty years of drawin' something, you think the artist would get tired of drawing big white balloon heads all the time."
"Reality's not the point, Rick. You go to them because they'll always be the same. Dagwood will always eat sandwiches, Marmaduke will always steal his owner's chair, Beetle Bailey will always piss off the Sarge, and the tree will always eat Charlie Brown's kite. And thus, the universe keeps rotating."
"Hunh. Guess we'll hafta agree to disagree on that one. You up for the crossword?"
"Pencil in my bag…"
"No, no. I can fill it in just fine in my head."
"I need a break anyways, Rick. I don't think I can take another minute layin' here, truthfully."
"A'ight…" Warrick said dubiously, groaning as he rose from his seated position on the ground. Pain lanced from his coccyx down both legs to join the throbbing in his cheek.
"Grams always said sittin' on the cold ground'd give you piles."
"What the hell are they?"
"You don't wanna know, bro. But she might be right about that, too," he said with another groan and a rub at the small of his back. "Think you were right. We are gettin' old."
