Chapter 7

Day 5

It was convenient. And it helped because Peter was convinced that without those little markings on the bark, he would've gotten lost completely. As it was, the trek wasn't easy. The undergrowth was a tangled mess of bush and mud and stones that jutted out. He had to be careful. He couldn't afford to slip and bash his ankle. As it was, his toes were cramping and he was limping badly by the time he got to a clearing. He sat down and took off his shoe. His sock was damp and when he took it off, he noticed the dark red stain that covered the front part of his sock.

He grimaced. The plasters he had put on his toe had somehow come undone. The skin of his foot was wrinkly and he sighed. He did his best, getting the first aid kit out of his bag. He wiped his foot with a corner of the blanket and then replastered the cuts. Lying back, his head pillowed on his backpack, he watched the dance of light between the leaves that sat above him. He wondered what his mom was doing. How his dad was and where JJ was. His friend drifted. He didn't always go to school either and Peter knew that the times when he wasn't there, was when JJ's mom hadn't returned home.

He wondered what else he could do to help but his own life was out of control at the moment. And here he was, looking for a man he didn't know except for one very brief conversation in a crummy apartment. But he remembered the woman's voice on the phone. She had sounded relieved. Hopeful. And he had hung up because they didn't offer enough money.

In truth, he felt ashamed for what he'd done. His dad would definitely not be happy with him because of what he'd done.

Putting his sock back on, he got back up with a soft groan. Walking was still a bit uncomfortable but he could do this. Was determined to make up for his mistake.

It took him about another forty minutes or so before he came to a ravine. The ground dropped away before him, boulders creating hazardous stepping stones down to a small bubbling brook. Here and there, the ground sloped around the boulders. A promised pathway that was deceptive in its angle and incline.

Peter kneeled and carefully leaned over. His eyes searched and he was just about to lean back, the disappointment a hollow feeling in his stomach when he caught out of the corner of his eye the flash of white against the swatches of dark loam and grey granite speckled with dark spots.

He had to change the angle he was looking at, swivelling on his knees around an outcrop.

The dark head of hair was familiar. As was the bruised face, bleached white against the backdrop of the bustling brook and grass. On his back there was a dark, red ink stain that had spread over half the material. His eyes were closed, his hands clutched limply into the soil beneath him.

Peter carefully slid down, holding onto the boulders for anchorage as he made his way over to where Mac lay. He was out of breath when he finally knelt down next to the other man.

He looked dead.

There was no other way to describe it. A bit like his dad had looked right after his heart attack. Peter wiped at his eyes, telling himself that it might not be so. He tried to remember what the teacher had said. Something about checking breathing. Checking …consciousness?

Asking someone to phone 911?

Well, that's not going to happen anytime soon. He didn't have a phone either. He reluctantly reached out, afraid to touch. Afraid that he was too late.

The soil stirred.

He squinted. Looked again, his hand frozen just above Mac's shoulder. Not touching yet.

And he saw the small stirring of air just below Mac's nose, brushing against a leaf that fluttered ever so slightly. Life was there and he let out a huge breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. He allowed his hand to finish its journey, touching Mac's shoulder.

Even through the shirt, he could feel how cold the man was. His body didn't stir and Peter worried his lip as he tried to think of the next logical steps.

Common sense.

His mom's words, vibrating around his skull as he looked at the brook, the rock-strewn incline above them and the glimpses of sun, throwing dappled shadows around them. Determined, he opened his bag, getting the first aid kit out and the blanket. Wrapping the blanket as best he could around Mac from his feet, up to just under his armpits, he rolled the man into the blanket. Mac didn't stir, didn't indicate that he was even aware that he was alone anymore as Peter worked on him.

When he was done with the blanket, he swallowed down his nausea as he slowly peeled away as best he could the bloody shirt from Mac's shoulder. There was a small hole in Mac's chest that still wept slightly but otherwise didn't look too bad. But on the back, just underneath Mac's shoulder blade, there was a mass of torn skin, gaping outwards.

Peter couldn't help it. He stumbled away and then he brought up the chips he'd eaten not so long ago. He retched, closing his eyes against the vividness of the wound. He had to psych himself up to go back and look at the wound again.

Mac was still alive. Still breathing.

Mac needed him.

He took a deep breath and grabbed the pad, he pushed it against the wound. It soaked through immediately, the blood squishing through it to flow sluggishly between his fingers. He swallowed against the bile and then focusing, he took off his top and then removing his t-shirt, he pushed that too against the wound. It soaked up more of the blood and seemed to be doing the job. Onehanded, he grabbed the bandage and with grunts, started to unravel it around Mac's shoulder and his chest.

It didn't look like what he'd seen on TV. It was messy and yuck, his blue t-shirt contrasting against Mac's white skin and the dirty blond of the bandage. Pulling his top back over his head, Peter washed the blood as well as he could from the stream.

"Mac?"

The name rolled off his tongue, an uncertainty as he patted the man's cheek. He felt silly. Maybe this is something he should've started with but at that point he had just wanted to get the man warm.

"Hey…"

Mac stuttered in his breathing. Peter held his own breath, his heart thudding in his own chest. Something was definitely not right. And he didn't know how to fix this. How to get Mac up the wall of granite before him, back to the pathway. Back to where there were adults with medical degrees that could help.

A tear escaped before he could stop it.

Another stuttering breath.

"Don't die." He whispered. His fingers brushed through Mac's hair. Willing the man before him to not give up. To keep fighting. In the end Peter didn't know if his entreaty was for the man before him or for his dad that was lying so very still, in a hospital bed.

His hand completed its journey through Mac's hair, to finally rest on the man's shoulder. Mac's chest expanded underneath his fingers.

"My dad…" He swallowed his tears, as he shifted next to Mac. Sat down close to the man's body as he could, not moving his hand. He irrationally had the feeling that if he broke the contact, that Mac would die. That the only reason he was still alive, still breathing was this tenuous hold that stringed them together.

"My dad works hard, you know. He always talks about the islands. About fishing and coconuts and going out early in the morning before the sun rose too high. Before the fish moved to the deeper parts to get away from the heat. About how he met my mom."

Peter quieted. Sniffing against the knot that threatened to unravel from his throat. It was a pressure that he struggled to contain. Struggled to keep inside him.

"N…New York wasn't planned. His cousin – my uncle – h…he came here. Wanted to start up his own business. He convinced my dad to come. To help him out."

Peter shrugged his shoulders. Beneath his fingers, Mac's chest expanded again.

"I guess it kinda worked out. My dad misses his home. But he says that home is where your family is at, so as long as we're with him, his home, you know." He went quiet for a little while. Watching Mac stutter through more breaths. Thought about JJ. And school and his mom.

About what it means to be a man.

"JJ doesn't have anyone." He finally said softly, dropping his head down his chest. Shuffling his feet a little as he watched bubbles expand over rocks, gravity forcing the water downwards towards the Hudson . "Uh…JJ is my friend. He helped me, you know. Gave me money so I can buy a bus ticket. I'll have to pay him back before his mom finds out. She wouldn't be happy if she knew that he'd taken her money. She's uhm.." He closed his eyes, wondering how he was going to address the addiction that his friend's mom struggled with.

The hungry need that had her ignore her own flesh and blood and his needs for her own.

He sighed.

"Maybe I can get a job to pay him back. I'll have to work after school. Schools important. My mom says education will get you far. Just like common sense."

Beneath his fingers, Mac twitched. It drew his attention, as he focused on the man's face. There was something there. A tightening of skin around Mac's eyes. A deeper intake of breath, that was less of a stutter. Peter leaned closer, studying the man's face but there was nothing more.

Peter looked around again, at the brook that flowed just below Mac's feet. At the incline that towered above them and looked impossibly high.

His whole focus had been on finding Mac. In his mind everything would work out once he'd done that.

What he hadn't considered what he was going to do once he'd actually found the man. An unconscious and unresponsive Mac hadn't figured in it at all.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do now.