Davey laughed and Paul eventually joined him.
“What else you got?” said Paul.
“Space aliens?” Davey giggled. His laughter was contagious.
Paul snorted back a chuckle and suggested—“Let’s tell my mom we died trying to take a shit.”
“She would shit,” said Davey, and they both doubled over with new amusement.
“Hey,” said Paul as he checked his watch. “Whatever we’re going to say, we better go say it now. My mom’s going to be at the school in ten minutes.”
“Okay,” said Davey, climbing to his feet from the creek-side rock. “I think…" He never finished that thought. He had planted both hands cautiously on the bank to support himself in case his feet slipped, but both his feet and hands slipped at the same time. With no limbs holding him up, Davey crashed to the ground, getting a mouthful of dirt, and catching a sharp rock in his ribs.
“You okay?” asked Paul.
“Ugh,” said Davey.
Paul ran around the edge of the bridge and grabbed Davey’s armpit, hoisting him up to his knees.
“I … can’t,” wheezed Davey, “breathe.”
“What do you mean?” asked Paul. “Is something wrong with your mouth, or what?”
Davey pointed to his chest and shook his head. His shoulders pulsed up and down as he tried to force air into his stunned lungs. The best he could manage was a thin whistling stream of air.
“Jeez,” said Paul. “I’ve seen you fall down like a million times, but I’ve never seen you get hurt.”
Davey nodded slowly and pointed back in the direction they had come.
“Yeah, come on,” said Paul. Propping his friend up under his armpit, Paul dragged Davey slowly through the woods.
After several steps, Davey held up his hand, beckoning Paul to stop. He hunched over for a few seconds before attempting to speak—“You … go … ahead. Get … your … mom,” Davey managed.
“You need help though,” said Paul.
“She’ll … leave,” warned Davey.
Paul thought about it for a minute and then saw Davey’s point. If neither boy stood at the front door when she pulled up, Paul’s mom would likely go inside looking for the boys. They often got involved in complex competitions with each other in the gym and had to be dragged to the car. Not finding the boys in the gym, his mom would ask someone and Paul couldn’t even guess what she would do when told they hadn’t shown up.
“Okay,” said Paul. “You keep coming this way though, and I’ll bring my mom back.”
Davey nodded insistently.
“Don’t worry,” said Paul, and then he was off. Davey watched him run off before attempting to stand up.
Each inhale felt like a hot knife being jabbed between his ribs. Each step felt like the skin and muscles in his abdomen were separating and tearing. Davey tried a few more steps, breathing very shallow, but he soon had to stop. He pursed his lips and sucked in air slowly, trying to sneak up on a full breath to avoid the pain penalty.
After a few more steps, Davey tried to breathe exclusively through his nose. He winced at the pain and continued moving foot after foot to return to the school, establishing a rhythm of inhaling, stepping, and exhaling. Near the end of each inhale, he focused on trying to breathe a tiny bit deeper than the last time. With his shoulders hunched and his head lowered, he looked up every few steps to keep track of the stand of black-barked pines in the distance. Those trees marked the edge of the woods between him and the school’s parking lot.
The pain came back in waves, cresting with each inhale, but Davey kept moving. In his attempt to get back as quickly as possible, Davey hadn’t veered around the marshy area. He sloshed across the wet soil and realized that he had made a classic mistake. The survivalist guy on TV always stressed that if you got lost or injured in the woods you should signal for help and then stay put. Davey grabbed a small tree and thought about his situation—should he stay put? He decided no, he should keep moving, because Paul might not even think to look for him in the marsh, they always made a wide loop around it.
A cough started deep in his chest and he was unable to choke it back. Davey bent at the waist and held himself up with one hand on the small tree, and the other propped against his knee. The coughing lasted until his vision began to fade out and his head throbbed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and found a crimson streak of blood from his knuckle to his wrist.
His self-sympathy began to fade. Until that moment, Davey had viewed his injury through his mom’s eyes—how she would fuss over him and take care of his pain. Now, when he saw the blood, his predicament became real and personal. It hit Davey with the force of revelation—he could die. He straightened against the pain and sucked in a deep breath through his mouth.
The corners of his eyes tightened with the new jab of fire in his ribs, but he clenched his jaw and moved his feet. He moved with determination, feet rising and falling mechanically as he sublimated his urge to feel sorry for himself.
Davey crashed through the underbrush near the side of the school standing tall and determined—holding his breath while his vision swam. Paul and his mother, Sophie, charged up the hill towards Davey as he crumpled to the ground, sucking in tortured sips of air. Sophie thrust her purse to her son and collected the muddy boy from the ground, lifting him with a deep grunt. His feet and jeans were soaked to the knee, and the front of Davey’s shirt was spotted with red dots of blood.
“Unlock the car, honey,” Sophie ordered Paul.
Paul ran ahead with his mom’s purse bouncing at his side. He turned as he ran—“Shouldn’t we call nine-one-one?”
Sophie panted as she covered the ground with long, confident strides. “No,” she responded, “the hospital is right down the street. We can get there faster. But call Ms. Hunter as soon as you unlock the car.”
Paul reached the car and opened both the front and back doors. He dialed his friend’s mom and then turned to his own mother. “What do I say to her?”
Sophie arranged Davey across the back seat and pulled one of the seat belts awkwardly across his body. “Tell her to meet as at the hospital. Wait, no. Just give me the phone when she answers,” she amended and then turned back to Davey, “How are you doing, kiddo?” she asked.
“Okay,” Davey croaked.
“Good boy,” Sophie said as she patted Davey on the cheek.
“Hi Ms. Hunter,” Paul said into the phone. “Hold on. Mom wants to talk to you.”
He handed the phone to Sophie.
“Hi Susan,” she said, taking the phone. “Yes, a little one,” she continued. “I’m going to run him up to KC Emergency. Want to just meet us there? Great.” Sophie hung up her phone.
She closed the back door.
“You have to sit up front, Paul,” she said.
“Okay,” yelled Paul, as he ran around to the passenger door.
Sophie started the car and moved the gear-shift into neutral. She leaned over and gathered up her papers from the passenger’s seat and stuffed them into her purse while Paul slid into the vacated seat.
“Look out,” Davey said from his recumbent position across the back seat.
“What’s that, honey?” asked Sophie.
“Look … out,” he pronounced carefully.
Sophie looked up from her purse, confused, and saw the alarmed figure of Jack Vincent just beyond her hood. She jammed her feet into the brake pedal to stop the rolling car from knocking him over. Mr. Vincent ran around to her window.
“I’m so sorry,” said Sophie. “I didn’t know we were moving.”
“The boys haven’t checked out, Ms. Murphy,” said the Vice Principal.
“I’m sorry, but there’s been an accident, and I have to get Davey to hospital,” she put the car into reverse as she talked and started to pull away from the man.