Desert Memories, part 6, Pinto fic
Previously on Desert Memories
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Food had come and gone and the sun was being cut in half by the horizon. And until now no more news of Chris or Zoe. JJ had tried again to talk to their leader, in an attempt to be taken back to the tent and check on both of them, but his intentions were clearly transparent and his requests denied.
Stressed and exhausted, Zach was curled in a seat, Joe’s comforting heat close by. He wasn’t asleep, but his mind kept drifting. Eric’s bump on the head had swollen to almost comic proportions and he had complained quietly that his head felt like it was splitting apart. Everybody spoke in hushed voices in deference to the massive headache he must be suffering, because he had tried to protect Zoe. Zach envied Eric’s bravery. Unlike the Aussie, he was nothing but a big chicken.
That day Zach had driven slowly to Chris’s house and sat on his parked car, stewing on his own indecisions. Finally he gave himself a mental kick in the butt, got out, locked the car and slowly walked up to Chris’s front door.
“What the fuck am I doing here?” he whispered. He rubbed his hands down his face and knocked.
“Hey, man! Come in.” Chris was all smiles and warmth as he ushered him in. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh.” Zach couldn’t get anything past his dry throat.
“It’s like you’re a telepath. I was just about to call you. I was going through the script revisions.” He stopped by the living room coffee table, littered with the rolled up script and loose sheets of additions and revisions, like a giant jigsaw of words. “Is that why you came?”
“Yeah.” Zach nodded fervently, ridiculously. ‘Coward’ he growled at himself.
They had drunk beers, practiced scenes and fallen asleep on Chris’s back cracking sofas. Zach woke up in the early morning, sober but stinking of beer. He glanced at Chris sprawled on the other sofa, ratty tee riding up his chest, one hand half way down his ubiquitous shorts. Zach sighed, grabbed his shoes and moved toward the door, before he jumped on his co-star and was accused of sexual harassment. Something glimmering from behind a half closed door caught his attention. He moved closer, pushed the door softly and realized he was just staring at Chris’s abandoned key chain, lying on top of his made bed, shining in the early light coming from the open window. Next to it, sat his scarf. Slowly Zach’s morning brain fog dissipated and his lips stretched into a grin. Zach’s evil grin had lasted all the way down the street, while he unlocked his car, got in and slammed the door.
He was falling, but wait, that wasn’t right. Zach opened his eyes at the same time he hit the floor, a heavy body settling on top of him. He could hear the screaming, he could hear the boots stamping down the bus corridor, and then more screaming. He tried blinking, but he still could see nothing, so he finally decided it must be night time. Farther away, but not by much, shots rang into the crisp night air. Zach felt like his heart was going to explode and jump out of his throat. What came out instead was a furious roar and he tried throwing off the weight on his back.
“Stay the fuck down!” Joe’s voice shouted in his ear.
“Nooo.” He moaned, as if mortally wounded. And maybe he had been and didn’t know it yet.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, a voice spoke in an American accent.
“Everybody get up VERY slowly. Arms in the air, palms open.”
They obeyed and in the darkness could not see their interlocutor, only the pinpoint of light he was flashing at them.
“You.” The light fell on Karl’s face. “Name and nationality.”
“Karl Urban. New Zealand.”
A gloved hand gestured him to the front. He disappeared behind the man in the darkness. One by one, they were singled out and identified.
When it was Zach’s turn he moved forward into the pitch darkness, feeling hands on his arms, directing him, pulling him, supporting him down the stairs of the bus. Outside it was very cold, clearly the night had fallen some time ago, but someone threw a blanket over him and some more hands pulled and pushed. He heard JJ’s voice and turned toward it.
“Zach. Zach.” Arms were pulling him down onto the shorter man’s embrace and JJ’s voice was against his ear.
“JJ.” Zach could barely choke out.
“We’re safe. It’s ok, we’re safe.” JJ let him go. “Yeah, that’s him. It’s ok.” He said to somebody else.
“Zach.” A new voice said and Zach turned to hug him.
“Joe.” He realized he was crying.
“Shh, little brother. I’m fine, I’m fine. Are you ok?”
Zach couldn’t answer in between talking huge gulps of cold air and sobbing.
“You’ll be fine.” Joe said, hand tight at the back of Zach’s neck, as if he was never going to let him go. “We’ll be fine.”
Zach felt as if all his blood had turned ice cold and was slowly rushing down his face, trickling over his collarbone. His stomach cramped. His ears were ringing.
“Zach? Here. Zach, sit down. Can I get some help over here?”
He let himself be manhandled into a seating position, a hand at the back of his head forcing his head between his knees.
“Take a deep breath.” A female voice commanded. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m going to throw up.”
“It’s ok. Deep breaths.” She was taking his pulse. “Still feel like throwing up?”
In reply he turned to the side of one knee and gagged. The lack of food in the last day and a half meant that only bile and stomach secretions came out. He coughed and somebody wiped his mouth with a tissue.
“Sorry.” He muttered.
“You’re fine.” A latex covered hand touched his cheek gently. “What’s your name?”
“Zach.”
“Ok, Zach, still feel like throwing up?”
“No.”
“That’s fine.” Her hands reached for his shoulders. “Can you lay back for me?”
He did, feeling other hands helping him down.
“What’s your name?”
Before he could repeat it, Joe’s voice replied.
“Joe. I’m his brother.”
“Ok, Joe, can you hold his legs up? We don’t want him fainting on us.” Her voice was nice and light as she worked. “I’m just going to give you some fluids and you should be fine.”
Zach nodded and felt the prick of the needle.
“Can you open your eyes for me?”
Zach did, realizing he had kept them closed all this time. A young woman in combat fatigues, a stethoscope and latex gloves was looking at him. She had a head lamp for illumination and he could see her cheeks dimple when she smiled.
“There you go, Zach. You’re going to start feeling better in a few minutes. Just call me if you need anything.”
“Doc, we need you here!” a far away voice shouted. “He’s crashing.”
“Shit.” She jumped to her feet and started running in the same swift movement.
Zach closed his eyes, feeling another wave of nausea. He felt fingers on his face and opened one eye. It was Joe, kneeling beside him, one arm under his knees lifting his legs.
“You’re going to be fine, Zach. Everything is going to be fine.” He was muttering softly, almost to himself. A flash of light stroke Joe’s face, reflecting off his tears.
“I know it is.” Zach whispered, but Joe wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were fixed far away behind them, lips still working silently. In the dim light it took Zach a moment to realize what his brother was mouthing, repeatedly, like a prayer.
“Live, Chris. Live.”
Seven
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Food had come and gone and the sun was being cut in half by the horizon. And until now no more news of Chris or Zoe. JJ had tried again to talk to their leader, in an attempt to be taken back to the tent and check on both of them, but his intentions were clearly transparent and his requests denied.
Stressed and exhausted, Zach was curled in a seat, Joe’s comforting heat close by. He wasn’t asleep, but his mind kept drifting. Eric’s bump on the head had swollen to almost comic proportions and he had complained quietly that his head felt like it was splitting apart. Everybody spoke in hushed voices in deference to the massive headache he must be suffering, because he had tried to protect Zoe. Zach envied Eric’s bravery. Unlike the Aussie, he was nothing but a big chicken.
That day Zach had driven slowly to Chris’s house and sat on his parked car, stewing on his own indecisions. Finally he gave himself a mental kick in the butt, got out, locked the car and slowly walked up to Chris’s front door.
“What the fuck am I doing here?” he whispered. He rubbed his hands down his face and knocked.
“Hey, man! Come in.” Chris was all smiles and warmth as he ushered him in. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh.” Zach couldn’t get anything past his dry throat.
“It’s like you’re a telepath. I was just about to call you. I was going through the script revisions.” He stopped by the living room coffee table, littered with the rolled up script and loose sheets of additions and revisions, like a giant jigsaw of words. “Is that why you came?”
“Yeah.” Zach nodded fervently, ridiculously. ‘Coward’ he growled at himself.
They had drunk beers, practiced scenes and fallen asleep on Chris’s back cracking sofas. Zach woke up in the early morning, sober but stinking of beer. He glanced at Chris sprawled on the other sofa, ratty tee riding up his chest, one hand half way down his ubiquitous shorts. Zach sighed, grabbed his shoes and moved toward the door, before he jumped on his co-star and was accused of sexual harassment. Something glimmering from behind a half closed door caught his attention. He moved closer, pushed the door softly and realized he was just staring at Chris’s abandoned key chain, lying on top of his made bed, shining in the early light coming from the open window. Next to it, sat his scarf. Slowly Zach’s morning brain fog dissipated and his lips stretched into a grin. Zach’s evil grin had lasted all the way down the street, while he unlocked his car, got in and slammed the door.
He was falling, but wait, that wasn’t right. Zach opened his eyes at the same time he hit the floor, a heavy body settling on top of him. He could hear the screaming, he could hear the boots stamping down the bus corridor, and then more screaming. He tried blinking, but he still could see nothing, so he finally decided it must be night time. Farther away, but not by much, shots rang into the crisp night air. Zach felt like his heart was going to explode and jump out of his throat. What came out instead was a furious roar and he tried throwing off the weight on his back.
“Stay the fuck down!” Joe’s voice shouted in his ear.
“Nooo.” He moaned, as if mortally wounded. And maybe he had been and didn’t know it yet.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, a voice spoke in an American accent.
“Everybody get up VERY slowly. Arms in the air, palms open.”
They obeyed and in the darkness could not see their interlocutor, only the pinpoint of light he was flashing at them.
“You.” The light fell on Karl’s face. “Name and nationality.”
“Karl Urban. New Zealand.”
A gloved hand gestured him to the front. He disappeared behind the man in the darkness. One by one, they were singled out and identified.
When it was Zach’s turn he moved forward into the pitch darkness, feeling hands on his arms, directing him, pulling him, supporting him down the stairs of the bus. Outside it was very cold, clearly the night had fallen some time ago, but someone threw a blanket over him and some more hands pulled and pushed. He heard JJ’s voice and turned toward it.
“Zach. Zach.” Arms were pulling him down onto the shorter man’s embrace and JJ’s voice was against his ear.
“JJ.” Zach could barely choke out.
“We’re safe. It’s ok, we’re safe.” JJ let him go. “Yeah, that’s him. It’s ok.” He said to somebody else.
“Zach.” A new voice said and Zach turned to hug him.
“Joe.” He realized he was crying.
“Shh, little brother. I’m fine, I’m fine. Are you ok?”
Zach couldn’t answer in between talking huge gulps of cold air and sobbing.
“You’ll be fine.” Joe said, hand tight at the back of Zach’s neck, as if he was never going to let him go. “We’ll be fine.”
Zach felt as if all his blood had turned ice cold and was slowly rushing down his face, trickling over his collarbone. His stomach cramped. His ears were ringing.
“Zach? Here. Zach, sit down. Can I get some help over here?”
He let himself be manhandled into a seating position, a hand at the back of his head forcing his head between his knees.
“Take a deep breath.” A female voice commanded. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m going to throw up.”
“It’s ok. Deep breaths.” She was taking his pulse. “Still feel like throwing up?”
In reply he turned to the side of one knee and gagged. The lack of food in the last day and a half meant that only bile and stomach secretions came out. He coughed and somebody wiped his mouth with a tissue.
“Sorry.” He muttered.
“You’re fine.” A latex covered hand touched his cheek gently. “What’s your name?”
“Zach.”
“Ok, Zach, still feel like throwing up?”
“No.”
“That’s fine.” Her hands reached for his shoulders. “Can you lay back for me?”
He did, feeling other hands helping him down.
“What’s your name?”
Before he could repeat it, Joe’s voice replied.
“Joe. I’m his brother.”
“Ok, Joe, can you hold his legs up? We don’t want him fainting on us.” Her voice was nice and light as she worked. “I’m just going to give you some fluids and you should be fine.”
Zach nodded and felt the prick of the needle.
“Can you open your eyes for me?”
Zach did, realizing he had kept them closed all this time. A young woman in combat fatigues, a stethoscope and latex gloves was looking at him. She had a head lamp for illumination and he could see her cheeks dimple when she smiled.
“There you go, Zach. You’re going to start feeling better in a few minutes. Just call me if you need anything.”
“Doc, we need you here!” a far away voice shouted. “He’s crashing.”
“Shit.” She jumped to her feet and started running in the same swift movement.
Zach closed his eyes, feeling another wave of nausea. He felt fingers on his face and opened one eye. It was Joe, kneeling beside him, one arm under his knees lifting his legs.
“You’re going to be fine, Zach. Everything is going to be fine.” He was muttering softly, almost to himself. A flash of light stroke Joe’s face, reflecting off his tears.
“I know it is.” Zach whispered, but Joe wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were fixed far away behind them, lips still working silently. In the dim light it took Zach a moment to realize what his brother was mouthing, repeatedly, like a prayer.
“Live, Chris. Live.”
Seven