lumy12

Page One Hundred Twenty

"You're sure you're okay," you ask for the tenth time. "Cuz you don't look okay."

"You think after everythin' we've been through that some little worm like that is gonna do me in?"

That doesn't make you feel better. At all. It's a reminder that Joel can be stubborn as fuck. And he's not taking this seriously.

Or... does that mean I'm taking it TOO seriously? Maybe. Joel knows how he feels, better than you do... what he's capable of and what he's not. ...right? "Fine. But you're riding with me, and I'm driving. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

You can't bring yourself to take the offending snake along to cook for dinner later; you're not a big fan of snake meat as it is, and besides, you pretty much shot it all to hell. Joel is fine with leaving it behind to rot in the sun as well. You give him his horse's lead rope to hold.

He doesn't seem... okay to you, exactly, but he also doesn't seem as not-okay as you feared. He got up on the horse okay, and he sits behind you calmly... silent, other than his breathing, and docile. He confirms the direction you need to go, and then you don't hear a peep from him for like ten or fifteen minutes. Long enough that you toss a "you okay?" over your shoulder to him, and he grunts in the affirmative.

After another five or ten minutes, though, you feel him slumping forward, pushing on your back. You pull up on the reins... and his horse trots on ahead -- freely. "Joel? You let go of Summer." You twist around as far as you can to take a look... but you quickly realize that if you move too much, he's going to fall -- he's unconscious! "Shit -- okay -- uh... we're stopping now. Joel! Joel, wake up! Joel!"

He hasn't simply fallen asleep; you can't rouse him. "Fuck! Joel, you said you were okay, why are you doing this now? What am I supposed to do?" ...besides fight the panic rising up to your throat-- along with some really bad memories surfacing...

Okay-- more drugs. That's the only thing I can do for him! Except you feel like antibiotics aren't going to help. He needs... well, you don't know what he needs. He said the antivenom was working! Was that a lie? WHY DID YOU LIE TO ME, JOEL--

OKAY okay -- stay calm. You have to give him the penicillin. And then just... wait?

First, you have to get off the horse -- get both of you off the horse. You're afraid to move too much because you feel Joel shifting with you, and if he leans too far to the side... You try to slither out of your backpack in the hope that you can leave it behind for Joel to lean on, then you can pull him down and catch him -- or at least be there to break his fall.

Yeah... dumb idea... it doesn't work. You can't wriggle out of the straps without disturbing Joel. Finally he leans too far to the left for you to right him... ha! Left to right-- oh fuck! "Joel--!" You manage to grab his arm, but gravity wins, and you end up falling on top of him. Still, you think you may have lessened the impact somehow... you didn't hear bones breaking, thankfully. And he didn't impale himself on his rifle or some shit.

Even falling off the horse doesn't wake him. Just like Colorado... DON'T THINK ABOUT THAT--

You scramble to your feet and set about administering the antibiotic to him. Please let it help him! you pray fervently. Please please PLEASE!

You call the horses back, and fortunately, they're content to mill about nearby, grazing on the abundance of grass. The last thing you need to worry about is them running off to God knows where! You manage to remove the bulkier of Joel's weapons to try to arrange him more comfortably (but still sprawled on his side, mostly; you can't figure out how to tug his backpack off without pushing him to be more on his stomach, with his face in the dirt), and you're trying not to fret about not being able to move him. Would you be able to lift him now, enough to put him on his horse? You're a little bigger than you were two years ago...

...but not that much bigger. Joel might actually be a little bigger, too, since you both lost weight over the course of your cross-country trip and then gained it back in Jackson, so it's probably a wash (...though you have no idea what washing has to do with anything! dumb expression). You're not going to attempt it yet. You sit beside him and hold his clammy hand. Watch his chest rise and fall with each breath (...at least they don't seem as ragged now?), crying silent tears. You pray for the drugs to work... or, if they don't, for someone to come along -- someone who will actually help you, not kill you. You were riding beside the highway, so it is possible, if other people tend to follow the roads through these parts...

His face is ashen... his forehead sweaty... and his pulse feels fast. You keep talking to him, trying to rouse him... you squeeze his hand... he's okay, as long as he's breathing and has a pulse, you try to reassure yourself.

And then -- THANK YOU SWEET BABY JESUS -- he stirs! He twitches and mumbles something unintelligible, opens his eyes just a crack, like his lids are really heavy...

"Joel! Stay with me, okay? Can you hear me?" You hover over his face.

Again, he makes a sound, but utters no meaningful words.

"Can you tell me what to do for you? I gave you more drugs... you seem to have a fever... can you wake up, though? Like all the way? Can you talk to me?" Your frantic questions don't seem to penetrate his sluggish brain. Still, you'll take this over dead silence.

He seems to want to roll over... you help him onto his back and shift over so you can more or less cradle his head in your lap, wishing you could get rid of that fucking backpack he's laying on. You also wish you had a rag to wipe his forehead with. A rag and some cool water. You can't reach either of those things without getting up, and you don't want to snap his neck or something, just letting it fall back... okay, that's probably dumb, but... he's good this way... "Don't worry, Joel, you're going to be okay. You have to be. You're not allowed to... not be. I won't let you leave me, okay?" you sniffle.

"nn... ven..."

"What?" That sounded slightly more like actual English...

"...ain't... leavin'... you... ... ...kiddo..."

The tears keep streaming down your cheeks, plunking poor Joel in the face, but now they're more like tears of relief! "You better not. I'll fucking kill you. I'm already pissed at you for telling me you're okay when you're not!"

"...s-sorry... ...I tried to be..." And he starts trying to sit up -- another good sign! You won't let him try to stand, but you do take the opportunity to push him up enough to relieve him of his backpack and a few more weapons (how the fuck does he carry all this shit all the time?). You settle him with his head on his backpack, and now you can fetch that rag...

"I do... feel better," he tells you as you pat his forehead with the rag. "Shitty... but better."

He already sounds better than a minute ago, too. "Good. You prob'ly need to sleep some more... but..."

"Mm. S'alright... if I was gonna die, I woulda done it right there."

"Really?" That's kind of what you were thinking, too, but hearing it from Joel makes you feel infinitely better. ...Never mind that he lied about being okay before...

"Yeah. We can go... soon as my fever breaks, I think..."

"Um, yeah, we're not going anywhere yet," you tell him firmly. "Not until you're back to normal. You could've split your head open, falling off the horse like that!"

"...I fell off? I don't remember that..."

"That's because you fucking slept through it! You're prob'ly gonna be sore... maybe when you stop feeling the snakebite shittiness..."

He turns his head toward you and regards you sleepily with those nearly-closed eyes... "...thank you..." He even tries to smile.

You return the smile. "Just get better, okay? I'll wait."

His eyes close again. "All right... g'night, baby girl."

"Night. Or, afternoon. Sweet dreams."

You can't help worrying about him, still... but in your gut, you know he's turned a corner now, and you'll get him through this!

THE END

If you'd like to start another adventure, return to page 1.