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“Live or die, man. You can do this.” I looked down at his face and drew my own final breath, held it. The endotracheal tube running into his mouth was first.
Using the technique learned by watching a nurse, I pulled out the tube. The thing seemed like some magic trick with a snake. More and more plastic tube emerged. A foot at least, surely? “Breathe.” I inhaled too, as if to show how. He didn’t.
“Breathe, asshole!” I shook him, put my hand to his forehead, then on impulse, ripped off bandage and planted my hand over where the faery tattoo must be.
My palm burned as if I’d immersed it in jalapeno dip.
He shuddered and came to life, breathing in, out—a gurgling-sounding yet valid rhythm.
The rest, the IV tubing, the taped-on discs, the other bits—I just ripped off, untaped, and sort of threaded them out, and I hoped none of it sent him into shock.
“Come, uh, guys.” I beckoned to the two dream creatures as I wheeled him to the car. After I opened the door, they nudged and mouthed and pulled Val to his feet, his head lolling as they pushed him into the car.
An ambulance cruised by, too immersed in its own mission to intervene.
“Nothing to see here,” I muttered under my breath.
I strapped him in; watery blood was seeping through the bandages. Damn it, I was supposed to be saving him, not killing him.
The dream creatures scattered as I pulled myself into the driver’s seat.
“FUBAR. This is total fucking FUBAR.” I recalled that from some military movie. Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.
How long before whatever kept him going stopped working? Totally zero data.
As fast as was moderately legal, I drove to the nearest pretty church with the stained glass windows, where the congregation choir was holding a vigil to stop the violence. These events were happening all over a town rocked by two bombs. The citizens were making a stand for peace, and it was the best place that I could think of for goodness and hope.
I put on the eyeglasses and a hundred wishes...heartfelt, brow-wrinkling wishes. If the eyeglasses kicked back with side effects, I’d deal with it when and if it happened.
People started crowding the double entryway to listen and sing along.
I looked at Val, lip trapped between my teeth. Was it doing anything? I couldn’t tell.
At least he was still breathing.
“Come on...”
I ached to stroke his hair, but he seemed so fragile.
My sadness at the hospital had been restrained; here in private it should have poured from me. Crying meant someone had meaning to you. So why was it staying there at the back of my eyes, making my head throb?
Val was the only person in this fucking crappy world who I needed, wanted, craved to be alive, but not like this. Not this limp, almost corpse.
“Fuck!” I let out a scream, slamming my palms on the steering wheel “You’re supposed to be a goddamn fucking fighter!”
Nothing.
Gingerly I pulled up an eyelid. He blinked once.
“Sorry I yelled,” I whispered. “It’s just, you’ve got to help out with some of the heavy lifting.”
I started the car and moved on to a bigger church. Then a music concert hall, then a moonlight picnic to raise charity money. Any public place I thought was inspiration or joy.
Still, I saw no change in Val.
I chewed off my nails. I’d have to return him to the hospital after dawn. I couldn’t keep him alive by myself if this hypothetical magic didn’t work.
“If I can find goddamned jackalopes and faeries, if you’ve got Mount Vesuvius channeled into your bones, if...ifeverything, all those days ofstuffhappening, why the ever-loving fuck can’t you do what I want you to and fix yourself, Val!”
