I felt around his head. There was a contusion on the back left side, sticky with blood, but it wasn’t very big.
He was conscious. His eyes were open and blinking at me. Tears streaked down the side of his temples.
“Dad, what happened?”
He wouldn’t answer me.
The relief that had flooded me a moment ago drained away. Was it his heart? He had issues. That’s why his doctor had told him to go on walks—in town, of course. Not here. But he likely wouldn’t be conscious if that was the case.
“Dad, can you talk to me? Can you tell me how you feel?”
I shone the light on his face so I could read his lips. Probably he was hoarse from yelling too. But that’s when I noticed something very wrong. His mouth was drooping on one side, a stream of drool coming from its lowest point. I drew the flashlight down. His body was slack on the same side.
A stroke.
Fuck.
“Dad, we need to get you to the hospital.”
He made a scratch of a noise. Hehadbeen yelling. Probably long before I got here. I tried to get back to standing, but my hip buckled. “Shit,” I breathed.
Dad made another noise.
I pointed the light at him, but he was quiet now, his eyes still wide.
“Dad, I have to get you up. I’m going to have to carry you out.”
How thefuckwas I going to do that? I was barely able tohold myself up, and Dad was a big guy. He’d towered over me as a kid, larger than life, and though he was a couple inches shorter now, he was heavy. He probably weighed the same or a little more than me.
Dad made a sound again. He had aphasia, that much was clear. But he was trying to speak to me.
“Dad, I have to get you help,” I said, my eyes stinging with tears. The longer we stayed away from the hospital, the worse this could get.
But who knows how long he’d been lying here already. Long enough his voice was hoarse. The damage might already be done.
He tried to move.
I gritted my teeth. “I’m going to get you out,” I said. I managed to stand up then, and was able to hobble to a nearby tree, which I fell against.
All the things I did with Ellie tonight before hiking through the woods had probably laid the foundation for this pain. I didn’t regret them, not for a second. I just wished my body were whole.
I needed to make something to carry him with. A travois. Two poles lashed together for dragging.
But I didn’t have any way of cutting sticks. I didn’t have fabric for slinging between the sticks—the sweatshirt wasn’t nearly big enough. I could collect grass maybe, but it would take me all night.
I didn’t have anything. I needed to rest, then I could do a firefighter hold. I’d done it before.
When your hip worked.
“Fuck,” I said out loud, running my hand through my hair. Even if I managed to get him onto my shoulders, which I could do if my hip weren’t fucked, walking down that trail in the dark with my father on my shoulders was a death trap. Even if my body was working properly. One misstep—whichwas all but guaranteed—and I could drop him, exacerbating all his injuries. A fall could more than likely kill him.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
I spun around, shining the light on Dad. He held a rock in his good hand; the same one he had to have used to call me.
Three taps.
Look at me.
