Steve Hamilton - Ice Run

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was red brick. I was lying curled up against a wall and there was a light layer of snow melting on the side of my face. I tried to get up. That wasn’t going to work. Very bad idea. I tried rolling over. Another very bad idea. I lifted my head. Worst idea yet.

This is it, I thought. I’m gonna freeze to death right here. Just like… somebody. I couldn’t think straight. Just like who?

Like Simon Grant. It all started to come back to me. The funeral, meeting the family, walking back here with Chris Woolsey’s father, then everything that happened after that.

Behind a church yet. I had gotten beaten within an inch of my life behind a church.

Okay, now what? I tried to think. My cell phone… Where was it? In the truck. I tried to roll over again. I just had to see…

Damn it, that hurt. God damn it. I saw another building, just beyond the plowed parking lot. It looked like a garage. Some trees. An empty swing set half buried in the snow. Beyond that, the backs of more buildings, over on Maple Street. Too far away.

I’ve gotta move, I thought. Move now or die here.

I rolled again. God, that hurt. I was on my hands and knees now. I was bleeding. The blood was getting in my eyes. Son of a bitch.

As I shook my head to clear my eyes, everything went out of focus and my ears rang like I was underwater. Okay, I thought, no more shaking my head.

I wiped my eyes, felt the cut above my left eyebrow. Not good. Not good at all. I tried to push myself up with my hands. My head started pounding again.

“Help,” I said. “I need some help here…”

But there was no sound except the wind.

I know somebody will come by eventually, I thought. If I can get around to the front of the church, somebody will see me. The street is busy enough, even in the dead of winter. I just have to… have to…

I wobbled and rolled back down to the ground.

“No,” I said. “Get up. Get up, Alex.” I pushed myself back up to my hands and knees. “Now move.”

I worked my way toward the corner of the building. I left a path in the snow as I moved, a jagged line of red running down the center. My jaw started to ache. My nose. My ribs. Then the bells went off in my head again. I stopped in my tracks and waited for it to pass. Then I started moving again. I fought inch by inch until finally I could see around the corner. The rest of the parking lot was empty now, everyone else gone. They had all left for the cemetery. No vehicles in sight, except for my truck. My truck, with the heater. And the cell phone. A hundred feet away.

I didn’t see any cars moving on Portage Avenue. But somebody would come eventually. I started moving. I had to get closer to the road. Or to my truck. That was closer. No, the road.

I kept crawling. A car came by, moving slowly.

“Help,” I said, too weakly for anyone to actually hear me. “Please stop.”

The car passed and was gone.

Get to your feet, I thought. Get up and walk. Go to the truck and call somebody. It’s the only way you’re gonna get out of here. Just get up and walk.

Okay, okay. Just have to catch my breath. Breathe, damn it. Breathe.

On the count of three, I’m gonna get up.

One.

Two.

Three. I pushed myself up, tried to move my weight back onto my legs. I fell forward, caught myself with my hands, leaned all the way forward this time, letting my legs catch up.

Just like that, Alex. Just like that. Now stand up.

I pushed up with one arm, then the other. I was crouching now, bleeding into the snow, the red drops free-falling now, making little red specks.

Stand. Up.

I tried to straighten out my body. Everything went into a whirl, all the colors spinning around me, all the sounds like instruments playing at once, the trombones and the tubas and the bass drums.

Get to the truck, Alex. Get to the truck. Where is it?

I saw it in one direction, then another. It was moving all around, taunting me. I took one step, another step, and then I was falling down a hill sideways, putting my hand down to keep from falling again.

The truck is there. It’s right there.

But I couldn’t walk straight. I pointed myself in one direction and moved in another, east instead of north. I tried to double back. God, my head. My aching head.

I didn’t know where I was going now. I was moving and everything kept turning around me and then there was nothing but sky above me and then snow all over the ground, wherever I looked. Nothing but white, white snow.

Then I heard something. One of the instruments in the band playing a long note, louder and louder. Something was coming for me. Something big. It got closer and closer until it was right on top of me and it was all I could see.

I reached out one hand to it.

“No more,” I said. “No more.”

I went down. All the way. I tasted the salt on the road.

“No more.”

There was a light shining into my eyes. It hurt like hell. I blinked and then I tried to sit up. I felt a hand on each shoulder, holding me down.

“Don’t get up, Mr. McKnight,” a voice said. “Please, just stay right there.”

I blinked a few more times. Then I saw a face. It looked familiar.

“Do you know who you are?” the voice said.

“What?”

“Your name. Tell me your name.”

“McKnight. You just said it. My name is Alex McKnight.”

“Okay, good. What day is it?”

“I don’t know.” I tried to sit up again. The hands kept me down.

“Please, Mr. McKnight. You have to lie still.”

Everything else started to come into focus. The white ceiling, the fluorescent lights. I was in a hospital room. The doctor was looking at a medical file. He had a white coat on, and a stethoscope hanging around his neck. He had a beard. I knew this man.

“What happened?” I said. “How did I get here?”

“You tell me,” he said. “Someone brought you into the emergency room. The man said he almost ran over you.”

“Where have I seen you before?”

“My name is Doctor Glenn. I treated you once before. That time it was cracked ribs and a collapsed lung. Do you remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” That meant I was in War Memorial, on Os-born. I was just a few blocks away from the church.

“This time it’s your head. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“It’s all kinda fuzzy, Doc.”

“I bet.” He held his pen in front of my face and moved it from side to side. I followed it with my eyes. He seemed satisfied and went back to his notes.

“Do I have a concussion?”

He looked up at me. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Grade three, Mr. McKnight. Do you know what that means?”

“I’ll be sitting out a few games.”

“You have a hairline fracture in your right eye orbital. Another hairline fracture in your cheekbone. The cut above your eyebrow took twenty-seven stitches, ten internal and seventeen external. And you have fifteen stitches in the back of your head.”

I reached up and felt the bandages on my head. “What about the rest of me?”

“You have bruises all over your torso, but no broken ribs this time. I guess that’s the good news.”

“Some of my bottom teeth feel a little loose.”

“They may tighten up on their own,” he said. “If they don’t, you’ll have to see your dentist.”

“So aside from all that, I’m just fine.”

He shook his head and flipped a page. “I see we found a little something in your chest last time,” he said.

“The bullet. That was from a long time ago.”

“The eighties, you told me.”

“Yes.”

“I believe I asked you then if you’d been having your annual chest X-ray, to make sure the bullet hasn’t migrated.”