Mike Mullin - Ashfall

Paul moaned, a sound that started low and pained but quickly grew into something approaching a scream. I shoved away from Rebecca and ran to him. Darla stood still for a second, taking in the ladder that had trapped Paul’s leg and Max in the snow outside the greenhouse. Then she ran toward the greenhouse door.

The greenhouse roof was low enough that I could reach Paul. I grabbed his shoulders and tried to lift him to relieve the pressure on his snapped leg. It protruded from between the rafter and ladder at a sickening angle, as if he’d grown an extra knee in his shin, turned ninety degrees in the wrong direction. I couldn’t see any blood on his jeans, so perhaps the bone hadn’t come through his skin.

Darla reached Max just outside the greenhouse. He had jumped up and was wrestling with the ladder. Darla grabbed the ladder and helped, trying to force it sideways off the rafter to free Paul’s leg.

Uncle Paul screamed as the ladder shifted. Sweat rolled off his face and splashed against my cheek below him. Darla and Max heaved on the ladder again, and Paul’s leg popped free. He fell, and I tried to catch him. Rebecca was there, too, reaching up to grab him, but he fell through our arms and landed with a thud amid the kale.

I knelt by his head. He was sweating, panting, and shivering-all at the same time. “I think he’s in shock!” I yelled. “Get a bunch of blankets. And two poles we can use to make a stretcher.” Darla and Max ran toward the house. I noticed Max was holding his left side where the ladder had slammed into him. Rebecca looked at me, and I said, “I’ll stay with him. Go get Aunt Caroline.” She nodded and ran for the greenhouse door.

“Hang in there,” I told Uncle Paul. “Help is coming.” He moaned, and I squeezed his hand.

Less than a minute passed before Darla, Max, and Rebecca ran back into the greenhouse with Aunt Caroline and Anna in tow. They had armloads of blankets and two long poles left over from constructing the greenhouses. Aunt Caroline cringed when she saw the unnatural angle of her husband’s leg, and Anna turned away, burying her face in her mother’s side. Darla spread out the largest blanket and folded it over the poles, forming a makeshift stretcher.

“We should splint that leg before we move him,” Darla said.

“Wouldn’t we have to straighten it out first?” I said.

“Don’t do that,” Caroline said. “You might make it worse.”

“We’ll have to set the bone at some point,” Darla said.

“No. I want Doc McCarthy to do it,” Caroline insisted.

“He’s in Warren?” Darla asked.

“Yes.”

“Let’s just get him inside for now.” I moved down to Uncle Paul’s broken leg and slid one hand under his knee and the other under his calf, just below the break. “I’ll try to hold the break still. Everyone else grab on. We’ll slide him over onto the stretcher.”

When everyone was in position, I called out, “On three. One… two… three!” We slid Paul onto the stretcher. I tried my best to hold his leg steady, but I heard the bones grind against each other. He grabbed my arm, clutching so tightly it hurt.

We spread two blankets over the top of the stretcher and carried it slowly to the house. Uncle Paul moaned as we lowered him to the living room floor in front of the fireplace. Anna got a pillow off the couch and tucked it under his head.

“Put the pillow under his good leg,” Darla said. “He’s in shock, so we want to elevate his legs, but we probably shouldn’t disturb the broken one until we get it splinted.” Anna moved the pillow.

“I don’t have any idea how to splint that,” Aunt Caroline said, staring at the break.

“We’re going to have to set and splint it to get him all the way to Warren,” Darla said.

“No,” Aunt Caroline said. “I’ll go to town and get Doc McCarthy. I’m sure he’ll come-he’s been our family doctor forever.”

Uncle Paul’s hand shot out from beneath the blankets and seized her ankle. “No. Fix the greenhouse.” His voice sounded thin and breathy.

“We can worry about that after we get your leg fixed, honey.”

“No. The greenhouse is the top priority. We can’t afford to lose the kale.”

“Taking care of your leg is the top priority.” Aunt Caroline’s lips were pressed together in a determined line.

“I swear to God, if someone doesn’t get out there and fix that greenhouse right now-” Uncle Paul let out an involuntary moan and scrunched his eyes closed, “I’ll crawl out of here and do it myself.”

“I’ll get the doctor,” I said. “I can probably run most of the way to Warren.”

Aunt Caroline sighed. “Okay, take Max with you. He knows where the doctor’s office is.”

“Can you run?” I asked Max.

“Yeah,” he said. “My side hurts, but I think it’s just bruised.”

“Take Darla, too,” Aunt Caroline said. “It will be safer with three if you run into any problems. Anna, you take care of Dad. Build the fire higher in here-we want to keep him warm. And get him some water. Rebecca, you and I will try to fix the greenhouse.”

“Work from inside, on a stepladder,” Darla said. “It’ll be safer.”

I had already turned away, heading for the kitchen. I grabbed a backpack, a water bottle, a knife, some dried meat, and a half-full book of matches. In seconds, Darla, Max, and I were jogging down the road toward Warren.

FEMA hadn’t cleared the road after the last storm, but only a few inches of snow had fallen, so it wasn’t difficult to run along the road. Just a little slick. We ran for about ten minutes, then took a breather, walking fast for a few minutes before breaking into a run again.

We covered the distance to Warren in record time, less than an hour. Nobody was out on the streets, but it was cold enough that anyone sensible would stay inside. Max led us to a low building on the south side of town. The sign out front read: F AMILY H EALTH.

Inside the office, a line of people snaked through the waiting room, past the reception desk, and through the door that led to the exam rooms. Almost everyone in the line was either a kid or elderly, although some of the kids had parents with them. It was almost as cold inside the office as it had been outside; everyone was bundled in hats, gloves, and heavy coats. An oil lamp on a table in the middle of the waiting room provided what little light there was.

“Where’s the doctor?” I asked the guy at the back of the line. He gestured toward the front. I hurried forward, pushing past the people standing in the door to the exam rooms.

“Hey, end of the line’s back there!” someone yelled.

“Emergency, sorry,” I said.

Past the door, the line broke into two, leading into adjacent exam rooms. I ducked into the closest one. Another oil lamp burned on the desk at one side of the room. The guy on the exam table had a face corrugated by age and was wearing an old-fashioned Elmer Fudd hat with earflaps. The guy standing in front of him was younger and bundled up tightly against the cold, but he had a miniature flashlight and was shining it into the first guy’s mouth, so I assumed he was the doctor.

“My uncle broke his leg,” I said. “We need help.”

“Hold on, son,” the doctor replied. “I’m almost done here.” He peeled his patient’s lower lip back. It was spotted with deep purple bruises and blood filled the spaces between the guy’s teeth. The doctor reached into a drawer and pulled out what looked like a plastic bag of Froot Loops. “Take these and stop back next week.”

“Thanks, Jim.” The patient slid off the exam table, took the Froot Loops, and left.

“Okay. Now tell me about your uncle.”

I rushed through the story of uncle Paul’s fall from the top of the greenhouse.