Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

“Okay,” said Paul. “You keep coming this way though, and I’ll bring my mom back.”

Davey nodded insistently.

“Don’t worry,” said Paul, and then he was off. Davey watched him run off before attempting to stand up.

Each inhale felt like a hot knife being jabbed between his ribs. Each step felt like the skin and muscles in his abdomen were separating and tearing. Davey tried a few more steps, breathing very shallow, but he soon had to stop. He pursed his lips and sucked in air slowly, trying to sneak up on a full breath to avoid the pain penalty.

After a few more steps, Davey tried to breathe exclusively through his nose. He winced at the pain and continued moving foot after foot to return to the school, establishing a rhythm of inhaling, stepping, and exhaling. Near the end of each inhale, he focused on trying to breathe a tiny bit deeper than the last time. With his shoulders hunched and his head lowered, he looked up every few steps to keep track of the stand of black-barked pines in the distance. Those trees marked the edge of the woods between him and the school’s parking lot.

The pain came back in waves, cresting with each inhale, but Davey kept moving. In his attempt to get back as quickly as possible, Davey hadn’t veered around the marshy area. He sloshed across the wet soil and realized that he had made a classic mistake. The survivalist guy on TV always stressed that if you got lost or injured in the woods you should signal for help and then stay put. Davey grabbed a small tree and thought about his situation—should he stay put? He decided no, he should keep moving, because Paul might not even think to look for him in the marsh, they always made a wide loop around it.

A cough started deep in his chest and he was unable to choke it back. Davey bent at the waist and held himself up with one hand on the small tree, and the other propped against his knee. The coughing lasted until his vision began to fade out and his head throbbed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and found a crimson streak of blood from his knuckle to his wrist.

His self-sympathy began to fade. Until that moment, Davey had viewed his injury through his mom’s eyes—how she would fuss over him and take care of his pain. Now, when he saw the blood, his predicament became real and personal. It hit Davey with the force of revelation—he could die. He straightened against the pain and sucked in a deep breath through his mouth.

The corners of his eyes tightened with the new jab of fire in his ribs, but he clenched his jaw and moved his feet. He moved with determination, feet rising and falling mechanically as he sublimated his urge to feel sorry for himself.

Davey crashed through the underbrush near the side of the school standing tall and determined—holding his breath while his vision swam. Paul and his mother, Sophie, charged up the hill towards Davey as he crumpled to the ground, sucking in tortured sips of air. Sophie thrust her purse to her son and collected the muddy boy from the ground, lifting him with a deep grunt. His feet and jeans were soaked to the knee, and the front of Davey’s shirt was spotted with red dots of blood.

“Unlock the car, honey,” Sophie ordered Paul.

Paul ran ahead with his mom’s purse bouncing at his side. He turned as he ran—“Shouldn’t we call nine-one-one?”

Sophie panted as she covered the ground with long, confident strides. “No,” she responded, “the hospital is right down the street. We can get there faster. But call Ms. Hunter as soon as you unlock the car.”

Paul reached the car and opened both the front and back doors. He dialed his friend’s mom and then turned to his own mother. “What do I say to her?”

Sophie arranged Davey across the back seat and pulled one of the seat belts awkwardly across his body. “Tell her to meet as at the hospital. Wait, no. Just give me the phone when she answers,” she amended and then turned back to Davey, “How are you doing, kiddo?” she asked.

“Okay,” Davey croaked.

“Good boy,” Sophie said as she patted Davey on the cheek.

“Hi Ms. Hunter,” Paul said into the phone. “Hold on. Mom wants to talk to you.”

He handed the phone to Sophie.

“Hi Susan,” she said, taking the phone. “Yes, a little one,” she continued. “I’m going to run him up to KC Emergency. Want to just meet us there? Great.” Sophie hung up her phone.

She closed the back door.

“You have to sit up front, Paul,” she said.

“Okay,” yelled Paul, as he ran around to the passenger door.

Sophie started the car and moved the gear-shift into neutral. She leaned over and gathered up her papers from the passenger’s seat and stuffed them into her purse while Paul slid into the vacated seat.

“Look out,” Davey said from his recumbent position across the back seat.

“What’s that, honey?” asked Sophie.

“Look … out,” he pronounced carefully.

Sophie looked up from her purse, confused, and saw the alarmed figure of Jack Vincent just beyond her hood. She jammed her feet into the brake pedal to stop the rolling car from knocking him over. Mr. Vincent ran around to her window.

“I’m so sorry,” said Sophie. “I didn’t know we were moving.”

“The boys haven’t checked out, Ms. Murphy,” said the Vice Principal.

“I’m sorry, but there’s been an accident, and I have to get Davey to hospital,” she put the car into reverse as she talked and started to pull away from the man.

“Have his mother call please,” he called after the moving vehicle.

She waved and backed her vehicle away.

“HOW ARE YOU DOING, CHAMP?” the doctor asked as he smiled.

“Oh-oh-okay,” Davey coughed.

“You’ve had a busy few months,” commented Dr. Stuart. He smiled again and looked between Davey’s folder and Melanie

“Yeah,” said Davey.

“Looks like you were doing some work with Dr. Chisholm? I’m not sure I have all the records here; it looks like there was supposed to be some follow-on work?”

Melanie crossed her arms, wiped her mouth, and then cupped her chin in her hand. With her head tilted down, she looked up at Dr. Stuart from a veil of hair. “Yes—we did a lot of tests. Nothing ever came of it. He didn’t figure out anything. It’s not in his file?”

“Okay, Champ,” said Dr. Stuart. “We’re going to leave you alone for a minute. I’ve got some papers I need Mom to look at down the hall.”

“I’ll send Paul in,” Melanie said to her son and then kissed him on the forehead.

Dr. Stuart held the door open for her and ushered her through.

“Thanks again,” Melanie said to Sophie, who waited with Paul in the hall. “I’ve got to talk to Dr. Stuart for a few minutes, would you two go keep Davey company for me?”

“Sure, Melanie,” said Sophie, “anything. But would you like me to come with you? I know it can be hard to process everything the doctor says. Not to say you won’t be easy to understand,” she quickly amended, placing a hand on Dr. Stuart’s forearm.

“Thank you,” said Melanie, “I’ll be fine though. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Sophie flashed a big sympathetic smile and then herded Paul into Davey’s room. When the door shut, Dr. Stuart walked Melanie down the hall.

“I think you’ve got a fan,” said Melanie.

“I won’t let it go to my head,” replied Dr. Stuart. He pointed Melanie towards a small, empty waiting room.

“So,” he began once the door shut, “I’ve read the file, but why don’t you tell me what’s been going on.”

“Well,” Melanie brushed her hair back from her face, “things started a few months ago. I was worried about Davey’s clumsiness, so I took him to Dr. Chisholm.”