as best he could. “I can’t get Sanchez out of my head back there,” he finally said. “Still in his helmet like that. I mean, how the hell does that even happen?” He lifted one of the logs and tried to get a bit of bark burning. A puff of smoke hit him in the eyes and he sat back, blinking. “That’s not even the worst part,” he said. “Imagine going through your whole life with
that
on your ticket. I mean, Goddamn.” Dalton rubbed the last of the smoke out of his eyes, smearing a line of ash down his cheek in the process. He was still looking at the fire. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said slowly, “what’s on your ticket, kid?”
Johnny didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t answer. As soon as Dalton had mentioned Sanchez, his bowels had all gone weak and his stomach had flopped and risen, forcing all the air out of his lungs. By the time Dalton turned around again, Johnny was already vomiting his dinner back out into his hand. Dalton jumped up to his side and Johnny felt his big hands pressing against his head.
“Oh hey, kid,” said Dalton. “I’m sorry about that. I should have never said that stuff about Sanchez. I keep forgetting this is your first time out here.”
Johnny didn’t feel any better in the morning light. Heavy beads of sweat clung to his forehead, and his skin felt like it was stretched tight across the bones of his face. Dalton had given him the canteen in the night, but he had drunk it dry. He still hadn’t eaten anything.
“You okay, kid?” asked Dalton, feeling Johnny’s arms and legs for fractures. “You sure you didn’t get hurt in the crash? Does anything hurt? You could have been in shock most of yesterday and never even known it.”
Johnny shook his head. “No,” he croaked. “Just shook up, that’s all. I’ll be fine in the afternoon.” Even as he spoke, he knew it wasn’t true. He felt terrible, like he was floating on the surface of a fast-moving stream. He was only wearing his undershirt and his pants, but even so he felt like he was being slowly smothered to death. Like snakes were coiling themselves around his body and biting his bowels. “I think I drank all the water,” he said. “Sorry.”
Dalton shook his head and picked up the empty canteen. “Don’t worry about it, kid. I’ll find some more.” Dalton stood over Johnny a second longer. He seemed to be thinking hard about something. Then he put the rifle on the ground next to Johnny. “Here, be careful with this,” he said. “But I’ll probably be gone all morning. If something happens and you need me, let off a round.” He stood up again. “And for God’s sake, kid, don’t shoot me when I come back.”
By afternoon, Johnny was a little better. He heard Dalton crunching through the undergrowth and he reached out to push the rifle away. He hadn’t even been touching it before, but it was better to be safe than sorry. A minute later, Dalton knelt down next to him, holding the canteen to his lips. The water tasted gritty, but it was cool and wet enough.
“Did you find a spring?” asked Johnny.
Dalton shook his head, squatting on his heels nearby. He picked up his rifle and slung it over his shoulder again. “I ended up collecting the water from leaves.” He motioned to the canopy as he took a drink himself. “Dew and stuff, I guess.”
“Sounds like that would take a while.”
Dalton laughed. “It does.” He wiped his forehead. “I just hope I didn’t sweat away more than I got.” He flashed his big toothed smile again. He had a rough face, swarthy and twisted, but he looked boyish and almost handsome when he grinned that way. “You eat anything?”
“Still not hungry.”
Dalton nodded, rocking back on his heels. “Look, Johnny,” he said. “We have to have a serious talk.” Johnny looked over at him, waiting. “How do you die?”
Johnny shook his head. “What does it matter to you?”
“You know mine,” said
that
on your ticket. I mean, Goddamn.” Dalton rubbed the last of the smoke out of his eyes, smearing a line of ash down his cheek in the process. He was still looking at the fire. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said slowly, “what’s on your ticket, kid?”
Johnny didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t answer. As soon as Dalton had mentioned Sanchez, his bowels had all gone weak and his stomach had flopped and risen, forcing all the air out of his lungs. By the time Dalton turned around again, Johnny was already vomiting his dinner back out into his hand. Dalton jumped up to his side and Johnny felt his big hands pressing against his head.
“Oh hey, kid,” said Dalton. “I’m sorry about that. I should have never said that stuff about Sanchez. I keep forgetting this is your first time out here.”
Johnny didn’t feel any better in the morning light. Heavy beads of sweat clung to his forehead, and his skin felt like it was stretched tight across the bones of his face. Dalton had given him the canteen in the night, but he had drunk it dry. He still hadn’t eaten anything.
“You okay, kid?” asked Dalton, feeling Johnny’s arms and legs for fractures. “You sure you didn’t get hurt in the crash? Does anything hurt? You could have been in shock most of yesterday and never even known it.”
Johnny shook his head. “No,” he croaked. “Just shook up, that’s all. I’ll be fine in the afternoon.” Even as he spoke, he knew it wasn’t true. He felt terrible, like he was floating on the surface of a fast-moving stream. He was only wearing his undershirt and his pants, but even so he felt like he was being slowly smothered to death. Like snakes were coiling themselves around his body and biting his bowels. “I think I drank all the water,” he said. “Sorry.”
Dalton shook his head and picked up the empty canteen. “Don’t worry about it, kid. I’ll find some more.” Dalton stood over Johnny a second longer. He seemed to be thinking hard about something. Then he put the rifle on the ground next to Johnny. “Here, be careful with this,” he said. “But I’ll probably be gone all morning. If something happens and you need me, let off a round.” He stood up again. “And for God’s sake, kid, don’t shoot me when I come back.”
By afternoon, Johnny was a little better. He heard Dalton crunching through the undergrowth and he reached out to push the rifle away. He hadn’t even been touching it before, but it was better to be safe than sorry. A minute later, Dalton knelt down next to him, holding the canteen to his lips. The water tasted gritty, but it was cool and wet enough.
“Did you find a spring?” asked Johnny.
Dalton shook his head, squatting on his heels nearby. He picked up his rifle and slung it over his shoulder again. “I ended up collecting the water from leaves.” He motioned to the canopy as he took a drink himself. “Dew and stuff, I guess.”
“Sounds like that would take a while.”
Dalton laughed. “It does.” He wiped his forehead. “I just hope I didn’t sweat away more than I got.” He flashed his big toothed smile again. He had a rough face, swarthy and twisted, but he looked boyish and almost handsome when he grinned that way. “You eat anything?”
“Still not hungry.”
Dalton nodded, rocking back on his heels. “Look, Johnny,” he said. “We have to have a serious talk.” Johnny looked over at him, waiting. “How do you die?”
Johnny shook his head. “What does it matter to you?”
“You know mine,” said
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