Zeke Bartholomew by Jason Pinter Page A

first. I began to see clothes, skin. Her uniform was tattered and shredded. There was blood on her legs.
    â€œI’ll get you out of here,” I said. “I’m not leaving.”
    Once I’d taken the smaller rocks off of her, I started on the larger ones. I couldn’t move them on my own. There was a small crack of light that illuminated the hallway just enough for me to go scavenging. I found a sheared-off pipe and used it for leverage.
    I propped the pipe under the larger rocks, then pushed down, propelling the rocks off of Sparrow’s body. One at a time. I had to be careful. I didn’t want a rock to fall back on her.
    Once most of the rocks were gone, Sparrow was able to push a few of the smaller ones from her. Finally she was free. I knelt down and leaned in close.
    â€œAre you…okay?” I asked.
    Sparrow stood up. She wobbled for a moment, placing her good hand on my shoulder to steady herself.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” I said. “I should have known.”
    â€œStop whining, you little baby,” Sparrow said. “Now, help me.”
    â€œHelp you what?”
    â€œGet my shoulder back into place.”
    â€œUh…how exactly do I do that?”
    â€œJust follow my instructions.”
    â€œOkay…”
    Sparrow cleaned off a space in the corridor, then lay herself flat on the dirty ground. She took several deep breaths, steadying herself. Then she clutched her elbow to her side and slowly began to raise her arm, almost like a bird’s wing. She gritted her teeth, small sounds escaping her lips.
    When her arm was at shoulder level, she said, “Now you come in.”
    â€œWhat do I do?”
    â€œHelp me move my hand behind my head. Like I’m trying to scratch my neck.”
    I knelt down and gripped Sparrow’s hand and arm gently. My heart was beating fast. I slowly began to rotate her arm ninety degrees. When her hand got behind her head, she let out a small yelp. I nearly fell backward.
    â€œCome on, there’s no way this is more painful for you than for me.”
    â€œYesterday I was forgetting to do my calc homework. Today I just got firebombed and I’m sitting in a pile of rubble playing orthopedist. Forgive me if I’m not a robot.”
    â€œCome on, C-3PO. Keep going.”
    I moved her arm until her hand was behind her head.
    â€œOkay, now what?”
    She replied, “Now pull my hand straight, in the direction of my other shoulder. Do it right, and it should pop the joint back into place.”
    â€œWhat if I do it wrong?”
    â€œThen you’ll probably shred every ligament in my shoulder.”
    â€œGreat. No pressure.”
    Gently, I began to pull her hand. It was difficult, and her arm was already at an odd angle. Sparrow was sweating, biting her lip. It must have taken every ounce of effort not to scream.
    â€œKeep going,” she breathed.
    â€œIt won’t go any farther,” I said.
    â€œYes, it will. That’s the point. On the count of three, pull my hand as hard as you can.”
    â€œI don’t think I can.”
    â€œOne,” she said.
    â€œWait, let’s talk about this…”
    â€œTwo,” she continued.
    â€œI’m not that strong.”
    â€œThree!”
    On “three” I yanked her hand. There was an awful popping sound, and Sparrow shrieked. She rolled onto her side as I lurched backward into a puddle.
    â€œI’m so sorry!” I said. “I didn’t know what I was doing! Are you okay?”
    Slowly Sparrow rolled over and got to her knees. She was still clutching her arm. Bracing herself on the wall, she stood up. Gently, she let go of her cradled arm. It hung limp at her side.
    Then she began to move it. Rotating, swiveling, raising. She was still clearly in pain, but…
    â€œThe joint is back in place.”
    â€œOkay good, because I was this close to yakking,” I said.
    â€œThe ligaments have been pulled