American Rust by Philipp Meyer

Author:Philipp Meyer
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780385529686
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2009-09-12T16:00:00+00:00

9. Isaac

The faint light of dawn woke him and he opened his eyes quickly. He thought he might be back in his bed. No. In the sleeping bag at the edge of a lawn. He turned his head. Goes on a ways, out of sight. Fairway of a golf course. Soft bed. Easy on the bruises. He checked the air with his breath, watched the vapor drift up. Cold and not a sound anywhere, could be the only one alive on earth. Used to like being up this early. Back to sleep.

He closed his eyes again and waited until the sky brightened enough to wake all the birds, a single chirp and then a spreading chorus, twitters and warbles, cooing pop pop pop piit piit piit sreeeel sreeel sreeel. Something fluttered just over his face, a gray- and- white flash: kingbird. Bee eater. He put his arms behind his head and lay there for another ten minutes, listening to birdcalls and watching the sky change color as the sun rose.

He sat up quickly and the pain startled him—rib cage. Did I get jumped again yesterday? No. Sunday leftovers. Internal pain, turns the stomach. Better to break an arm. Depends. Good rib- break better than bad arm- break. Leg- break the worst—can't move—done for. Plus lose a quart of blood per femur. Reason they break your legs on the cross—act of mercy.

It took him a long time to get his bag packed, there was no way to move that didn't hurt. Worse than yesterday, he thought. The second day after you get beaten is worse than the first. Body won't let you know you're hurt until you're out of danger—waits till you can handle the news. Preserves your mental outlook.

Finally he stood feeling the sun on him, head down, getting the light directly to the brain, cheering, pineal gland. Also the feeling of danger— they can all see you. See how hurt you are. Sleep by day, move by night. Oldie but goodie—reason animals see in the dark. Night eyes reflect light but also absorb it. Think on that a while, Watson.

Shouldering his pack he made his way back into the forest, down the rocky hill along the drainage, his legs hurting more than yesterday. He walked hunched and with small steps as if carrying an enormous load. He wanted badly to lighten the pack but there was nothing inside it he wouldn't need. There were strange, brightly colored flowers along the stream, but even his slow movement took all his effort; he passed without looking. What's on the day's menu. Broken back, maybe. Fight the old man for his wheelchair. He'd win—special tactics. Wheelchair warfare. What he'd say if he saw you now: ungrateful shit, the strong survive. Send your poor your tired and your hungry. Stick em in a grinder, sausage for the king. Dirt for dinner. How far to the next town.

He reached the ridgetop and looked down over the river flowing in its valley, green and winding, thick with trees.

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