Blood Mountain by James Preller

Author:James Preller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

38

[TRY]

Using the walking stick as a crutch, Grace hops and painfully hobbles to the water source. She fills the bottle, rinses her face, arms, legs. It pleases her to obtain water in this way. Not just absently turning a faucet, opening the fridge. Despite her injuries, the act connects Grace to this place. An intricate spiderweb, damp with dew, sparkles in the ferns. The slightest effort exhausts her, so she takes it slow. There’s no need to rush. Oh, yes, a hot shower would be so sweet right now. Body wash, sweet-smelling shampoo, just an hour with her phone. Her mind feels clear this morning. The sky, too, is a crisp, polished blue. A few puffy clouds that look deliciously edible. She admires the orange-yellow wildflowers. There are rows of conical purple ones, too. Life abounds. Grace sees shiny black berries on a bush about her height. The leaves are oval in shape, pointed at one end. She wonders if she could eat them. Or are they poisonous? Food is definitely an issue. She thinks of survival shows where naked people in the woods eat bugs. She’d do it, she decides, if it comes to that. It would be disgusting—but Grace realizes she needs protein. Just not today.

How many days is it? She’s not sure. Counts and whispers aloud, “Four.”

She squats and pees right there. No point being modest. Her mind travels back the years to a memory from when she was a little girl. Four years old? Five years old? It’s difficult to say. Her father was laid up, recovering from a serious motorcycle accident. Out riding his beloved Harley—he enjoyed “tooling around” on weekends—he hit some gravel on a hairpin turn. The back wheel lost traction, skidded, and the bike fell, crushing his right leg.

He was determined to recover without a limp. So the doctor devised a plan. He explained to Grace’s father that many people limp because they favor the leg. It hurts, so they are reluctant to put their full weight on the injured limb. Thus, they never regain full strength, form a habit, and walk with a limp.

The doctor told Mr. Taylor, “If you follow my instructions each day without fail, you will recover fully. No limp. It’s up to you.”

It became a game. He handed Grace a digital stopwatch. He would take his position in the hallway, steady himself against the wall. Then he would nod to Grace, lift his left leg off the ground, and stand with his full weight on the injured leg. At the beginning, he could stand it for five seconds, ten seconds. A little more each day. She’d watch as he stood, sweat forming above his lip, face gone flushed, his body trembling with determination. “How long?” he’d ask, still holding the pose.

Grace learned to call out the intervals. “Forty-five seconds … sixty seconds … seventy-five…”

He would stand until he could stand no longer, and then he would stand a bit longer than that. Toward the end of each session, Mr.

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