Dupree's Rebirth by Micheal Maxwell

Author:Micheal Maxwell [Maxwell, Micheal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery
Publisher: Maxwell Books LLC
Published: 2017-03-13T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 6

“Hey! Hey, Buddy! You okay?”

The sharp gravel cut into Dupree’s palms and knees but it wasn’t enough to clear his head. He looked around for the owner of the voice. The roar he thought was in his head was, in reality, the mufflerless engine of a three-wheel ATV that pulled up alongside the ditch next to him.

“You need some help?”

“I think so.” Dupree’s voice sounded to him like it was coming out of someone else.

As he lifted his head, he saw two legs clothed in very faded denim and a pair of partially laced work boots. He felt the grip of a strong pair of hands grasp his shoulders and gently begin to lift him.

“Can you make it to your feet?”

“I think so,” Dupree said, struggling to put his weight on the soles of his feet.

As Dupree stood to his feet, he was looking into the weathered, deeply creased face of the owner of the ATV.

“You get hit by a car?”

“No, I believe the term is pistol-whipped.”

“Hell of a blow you took. Can you make it to the trailer?”

“I believe so,” Dupree said, softer than he intended.

“Let’s give it a try. We need to get you some medical attention.”

“My pack.” Dupree’s voice was getting back to normal, but it carried a thick nasal quality. “I need my pack.”

“Alright, I’ll grab it. Let’s get you in the trailer first.”

The man took Dupree by the top of his arm and directed him toward the little green trailer behind the ATV.

“Watch your step,” the man said as they approached the ditch. “There you go. I gotcha.”

Dupree turned and sat on the end of the trailer. He turned his head from side to side and then leaned it way back to look straight up to the sky. His neck popped and crackled, and the short, sharp pain was a relief. He took a deep breath and looked back at the man who was retrieving his backpack.

The man was either much younger than he looked or much more agile than a man his age should be. Obviously a farmer. Dupree wondered what profit there could be in owning a piece of this desolate expanse of dry weeds and rock.

“There you are.” The man handed Dupree his pack. “I’m Chet Weaver. My house is about three-quarters of a mile off. Try to get comfy, it’ll be kind of bumpy in spots.”

“Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“You’re lucky, I usually don’t make it this far out until Wednesday.” Chet gave Dupree a broad smile.

“Lucky must be a two-edged sword. I’m Dupree.”

“Nice to meet you. The circumstances could be better.” Chet took a radio from his belt and keyed the microphone. “Val? You there?”

The radio’s static was thick and hurt Dupree’s head.

“I’m here,” a woman’s voice said on the other end of the radio.

“I just found a fella who’s got a nasty cut across the bridge of his nose. Better get your kit out. I’m at marker 109 so I’ll be a bit.”

“I’ll be ready. You be careful.

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