The Free (P.S.) by Vlautin Willy

The Free (P.S.) by Vlautin Willy

Author:Vlautin, Willy [Vlautin, Willy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-02-04T00:00:00+00:00


16

Leroy Kervin woke in the middle of the night to see that he was in the hospital room. His arms and legs were restrained and there was a dim light behind him. He could hear people talking in the hall and he could feel the pain in his chest and the tube down his throat. He didn’t panic; he just saw where he was and didn’t want to be there.

The chasing soldiers vanished from the casino parking lot and the casino itself became a haze of distant lights left behind them. For miles they walked along a barren stretch of road. Nothing was on either side but rain-soaked hayfields and barbed-wire fences. But as soon as he realized he felt better he began wheezing again; he began gasping for air. They came to a convenience store set back from the road. They walked along the parking lot and rested, hidden behind a dented dumpster.

“Are you okay?” Jeanette whispered.

“I don’t know,” Leroy muttered. “I don’t understand it . . . Sometimes I feel fine and other times I’m in so much pain I can hardly stand it.”

“Your breathing sounds awful now,” Jeanette said.

Leroy tried to answer but he was unable to. She held his hand and he closed his eyes in exhaustion. When he opened them again she was holding him.

“How about now? Are you okay now? Can you speak?”

“Maybe I’m better,” he croaked and slowly he made himself stand. He swayed back and forth in front of her, punch drunk and unsteady. “I don’t think I can walk all the way back to the marina. We’ll have to get a ride somehow, and if we can’t get a ride you’ll have to go without me.”

“I’m not going without you. We’ll find a ride,” she said, and they began watching the parking lot. A truck pulled in and three men in fatigues got out, bought beer, and left. After that a woman in a uniform with two kids came in a minivan. She kept the engine running, but left the kids in the car. An hour had gone by when a kid on a motorcycle came. He left the bike running, put the kickstand down, and went inside.

“This one,” Leroy said and they got up and went to it. The motorcycle had bald tires, a dented gas tank, and its seat was covered in silver duct tape. The engine idled roughly and gray smoke came from the exhaust pipe. Leroy got on the bike, pushed up the kickstand, and Jeanette got on the back.

He was pushing the motorcycle out of the parking spot when the boy ran out from the store. “What are you doing?” he cried. He was holding a Drumstick ice-cream cone and a can of root beer. He was thin and small with brown hair. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans.

“We have to take it,” Leroy said in a shaky, uneven voice. He was hunched over the bike, barely able to hold on to the bars.

“But it’s my brother’s,” the boy said.



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