Chapter 6

Blood had soaked through the gauze John had applied to Eric’s gunshot wound. John’s fingers were now stained red and sticky with blood. His arms were shaking from the continued pressure. He watched Eric’s eyelids flutter open and closed. He pressed his hand to the side of Eric’s face.

“Mom, he’s really cold,” John said.

“He’s probably in shock,” Brooke answered.

Brooke jerked the wheel right and missed a massive pothole on the broken Alabama road. The salty sea air had eroded and worn most of the coastal pavement. John shifted his legs to relieve some of the pressure in his knees from kneeling on them. He could feel the numbness shoot through his legs and almost fell over from the loss of feeling.

“Are we close?” John asked.

“Eric,” Brooke said. “Eric, we’re almost in Mobile. Where does your friend live?”

Eric mumbled something.

“What did he say?” Brooke asked.

“I don’t know,” John answered.

John shook Eric, and his head wavered back and forth on his shoulders. The color had left Eric’s face, and the vibrant eyes that John had seen the day before seemed faded.

“Eric! Where does your friend live?” Brooke repeated.

Again, the only answer was mumbles. John brought his hand back and smacked Eric across the face. The sharp crack of John’s hand against Eric’s cheek startled Brooke but did its job of waking Eric up.

“Ouch,” Eric answered.

When John saw the look on his mother’s face, he shrugged. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

Eric’s eyes focused on the landscape outside the window. “Where are we?” he asked.

“Just outside Mobile, Alabama,” Brooke answered. “Now, where’s your friend?”

“Tillman’s Corner,” Eric muttered, then started to fade from consciousness again.

“John, check the map,” Brooke said.

“But, what about the wound?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

John peeled his fingers off the bullet hole. Some of the blood had dried, fusing the gauze to John’s skin. He peeled it off, and the dried blood fell off in flakes. He reached for the map and rolled it open. Emily was still buckled into the back seat. She’d cried herself out about twenty minutes ago and just looked tired now.

“Em, help me find Tillman’s Corner,” John said, trying to take her mind off things.

John found Mobile on the map, and his finger ran south. Emily tried searching but was distracted by the other cities located around the country.

“Found it!” John said. “We need to get on Highway 59 to get to it, though. And I have no idea where we’re at.”

“We’re on Coden Belt,” Brooke said. “And we just passed Bayou La Batre a few miles back.”

“We need to head north,” John answered.

“You’ll have to find a route for us. Make sure we stay off the main roads. Eric,” Brooke said. “Where exactly does your friend live? What’s his address in Tillman’s Corner?”

“4249 South Terrance Street,” Eric answered, his eyes still closed.

“Tell me where to go, John,” Brooke said.

The map crinkled under John’s fingers as he rubbed the edges of the paper. More bits of dried blood rolled into small, flaky balls off of his fingertips. His eyes were transfixed on those small concentrations of fluid. It all seemed too surreal to him. If John couldn’t help get Eric to his friend’s house, then he was going to die. Eric’s death would rest on his shoulders. He would be to blame. The thump in John’s chest beat harder. It felt like his heart would explode. Was this what his dad had felt like in Iraq?

“John!” Brooke yelled.

“Huh?”

“I need you to tell me where to go.”

“Right.”

The beating in his chest subsided slightly, but he focused his energy on finding a side street they could cross at. The faded-green street sign they had just passed read Barrett Road. He found that road on the map and looked for the next available crossing.

“Take a left on Clark Road. From there, we can follow the river north for a few miles before we have to get on any other main roads,” John said.

“Perfect. That’s great, John,” Brooke answered.

John traced his finger north, trying to find the street where Eric’s friend lived. He found it sitting on the bay side of the city.

Brooke made the left on Clark Road and passed a few pedestrians on the sidewalk. John watched them point at the cruiser. The bullet-riddled doors and smashed rear windshield didn’t make for the most inconspicuous mode of transportation. Lucky for them the area was sparsely populated. The fewer people they ran into, the better off they were. John was trying to figure out their next move when he felt the tug on his shirt sleeve.

“Em, not now,” he said.

The tugging continued, this time more violently than before. He pulled Emily’s hand off him and tossed it aside. It returned just seconds later.

“Emily, I said not n—”

It was small splashes of water against the rocks that cut him off. John joined Emily in pressing his face against the window. John had never seen anything like it before. The sheer size of the river made his jaw drop. He’d seen pictures and watched videos in his history class, but there was something different about actually seeing it.

“Wow,” he said.

All John could think about was ripping off his shirt and diving head first into the water, letting the cool liquid wash over him. At least he thought it would be cool. The humid Alabama heat made it hard to believe that anything could be cold.

“John?” Brooke asked, her voice calm.

“Yeah?” John answered.

His eyes remained glued on the water rushing downstream. He had read somewhere that people used to ride rapids like these in small rafts. Staring at the river rushing past them, he couldn’t help but have that same urge to travel the river the same way others had done before him.

“I need you to help me, John,” Brooke said.

John pulled his eyes from the splashing river and back to the tired, defeated face of Eric, whose head bobbed from side to side in a delirious haze. The river could wait.