On The Border

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

    Reid was in staggering pain.  Breath hurt.  Blasts of agony roared through his body.  He suffered, body racked in spasms.  Heat and thirst plagued him, sweat covered him.  Sometimes there was water, his head lifted by a firm hand that guided the liquid to his cracked lips.  Sometimes, it wasn’t water, but some foul-tasting concoction that he was too weak to spit out, and he swallowed it only  to keep from drowning. 

    A powerful voice spoke to him as he suffered and languished.  “Why do you still live? What burns in your heart so strongly that you cling to this pain?”

    Reid answered in a voice he didn’t even recognize, so weak and strained and quiet.  “Justice.  I did the right thing...” his voice trailed off again.  Time passed, he had no idea how long.  More water came, more of the terrible liquid.  The pain throbbed through him, carrying him to terrible places.  Men shot at him from on top of high rock walls, impossibly high so that he couldn’t see the top.  People he trusted turned on him, mocking him, shunning him.  People would laugh at him, reading newspapers that showed him as a clown, a fool, and then the newspapers themselves would laugh. 

    Finally, the pain eased.  His eyes opened and managed to focus.  He was in a dimly lit room, made of rough wood.  He lay on a bed on the floor.  A candle flickered nearby.  There was a pitcher of water on a low table nearby.  He tried to reach for it and felt another blast of pain rip through him.  His hissed, drawing in a steadying breath.  He felt pain all over.  Moving aside the blanket, he looked at himself.  Bandages were everywhere.  He moved his hands carefully over them, feeling the wounds, wincing.  He tried to remember what had happened, where he was.  The room was completely unfamiliar to him.  It had a low ceiling and was very simple and rough-hewn.  There was a blanket hung across the sole doorway, behind which some light trickled in. 

    The blanket was pushed aside and someone ducked inside.  As the figure straightened, Reid saw it was a very old woman with bright, fierce eyes.  She looked at him, and he found her gaze disconcerting.  “So, finally awake.  Or are you?  Are you with me?” her voice was clear and strong, and made him wonder if he was wrong in his first guess at her age.

    “Yes,” his voice croaked.  He swallowed painfully.  “Where am I?” he managed to rasp out.

    “You’re a guest in my home, and I’ve spent the last few weeks putting you back together, so don’t go trying to get up and tear everything apart now.  You’re not dying anymore, but you’re a long way from healthy.”  She crossed over to the bed and poured some water for him, holding the cup to his lips.  Reid drank, trying to hold it for himself, and was shocked to see his hand shaking.

    “What happened?” he asked, his voice a bit stronger after the drink.

    “You got shot.  A lot.  My grandson found you before you managed to die and brought you to me.  I’ve kept you alive and healed you as best I could.”  She looked at him appraisingly.  “How are you feeling?”

    “Weak.  In pain.  Washed out.  But alive.  Thank you.”  He swallowed again, his throat sore already.  “I owe you my life.”

    “A serious debt.  I hope your credit is good.”  She laughed.  “It’s a joke, son, don’t look so worried.”  She moved her hand over his forehead, it was rough but somehow soothing.  “Fever’s gone, that’s something.  Now we need to finish fixing you.”

    “Finish?” he croaked.

    “You can’t walk, your muscles are all limp, and we’re not done with your wounds yet.”

    “What happened to everyone else?”  He swallowed painfully again.

    “The people you were with?  I’m sorry.  No one else made it.  You’re the only one.”  Her voice was softer, more sympathetic.