Boondocks

Chapter 51: Too Late

CROC

I'd been poisoned; that was the only way to describe it. Vomit sloshed from my gut to my throat each time we took a step. My nose and throat were charred, my lungs raw and coated in dust. Fresh blood trickled from my nose, like a leaky faucet I couldn't manage to turn off.

Merle and Cecil hobbled as they carried me forward, inch by torturous inch. I needed to sit. My leg felt ready to snap. But I clenched my jaw and pushed through, supporting as much of my weight as I could to keep the burden off of them.

The scenery changed in never-ending slow motion. The prisoners made our pace even slower. They scooted like zombies, further strengthening my suspicion that none of this was real. That none of us had made it. Gator and his voodoo stories kept swimming through my brain. Most of all, his talk of Guinee, the murky plane he said spirits must pass through to get to the deep waters, where they would be reunited with their ancestors. But Guinee wasn't a place of punishment, and I couldn't imagine anything worse than this. No. This was torture, like the Hell Julia had talked about wanting the Officials to go to. Maybe I was there, condemned to limp down trash littered streets, into the dense wood, through the brush, and over the roots on a constant loop, never getting anywhere.

My head pounded, vision blurred, and I was ready to fall over by the time we finally stopped. Merle and Cecil lowered me against a tree, then flopped down on either side of it. People collapsed wherever they'd stood, and canteens of water were passed around the group. The prisoners drank greedily, forcing a few of the least injured to venture off in search of more.

"We should have been back by now," Tex said. His jaw was tight, his fingers fidgeting, snapping pieces off a stray twig he'd picked up off the ground. He looked at Sergio. "How long before they give up and take off without us?"

"Nightfall," Sergio said.

Everyone fell quiet, taking in the waning light filtering through the trees. We were running out of time, and if the ship left without us, we'd never make it. Willow and the babies would be gone, and I was in no shape to chase them. What if I never found them again?

Fern and two prisoners were the only ones not sitting. They were too busy moving through the masses, bandaging wounds. Fern's eyes landed on me, and she hurried over. "Where are you hurt?" she asked, dropping to her knees beside me.

I swallowed. My throat was dry. "My left leg."

She pulled out a knife and cut my pant leg, revealing the break I'd been trying to ignore. The bone hadn't torn through the swollen, bruised skin, but it looked like it was trying to. No wonder it felt ready to snap—it was.

Fern shook her head and focused on Merle and Cecil. "Can you two hold him? I'll have to set it back into place."

They twisted, gripping my arms on either side.

Fern looked over her shoulder and called, "Daddy!" Then one of the prisoners rushed over to us.

My brow furrowed. "Daddy?"

"Yes, and lucky for you, because he's way better at this than I am." Fern placed a stick between my teeth. "Bite down."

I did, craning my head back against the tree. My hands fisted, my body tensing, waiting for the agony I knew was coming. Fern's father crouched beside her, inspecting the injury. I breathed hard through my nose as he prodded and poked. "It's a bad break," he murmured. "He needs a surgeon." His eyes met mine, his expression grim. "I'm gonna try my best to set it, but I can't make any guarantees. Fern baby, grab some sticks and cloth we can use to build a brace, and see if Sergio has any more of that rum."

She nodded and rushed away, returning a few moments later with the things he'd asked for.

"My name is Joseph—" He removed the stick from my mouth and lifted the flask to my lips. "Drink this. You're gonna need it."