Joe’s head hits the ground, hard. We run across the yard, up onto the porch and carry him inside the house. It’s not easy. He’s not exactly the strapping, fit, farmer I was expecting.
“I think the lounge room is down the hallway to the right,” I say to Felix, who has his arms under both Joe’s shoulders.
Joe really doesn’t look well, and he smells funny, too.
“Gross, has he?” Sierra starts, in disgust.
“Yeah, I think so,” I reply, trying not to get too freaked out by the warm pee trickling down Joe’s trouser leg onto my hands. “Actually Felix, take a left at the next door,” I instruct.
We scramble into the large bathroom and lay Joe down in the bath.
“Maybe gets some water?” Felix suggests.
I double back to the kitchen, to look for a glass.
The idyllic country kitchen is a mess. All the cupboards are open, dirty dishes pile high in the sink and mud has been trampled over the floor. Sitting on the table is an empty bottle of whiskey, an assortment of prescription drugs and a note.
Dad, if you ever wake up, I am so sorry.
Now it makes sense.
“Gross!” I hear Felix yell from the bathroom. “Evie, get in here now!”
I grab one of the few clean glasses left in the cupboard and run back into the bathroom, calling ahead to the others. “He’s taken pills and he’s drunk a lot of whiskey. I think he was trying to kill himself!”
Joe is in the bath, his head drooping, half passed-out. Drool streams from his mouth. I turn on the overhead shower and slap his face gently. He doesn’t respond.
“Does anyone know what we should do?” I ask in a panic.
“Evie, would they have a first aid kit?” Sierra asks.
First aid kit… Aunty Sarah!
“Joe’s Mom is a paramedic, they’ll have a ton of supplies — and medical books. Guys, search the house, I have no idea where they’ll be, but they’re here somewhere.”
The others tear out of the room and their footsteps thunder around the house. I pull Joe’s boots off, unhook the shower head, and clean his pants.
“Evie, I found a handbook,” someone yells from upstairs. “It says to keep him talking as much as possible, he needs to stay conscious!”
I’m not really sure what to say. “Joe, it’s Evie — your cousin.”
He stirs, “Evie. What the hell?”
“I know, random, right?”
YOU ARE READING
The Sleep Part I: The Fan & The Things That Hit It
General FictionAt sixteen, could you run the world? Could you look after the food, the water, the electricity, the government... the children? Evie Ballentrae isn't equipped to deal with any of that. But like everyone else her age, she doesn't have a choice. 'The...
