Page 30 of Wilde's End
I shouldn’t complain though. There are plenty of people who had it worse than us. At least with Mom popping one too many benzos every day and Dad sticking his dick into every woman he came into contact with, it meant they were both too busy to be abusive.
So … yay for us?
My grip on the handlebars tightens, and I give the bike more gas. It feels fucking incredible to tear through track after track, kicking up dirt and leaves and leaving the breeze behind me.
Along with all thoughts about my parents.
Those stupid, fucking?—
Shit. A tree cutting into the track all but lurches out at me, andI only just manage to avoid it in time. The redirection throws me off, and I swerve for another tree, braking hard, tires shredding through the dirt before the back end curves out and collides withfucking something,and then I’m launched into the air.
My gut flies out through my ass, and then I land, colliding with the unforgiving ground before I slide a few feet. There’s a second for me to catch my breath—and then my bike catches up with me.
It smacks into my chest before taking me out. I lose track of what’s where as the bike goes over the top of me; there’s just pain and the urge to scream that doesn’t come out.
The bike hits a tree and finally stills, and it’s only in the echoing silence that stretches out around us that I let out a “fuuuuck!”
When I try to sit up, pain spikes so sharply up my side that I almost pass out. My shirt looks wet, stuck to my side, and it takes me a really fucking long moment to realize it’s not blood. It’s a burn from the motor.
I try reaching for my shirt, but my fingers are too stiff. My hand’s shaking; it takes my swimming vision a second to notice my fingers are swelling up.
“What the fuck …”
I roll onto my side, teeth clenched so tightly my jaw might break, and after what feels like forever, I struggle to my knees. I’m sweating, even though it’s cool down here, heart thumping loudly in my ears, and if it wasn’t for my helmet, I’d swear I hit my head with how disoriented everything feels.
My left arm is okay, and I use it to steady myself as I climb to my feet. My right leg takes my weight, but when the left joins in, a throb pulses through my ankle.
Well, that’s a fucking problem.
While my hand and ankle hurt, it’s nothing on the burn. Myskin feels like it’s on fire, and I’m doing everything I can to concentrate on literally anything else.
I shove my good hand into my pocket and find my phone thankfully unharmed, but when I bring the screen alive, I see exactly what I’m expecting to.
No service
Nofuckingservice.I almost throw the useless thing against the tree.
I can’t call anyone, I can’t walk, and I can barely fucking breathe with how harshly my breaths are coming. My vision is swimming in and out, and the burn is making me want to curl over on myself, but I limp for the bike instead.
Do I want to get back on this damn thing? Fuck no. But I’m hoping and fucking praying as I lift it upright, throw my shitty leg over, and then try to turn it on. At first, I think it’s fucked—there’s only silence where there should be an engine—but maybe it’s in as much shock as I am because after a moment, it chugs to life.
I rest my helmet on the handlebars for a second, relief taking over as I try to clear the haze swamping my brain. The most difficult part is getting the bike balanced while on my shit leg, but after a few attempts, I get going.
My adrenaline is through the roof, and the dizziness is making it hard to focus, but I somehow manage to find a track and follow it. It leads to what looks like the gravel road that leads to town, and I urge the bike faster, needing to get where someone else can take over. I need painkillers and the ability to not think for a while.
It feels like my brain is swelling, and I have no idea where I am, but I swear it keeps darkening and lightening.
I jerk the bike to a sudden stop and almost fly off the damn thing. I’m struggling to hold on, and after a second, the bike drops as I stagger painfully to the side.
I’m at a house with a red truck. It feels familiar. Like relief. I’m sure I was just here, but my thoughts are snatches of images too hard to reach through the pain.
My vision swims so hard I almost throw up.
“Hello?” I croak. But I don’t know if it’s out loud or in my head. I’m tired. So damn fucking tired. I try to get closer to the house, but it only moves further away. “Hello?”
“Hudson?”
I turn at my name, and it takes me a second to focus on the bearded man. As soon as I do though, it’s like all the strength drains out of me. My knees crash to the ground, and the rest of me follows. I’m not even sure where I hurt anymore, other than everywhere.
