Free Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One by Adam Knight Page A

our
scorekeeper.”
     
    He was so tall.
Everyone was so much taller than me. Mom kept saying I was gonna be
big and strong one day. Just like my big brother. I just had to be
patient.
     
    Dad checked his
watch, and lit a cigarette.
     
    WHAM.
     
    A lurch.
     
    Pain.
     
    Everything
hurt.
     
    Sounds.
     
    “Oh my,
God!”

“Everybody get back!”
     
    “Someone take
over CPR, I need a break.”
     
    WHAM.
     
    More pain.
     
    Air.
     
    Minty.
     
    Faces.
     
    Tamara.
     
    Parise.
     
    Mom.
     
    “Joseph Alan
Donovan you get in here this instant!”
     
    I was halfway
out the door. My friends were outside on their bikes, waiting. We
were heading to the monkey trails along the Seine River.
     
    Mom’s face was
a thunder cloud. My report card in her hand. Brandishing it like a
weapon, her eyes wide. “You are not going anywhere until you
explain these grades.”
     
    Grade nine
hadn’t been my best. Computer science had killed my average. I just
couldn’t make the damned things work for me.
     
    “How am I
supposed to be the head of the PTA if my own son can’t keep above a
C average?”
     
    “Linda, lay off
the boy.” Dad came to my rescue. Same as always. He looked over the
sheet, grimacing around his pipe. Smoke curling up towards the
ceiling. “He has good marks on here. Bunch of A’s. Some high
B’s.”
     
    “That is
precisely why a C is completely unacceptable. If he is capable of
better marks then he should … “
     
    WHAM.
     
    “Where is that
ambulance?”
     
    “Stay down you
piece of shit!”
     
    “Fuck you, pig!
I know what you are …”
     
    “Jesus,
Miller!”

“What? He shot this guy!”
     
    “Joe! Joe, can
you hear me?”
     
    “Keep breathing
for him. I can’t find a pulse!”
     
    WHAM.
     
    Donald looked
at me sadly. I stood in front of him with both hands jammed in my
pants pockets and my face aflame. A massive black eye swelling my
left eye shut in a huge purpling mess.
     
    “Why didn’t you
fight back?”
     
    I didn’t
answer.
     
    He leaned back
against the sink. We were in the basement washroom. A cold face
cloth in his hand. It stung painfully against my face when he
pressed it there, wiping at the welt.
     
    “Have you
figured out what to tell Mom?” he asked.
     
    I shook my
head.
     
    Donald
grimaced. “You know how Mom is, Joe. She’s gonna freak. After all
the hell I put her through in school she’s hoping you’ll be the
smart kid.” He sighed, eyeing me critically, reapplying the
facecloth with a sad smile. “I suppose we could tell her you
fell.”
     
    WHAM
     
    “Keep back
everyone! Give the paramedics room!”
     
    “Back the fuck
up!’
     
    “The blood, so
much blood….”
     
    “We can take it
from here, ma’am. Let us do our jobs.”
     
    Sirens.
     
    More faces.
     
    WHAM.
     
    Caskets.
     
    Matching
caskets. Up in front of the altar.
     
    The pastor at
the pulpit. Droning. The passage of life. How God welcomes all to
his bosom. The transition from life into death is a challenge to
the living, though we should not weep.
     
    Mom was
weeping.
     
    So was I.
     
    WHAM.
     
    “Okay, head’s
secure.”
     
    “On three.”
     
    “Joe!”
     
    “Ma’am you’ve
gotta stay back.”
     
    “Three.”
     
    WHAM.
     
    “I am sorry
it’s not better news, Mrs. Donovan. I truly am.”
     
    Doctor’s
office. Mom with her hand shading her eyes. I was off to one side,
staring at the doctor. The x-rays showing an outline of Mom’s
heart. Lots of black spaces. Shadows, they’re called.
     
    Stunned.
     
    Unfair.
     
    Mom wasn’t the
smoker.
     
    WHAM.
     
    “How far from
the hospital?”
     
    “St. B’s two
minutes away.”
     
    “Take over
compressions, I’ll fire up the AED.”
     
    “He’s going
tacky. Blood loss is slowing to a trickle.”
     
    WHAM.
     
    Banker’s
office. More long faces.
     
    Mom sat next to
me. Her skin gray. A tissue in her hand, pressing it to her mouth
after every hacking cough.
     
    “Thankfully
your