Free Last Woman by Jacqueline Druga Page B

the way down. “You okay?”
    Like a child, I peeped out a ‘no’, that all too familiar stinging of a brush burn. The skin was torn and then with the slight delayed reaction, it started to bleed.
    “That will hurt,” Dodge said, lifted the ration bag, and pulled out some water. “Does it feel broke?”
    Again, another peep. “No.”
    “You’re bleeding.” Dodge grabbed my arm.
    I winced and pulled back. “Stop. Stop. That hurts.”
    “Oh, you stop.” He uncapped the bottle with his teeth and slowly poured water over my wou nd. “Shake it off.”
    “Shake it off?” I asked.
    “Shake it off. I told you not to climb down that way, didn’t I? You probably got hurt a lot worse when you were a kid and fell of your bike.”
    “I wasn’t allowed to ride a bike.”
    “You didn’t ride a bike?”
    I shook my head. “My mother wouldn’t let me she said I would get hurt.”
    He nodded. “I can see why she would think that.”
    “Dodge.”
    “Don’t whine. Stay here. Don’t move.”
    “Why?”
    “Just … stay here.”
    I didn’t move from my position on top of that black SUV. Dodge carried the suitcase and backpack across the cars and closer to the bridge. Then returned.
    “Not that I don’t think you can do it, but I can’t have you getting hurt.”
    “Are you always going to be like this?”
    “No,” he said. “Because you won’t always be like this. Right now, you’re still recovering. You aren’t a hundred percent. Maybe you are and I’m just wrong.”
    “You’re not wrong. I’m usually much stronger.”
    “Then good. I’d like to see that without you breaking a bone first.” He held out his arm for me to latch onto for support.
    I hated it. I absolutely hated the fact that he looked at me as weak. And I also hated the fact that I fell, looked sick, acted sick.
    I actually debated on not taking his arm and doing it myself, but I saw how well that went.
    Walking across the cars wasn’t as easy as it looked. The roofs weren’t strong, and twice the windows shattered just with the simple touch of my foot.
    We made it across and Dodge, with the ration bag around his neck, climbed up to the bridge. He placed his chest flush with the ground and extended down his arm. “Hand me the suitcase first. Heaviest item out of the way.”
    It was heavy. Before I lifted it, I made sure the handle was all the way out, and I was only able to raise the suitcase mid chest. Dodge grabbed it.
    I knew his request for the backpack was next. It was on its side and as I reached for it, I passed the flipped up mirror of a car and in doing so, caught a glimpse of my reflection.
    Frozen. I was absolutely frozen in a stare of myself.
    Was it me? My fingers reached up to my face. I barely recognized my own reflection. No wonder Dodge looked at me the way he did. I was shocked he hadn’t tried to find a wheelchair. All I could think was how Dodge said earlier I looked much better. If I looked ‘better’, how bad did I look before that? Was that possible? My face had never been so white. If it was possible, I’d say it had surpassed being pale. I didn’t just have dark circles under my eyes; they surrounded my eyes, like a raccoon. My lips? Aside from the sores, that I knew I had, they were near colorless.
    With my straggly hair, even though I had washed it, I looked like a walking corpse. “Hey.” Dodge whistled. “You gonna hand me that backpack?”
    My head cocked in shock, I nodded and reached for the backpack then lifting it up enough for Dodge to grab it.
    A few moments later, Dodge edged his way down and pulled me over to the highest car. The edge of the bridge was still above my head.
    “Alright, here’s how it’s going to go. Raise your arms.” He said.
    I did.
    “See, you’re only about four inches short of touching that ledge. So … I want you to step on my knee, reach up, and I’ll hoist you. Get a grip, you’ll have to pull a lot of your own weight, okay?”
    I nodded.
    “Once I see