Chapter Twenty-Five

Having lost part of a limb and her will to go on after the explosion, Cass needs help from Billy to find a path forward.

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Some of this podcast has been recorded on equipment from the Billings Public Library Co+Lab. Thanks to Renee Barratt of The Cover Counts for the cover design. Music by Mikhail Smusev from Pixabay.

Transcript

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Welcome back to the serialized podcast production of The Scarring Underneath, written and performed by T. S. Dickerson. Chapter Twenty-Five. Existence came back in flashes, even after she'd regained consciousness. Shouting and intense pain were interspersed with darkness, and voices repeating mindless phrases of comfort. White clouds and stars alternately rolled by above her head. Hands lifted her, poured water into her mouth, offered food, pulled back her hair as she was raised to vomit over the side of a wagon. Voices spoke to her. By day, Billy, Doc, Cam, Lena, Trista, even Darcy. By night, the voices were sometimes Drew's, or Derek's, or her father's. Even her mother's once, so she thought. She had moments of lucidity. She remembered what she'd learned during those moments. She knew who'd survived and who hadn't. She knew they thought she was brilliant and brave, knew they'd been successful. The daytime voices grew harsher, demanding that she eat, demanding that she move. The nighttime voices beckoned. She only wanted the gray piece of sleep. And one day when the sun was fierce on her face, the voices argued. She won't talk to me. She won't talk to anyone. That's not her problem right now. Her wounds, both physical and mental, will eventually heal. But only if she survives. If she doesn't start to eat or drink on her own, she'll die. It's that simple. Footsteps stomped away. Doc. This voice was Cam's. The tone was one she'd thought reserved for her own moments of greatest insensitivity. He has to hear it, Cam. I know it hurts him, but it's true. We have to find a way to reach her. Cam fixed Billy with another long stare. His eyes were growing less sympathetic, more impatient. Billy got the message. They needed to get going. It was already late morning. He'd been at this for hours. Cass was propped up against the side of the wagon, staring off into space like always. She was in there somewhere. She had to be. Come on, Cass, he said. So what? He reached out and turned her head toward him with fingers marked up by healing wounds, wounds he'd gotten digging her broken body from the debris. You're just gonna give up? Cass blinked at him, and as soon as his fingers fell away, she turned her head back to stare out at the trees. Okay, he shook his head. Doc help me. Doc walked across the wagon bed and lifted under her left shoulder, as Billy lifted the right. Doc was careful of the bandages covering the stump of her left arm, which had been severed above the elbow after sustaining traumatic damage in the blast. Together they maneuvered the girl to the edge of the wagon. Billy jumped down and caught his breath. She wasn't heavy, lighter than ever now, he guessed, but she tended to go limp when moved. She would roll over, crawl, and sometimes sit up on her own in the wagon. They'd even had her out walking once. But if it wasn't her idea, she didn't help. He pulled her into his arms and carried her away from the wagon. After several yards he set her on the ground and knelt beside her, clearing his throat. We are all so sorry. He sucked in a shaking breath. For what you went through, for what you lost, and for what you sacrificed. He ran a thumb along what was left of her childhood scar, from the top edge, where a tan line spoke of years of wearing the knife sheath there, down to where the scar disappeared beneath the white bandage. He knew the scarring underneath was extensive. He saw the hairs on her arm stand on end and looked at her face. She shivered and tears glistened in her eyes. Billy held back his excitement at her response, keeping his tone level. But none of us can watch you do this to yourself, Gas. She swallowed and opened her mouth. Billy's heart rate rushed through the roof, and he put a hand on the ground to steady himself. Her voice was hoarse. I can't stop it from happening again. She let out a cough. I can't save anybody like this. Her head jerked toward her missing arm. Fuck us then, Billy said. Her eyes flicked up to find his, surprised at his tone. Can you save yourself? That's all we want you to do. She looked away again, and after a moment her eyes turned to the legs of the horse standing nearby. Lena stood beside the mare, watching. Cass ignored the girl and eyed the horse. Billy knew she recognized her as the horse she had caught in the field, the mare that had somehow carried them and a bomb safely to the campground, despite her own terror. He met Lena's eyes and nodded. Lena nodded back and walked away. He glanced over to see that the group had left. The wagon was disappearing around a bend. Cam sat astride his horse, his look a sharp warning. Finally, he shook his head and left as well. Here it is, he said. These days, in our group, horses are the cars, cabs, and ambulances. So you've got to be able to ride even when you're dying. He leaned forward and adjusted the horsehair necklace around her throat, moving the clasp to the back. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. With a sharp sniff, he stood and walked away. He didn't look back, but picked up a jog, then a run, and dashed around the corner. Smoke flung her head up as he arrived, but went back to grazing right away. He patted the gray mare's shoulder and settled himself against a tree trunk nearby, watching the last of the group disappear down a hill, following the overgrown train tracks. He waited and doubted himself. He counted his bullets, readjusted the knife sheath on his belt, and doubted himself. He pictured Cam slugging him in the face for a second time, and doubted himself. The sun was high, nearly noon, when he realized how far his shoulders had sunk. He was going to have to go back for her. His plan was going to fail, which meant unless someone else could think of some better way to reach her, he was going to lose the woman he loved. He tugged the blue bandana from his pocket and worked it between his fingers for a moment before pushing himself to his feet. He wondered how much longer he should wait. That's when he heard the hoofbeats. The horse was walking down the trail, slowly from the sound of it. It was possible the mare had just wandered off on her own. Unable to wait any longer, he stepped out from behind the trees and instantly regretted it. The mare shied to the side, and Cass, who miraculously sat astride her, had to clutch the saddle horn, her grip awkward with the reins bunched up in the same hand. Her only hand. Easy, Cass said, her voice scratchy. The mare calmed and stood as Cass readjusted her seat and her grip on the reins. She looked at smoke grazing nearby, but she didn't look at Billy. For long minutes she sat looking at everything but him. Finally she met his questioning gaze. Her eyes flicked down to the blue bandana in his hand. Her name is Claire. Billy's eyebrows lifted, and he took a tentative step forward. Like the pastry. She's from California, but no one claims her. That's an awful name, Cass said. He wanted to remind her that her first horse was named after food as well, but he kept quiet, instead basking in the sound of her voice after so many worrisome weeks. We'll call her Dynamite, she said. Billy laughed. I like it. Thank you so, so much if you've been with us since chapter one. A new chapter has released each week. One more to go, the epilogue will arrive next week. Learn what's next for Strenella Creative on my Facebook, Instagram, and Blue Sky pages. Links are in the podcast description.