Chapter 9: Jonathon
A scream exits my mouth for the first time in years. I look straight down and see a man sprawled out on the floor. One hand is around my leg and the other is stretched out beside him. The floor around him is smeared with blood. The man looks up at me, his face swollen with a blistering rash covering its side. This is the worst case of the infection I have ever seen, and it’s the most horrified I’ve ever felt. I can’t help but silently pray that I will never end up on the ground gasping for air and soaking in my own blood.
My fears are interrupted by a pleading groan from the ranger. His bloodshot eyes look up at me, and they beg for help.
I feel bad that I screamed.
Without much hesitation, I bend down turn him over and carry him into the main room. He is very light and his ranger uniform is noticeably loose; there is almost nothing to him. I set him down delicately on the couch. As I pull away, I pause at the blood stains that are now on my own clothes. He looks up at me with grateful eyes and manages a small smile. I guess he is around forty years old, but now he seems more like a helpless child. I notice his right hand hanging over the side is shaking. A blanket rests on the chair beside him and I throw it over him. His eyes again show thanks. I can tell he is trying to speak, but he fails and quickly gives up.
The door to the trailer flies open. My sister walks in with the gun at the ready. She heard my scream. It only takes a second for her to see the ranger. She immediately looks at me, her eyebrows show an immediate empathy. She kneels beside him, at a lost for words.
Then she musters up the courage and delicately says, “What can we do?” His bloodshot eyes stare back into hers. His chest expands as he gasps for air. After a moment, he changes his gaze to the kitchen.
“Medicine? Painkillers? Water?” Jo questions the man. He manages to shake his head just a little. Jo looks back at me. “Go to the kitchen and see if you can find anything.”
There are no decorations, and the only appliances are a tiny stove and a fridge. Between them is a table big enough for one. On the table is a vinyl tablecloth and a handwritten note sits on top of that. That won't help him.
“Ask him if it’s in a cabinet or something.” I start to open drawers. I hear Jo speaking to him, but I don’t hear a response. I go through drawer after drawer and find nothing aside from some aspirin. The fridge has some food but nothing helpful. I walk back over and kneel beside my sister.
“There isn't anything I can find. What do you need?” I calmly ask. I want to help him more than anything. Again, his eyes go to the kitchen then back to mine. Then his eyes drop to his hand. With his hand he presses two fingers together with his thumb and slowly moves it back and forth. I begin to run through all the things he could be doing. What does he...a pencil. He is writing. I look around the room for a second. Maybe a prescription. Then I remember the note.
“The note?” I curiously ask. He nods a fraction of an inch. I hurry to grab the note and bring it back to him. He sees it and nods again. I hold it out so my sister can also see it, and we both begin reading.