Waking Up

by Allie

I've been shot. I remember riding along with the Kid, and then an explosion, like being kicked in the head by a mule.

Where's the Kid? Did they get him, too?

"Kid?" I try to roll over, reach around and see where he is but I can't seem to get my eyes open, and my arms are trapped.

I fall back and darkens claims me again.

Next time I start moving around and trying to call him, gentle hands push me back. "Shh." A woman's voice. "Shh. Don't move, Mr. Smith. You need to rest."

Smith? Who's Smith? I can't rest. Somebody help me. I've got to find the Kid…

It seems like a long time, and I'm not well enough to look for him. I'm in a bed, somewhere soft.

I hope he's somewhere soft, too. I hope he's not hurting. I've got to look after the Kid, but I'm so weak now, I couldn't even stand up for my own hanging.

I've got a fever. She gives me some stuff for it—water and brackish medicines. I drink it but I can't tell if it helps.

Dreams. Plenty of bad dreams while the fever burns. Can't remember what happened, but my mind makes things up. We were on the run. Just blew a safe I couldn't crack. Me and the Kid, and 2,000 dollars. Then the shots came… Bam bam bam! One hits me and I'm down. And I see Kid's horse stagger and him clutch his chest and he's down, too. Looks like we won't live to see jail.

"Kid!"

Cold cloths on my forehead. "Rest, Mr. Smith."

I catch her slim wrist. I'm so weak my hands are shaking with the effort. I try to focus on her face. It's a blur. My head hurts so bad. "Ma'am," I clear my throat. "Where's the Kid? What'd they do with Kid Curry?"

She stares at me, then pushes me gently back. "Go to sleep, Mr. Smith. There are no outlaws here."

"You don't understand. I've got to find him…" Darkness claims me, before I can make her understand.

In my dreams, we're still running and dying. Sometimes it's a posse. Sometimes a lynch mob, or a sheriff—even Lom once. Once, our old gang turns on us. Wheat and Kyle deliver the final shots, and we're down. I reach for the Kid, try to find him, but even though we're only a few feet apart, I can't. Where have they taken him? Where's the Kid? I'm s'pposed to look after him, everybody knows that.

"Kid…!"

It hurts so bad when I move. But I have to try. I'm fighting the covers, trying to get free, to get up, when she returns.

"Mr. Smith, if you don't stop fighting I'll have to tie you down!" she scolds.

I like still, and pant. "Help me—find the Kid…" Kid always said I have a silver tongue. If she'll help me… if I can convince her…

"I will not. You need to rest, not hunt outlaws!"

"Kid…" I groan.

Then a little while later, there's somebody else there. Walking to my bedside. I hear spurs, boots—a man.

"You talk to him, Mr. Jones. I can't get him to rest. He keeps going on about finding some outlaws."

"Outlaws? Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, ma'am. Joshua's real law-abiding..."

The second I hear his voice, I know. "Kid," I murmur.

He squeezes my hand. "Shush, Mr. Smith. You need to rest."

The door shuts and we're alone. He kneels now beside me and keeps hold of my hand. "Heyes, you go to sleep now, and don't be talking about outlaws. I've got everything covered. I'm gonna find out who did this to you. Rest now, and remember—our names are Joshua Smith, that's you, and Thaddeus Jones, that's me." He squeezes my hand. "Just rest, Heyes. It'll be okay, I promise."

And I do. The Kid is okay. I can rest.

#

It feels like a long time before I really wake up. I can see her face now; she's really pretty. Some of what happened comes flooding back, but it's still not real clear. I ask what happened. I ask where I am, and then for the Kid.

After awhile, the sheriff and Carlson and the Kid come in. The sheriff starts asking me all kinds of questions—like where my friend was when I got shot. He's looking real grim. I steal a look at Kid Curry's face. Sure enough, it's his neck for the noose, if I answer wrong.

I get it right. I bluff our way out, and then, finally, the sheriff leaves.

Guess the Kid really did need me.

I can't remember where he really was, so I ask him. He tells me, and we share a smile. Thinking the Kid would shoot me—how ridiculous.

Then he helps me eat some soup, and we don't talk much more; I'm too tired. Too tired to even eat soup on my own.

My head sure hurts, but I'm glad to be alive. I'm glad we both are.