Survivor Song(51)
Luis says, “I’ll go. I can convince them they have to help.”
“Nah, bro. Bad. Bad.” Josh throws nervous looks over his shoulder at the road behind him.
Ramola says, “We are all going.”
Natalie stops walking and turns around.
Ramola continues. “We’re all going so they can see Natalie and so I can do the talking. If Natalie and I stand on those rear pegs”—she points at Luis’s bike—“you’re confident you can remain balanced with our extra weight?”
Without hesitation, Luis says, “Oh hell yeah.”
Ramola says to Natalie, “If those men want to help us, give us a ride, great, but if not, we keep going to the clinic ourselves. No more waiting around.”
Natalie nods, but her look is distracted, faraway.
Josh says, “Trash idea. We need to—”
Her fists clenched, Ramola turns on the teen and yells, “There’s no other idea! She has to get to the clinic now!”
Given Josh is approximately twenty-five pounds heavier than Luis, they split up the total weight load for each bike. Natalie will ride with Luis, Ramola with Josh.
Ramola stands behind Natalie, her arms out like a gymnast’s spotter, but Natalie doesn’t need help. Natalie puts her hands on Luis’s shoulders and steps up and onto the pegs with a surprising spryness and confidence, or, overconfidence, which Ramola fears is a result of the infection interfering with her brain’s ability to curb inhibition and assess risk. The rear tire sinks under the added weight, but doesn’t completely flatten. Ramola worries less about the tire’s integrity and Natalie’s feet slipping off than she does her ability to hold on with an injured left arm.
Natalie’s belly rests against Luis’s back. She asks, “You sure about this, guy?”
“I’ve had heavier on here.”
“Ain’t you sweet? I won’t bite you in the neck until we get there.”
“Stay leaned forward, I can take it.” The strain in Luis’s voice communicates the opposite. “Don’t step off until I stop, and one foot at a time.” He pushes the bike forward, grunting with each of the four lunging strides of his legs, working the bike up to a speed with which he can place his feet on the pedals. They wobble and shimmy from side to side for a heart-swallowing moment, but then straighten out and glide smoothly down Bay Road.
Ramola jogs over to the rear of Josh’s bike, clamps onto his shoulders, and climbs onto the pegs. The step up is only about a foot off the ground but the elevated position already feels precarious and unstable. She says, “We need to catch up to them, but in the safest possible manner.”
Josh doesn’t say anything and slowly pushes them forward. She feels him pouting and sulking beneath her hands. His listless affect is a full-body eye roll, his silence a no-one-ever-listens-to-me protest. She wants to scold him again—it felt good to do so earlier—perhaps teach him some choice British slang in the process. However, she reminds herself he is not an adult and he is within the age range of her patients. The displays of bravura do not fully mask the lost, frightened, and confused young man he clearly is.
She leans forward, as far as she dares, and says, “Thank you for this, Josh.”
Josh pumps his legs and accelerates them down the road. They gain on Luis and Natalie. Ramola’s unbuttoned coat billows open and the blast of cold wind waters her eyes. She presumes it feels like they are moving faster than they actually are given her unaccustomed perspective hovering above the rear tire of a bicycle. She suppresses the urge to request that he slow down.
Josh says, “I still don’t get why we shouldn’t avoid those guys, take a different route, just in case. I mean, is she going to have the baby, like, right this second?”
Ramola realizes Josh doesn’t know Natalie is infected. She tells him, plainly, and adds, “She doesn’t have much time.”
Josh makes stuttering vowel sounds, eventually evolving into speech. “Ah, oh, uh, does Luis know? Is he in danger?” He pedals faster and for a moment, Ramola fears he’s aiming to smash into Luis and Natalie, a harebrained attempt to rescue his friend by toppling the pregnant zombie off the bike.
Racing to get all the words out, she says, “He knows, he knows! And we weren’t keeping it from you. We didn’t know—none of us knew until Luis gave her water and she reacted. Natalie was bitten late this morning but we hoped she had been vaccinated in time.”
Josh doesn’t respond. He pulls even with the others as they glide past the Borderland parking lot and the Lincoln Street/Allen Road intersection.
Natalie towers over a determined Luis. Not a big kid to begin with, he’s scrunched in his seat as though being accordioned by Natalie pressing down on his shoulders. There doesn’t appear to be enough tire rubber and metal frame to hold them up. They’re a circus act in which a comically small bike will shed parts as a lead-up to a crowd-pleasing crash and pratfall. Natalie holds her head tilted to the left, as though her neck is stiff and hurts. Ramola wants to call out to her, talk to her, but doesn’t want to distract her or break her concentration.
Josh calls to Luis, “You good, bro?”
“I’m the good.” He’s out of breath, but he continues pedaling. “Where’s your postapocalyptic crew? Witness me!” Both teens laugh. Natalie laughs too and repeats the “Witness me” line.