The Missing Boatman Part 39

"Listen, you have to knock me out again, ok?" Frank said, clearly in pain.

Tony was stunned. His mouth opened, but Frank waved him off.

"You have to. I have to stay unconscious. I can't feel any pain, ok?"

"I think I have morphine," Tony blurted out. "Or some kind of painkiller."

"Morphine?"

"Yeah, right here," Tony struggled to get to his feet.

"I can't wait. We can't wait." Frank looked at Tony with eyes that were beginning to flood with increasing agony. "Knock me out!"

Tony stood over the man, his arms limp at his sides. "What in the h.e.l.l is going on here, Frank?"

Death waved him off savagely. "Will you JUST f.u.c.kING-"

Tony didn't let him finish the sentence. He punched Death square on the chin, knocking his head back and causing the man's eyes to flutter in his head like an out of whack slot machine. He was out. Again.

"Well, f.u.c.k me!" Tony bellowed at the low grey sky. "How the f.u.c.k is this supposed to help anything!"

A great roar of frustration left him then. Snow continued to fall, and after the sound of his voice had ceased, the even greater sound of absolute silence filled his ears. Tony stood and stared pleadingly at the clouds in the sky. Willowy flakes fell into his eyes and face and he blinked. He felt the need to bolt in one direction. Just leave Death where he lay for whoever happened along the road. This was not Tony's problem. Leave him for the others to find. Tony found him, easily, so it would be just as easy for someone else. But he wouldn't. Even as he thought he could, he knew he wouldn't. And G.o.dd.a.m.n it, it was only going to get harder if he stayed. He held his head with both hands and took in the unconscious form of Death.

He had to think. What was the s.h.i.t he took from the car? He fumbled for it in his pockets, yanking out the syringe and the bottle of bupivacaine. He studied them for a moment. What was it that one guy back in the car said about this s.h.i.t? Painkiller? Spinal painkiller? So that Frank wouldn't feel a thing when they were cutting and cooking him up? He held up the syringe before his eyes. It was a big needle, centimetres long, and they were going to stick this thing into Frank. The gears of Tony's mind rolled over. Frank did not want to feel any pain, and Tony had the means to grant him that. But sticking this weapon into his spine? Could he do that? He glanced down at Death in the snow, looking as if he had just gone to sleep in a plush white chair.

Then it struck him.

What was the absolute worse that could happen? Frank couldn't die. Or could he?

Grunting, Tony pulled Death out of the snow and landed him on his stomach, on the freezing white of the road. He gripped at his coat and hauled it up. He yanked up the shirts underneath until he came to white flesh just above a black belt line. Frank's back was hairless, and looked exceptionally human to Tony. He pushed the clothes back up, so the lower part of Death's back was exposed. Tony looked at his spine, and he felt fear creep into his heart. Perhaps, it wasn't such a good idea. But before he allowed himself to think on it any further, he prepped the injection as best as he could, taking the lid off the little bottle of bupivacaine and sticking the needle in. He drew the fluid up like blood in a proboscis. He held it up when it was filled, not knowing why but thinking it was something doctors did. Then, he placed the tip of the needle to the bare skin covering Death's spine.

Tony paused.

There was bone there.

A voice screamed no s.h.i.t in his head, and he wondered how the h.e.l.l he was supposed to inject it through bone. But what if he got it into the s.p.a.ce between the discs? Could he do that?

He reached around Death's waist and pulled him up so that his a.s.s was sticking into the air. But that position did not bend him over like Tony wanted, where the discs in his back could be potentially parted. He looked around. There was nothing except the snow drift. Cursing, Tony got to his feet and left Frank on the road with his b.u.t.t pointed skyward, ready for a bicycle to be parked. Tony fell to the edge of the road and started piling up snow. He packed it hard so that he had a good-sized lump to bend Frank over.

Then, he moved Death into position.

When it was done, Tony thought it would do. Death was lying in the snow face down with his bent and exposed mid-back facing Tony. Tony knelt beside him and placed the loaded syringe where the spine was located. He hoped it would go in. He hoped he would be able to inject the painkiller.

He hoped he would not f.u.c.k up.

Tony took a breath, placed pressure on the syringe, and, taking yet another breath, injected the load. There was resistance. Tony didn't know if it was bone or something else, but he pressed harder. The fluid entered Death's spine. Or, at least his body, Tony figured. It felt strange, as if he was penetrating a strip of hardened rubber. He watched the fluid leave the syringe, and once it was gone, he pulled it out.

Death did not move.

Tony sat down beside him, listening to the hush of falling snow and the absence of wind. For all he knew, he might have just killed the man. He did not think so, but the operation was enough for him. He pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniels, opened it, and took a shot. He shuddered at the taste of the sour mash whiskey, feeling the warmth rush down to his core. He stared at the label for a few moments, waiting for the burn in his mouth to subside. When it did, he took another shot. He put the bottle back into his pocket and looked to the empty road and the wilderness surrounding them. It was hard to believe that in such a short time so much had happened. So much. He thought of Lucy, thought of her face, and hoped she was okay.

"Tony?"

Tony blinked at the sound of Death's voice. He looked around, realizing that he did not tuck in Frank's shirt after the injection.

"Yeah?" Tony responded.

Death did not move his head. "Did you just f.u.c.k me in the a.s.s?"

Tony winced. "No, man, I gave you an injection. That s.h.i.t those guys were talking about. That spinal s.h.i.t."

"Spinal s.h.i.t?"

"Yeah. I injected it into your spine."

Death was quiet. "Is that... why I can't feel anything... below my waist?"

A big fluff of snow drifted in Tony's eyes, causing him to blink. "I hope so."

"I hope so too," Frank agreed. "Cuz I was certain you just f.u.c.ked me."

"I didn't f.u.c.k you, man," Tony said wearily.

"Ok, ok," Frank said. "Just checking. I really can't feel anything. I can't even move my legs. I'm trying but nothing. Can't even feel my b.a.l.l.s."

"I can't feel my b.a.l.l.s, either, man" Tony said to Death beside him. "Too cold."

There was a pause. "You have b.a.l.l.s?" Death said.

They were both silent then for a moment: Death, unmoving and on his belly, and Tony, quietly watching it snow. It was a moment they both needed, but it could not go on for long. Death eventually broke the silence.

"We gotta go," he said simply.

It sounded fine to Tony. "Where to?"

Death tried to push himself up in the snow drift. Apparently his arms worked fine. The snow was soft around him, though, and Tony helped him to a sitting position. Death did not thank him. He looked right and left, and then made a sour face.

"f.u.c.ked up," Death muttered. "Fuuucked up."

"What is?"

"All of this," Death said with a wave of his hand. "Hard to say which way to go. You have a cell phone?"

Tony shook his head.

"Well," Death declared. "Let's head that way," he pointed to the right. "You gonna carry me?"

Tony made a sour face at that.

"Just asking," Death said. He did not say that he thought Tony did a good job injecting whatever it was into him. His pain was nil right now. There was nothing below his waist to suggest there were broken bones down there. Tony had probably saved them both a very rude visitor. Death also realized he would have to explain it all to Tony. In time.

"Let's go then." Death said. Tony hauled him up and threw him over his shoulder.

"How long will it last? What you injected me with?" Death asked Tony as he started walking.

"Don't know man. Why?"

"Just wondering," Death replied uneasily.

He did not say any more.

They kept marching for what seemed to Tony like hours, yet the day did not get any darker. Nor did the sun manage to penetrate that grim greyness hanging overhead. The air did become colder, and Tony huffed with the ever growing weight of his pa.s.senger.

"Now," Death said from behind Tony's back, "I know what it was like to travel in a chuckwagon."

"Figured you would have done that already," Tony said. "You being Death and all."

"You're right. I have done it before."

"I have a question," Tony said between huffs. He would have to stop for a break soon.

Death groaned. "I ain't saying nothin' about what's on the other side."

This took Tony back. "What?"

"You were going to ask me what's on the other side. After Death."

"No, I wasn't."

"You were. You all do."

"No, man, I was going to ask about those four guys back there."

"Those idiots weren't men. They were..." Death trailed off. "What were you going to ask?"

"What were you going to say?"

"About what?"

"Those guys. You were about to say what those guys really were."

"They were d.i.c.ks."

Tony knew a lie when he heard it. "You weren't going to say that."

"Not a lie. They were f.u.c.king d.i.c.ks. In fact, to call them d.i.c.ks is an insult to f.u.c.king d.i.c.ks."

Tony gave up. "Whatever. My question, if you'll let me finish, is how come they died?"

"I sent them over," Death said.

This caused Tony to stop in his tracks. He half turned to speak to Death when he realized he was speaking to his a.s.s. Same thing, he supposed. "You what?"

"I sent them over."

"Over where?"

"Where do you think?"

"You mean death?"

"Death isn't a place, moron, it's a gateway."

"Hey," Tony warned him, "you think about who you're calling moron, or I'll let your a.s.s crawl to wherever we're going here."

"Oh, s.h.i.t," Death said, "that would be a loss of comfort, now wouldn't it?"

Tony started walking, again. The road was becoming slippery. There was ice underneath the feathery snow that had fallen.

"When did you do that?" Tony wanted to know. He waited for his answer, but none came. "When did you do that?" he repeated.

"Huh?" came Death's voice.

Tony stopped again. "Quit f.u.c.king around. I asked you a G.o.dd.a.m.n question."

"I sent them, I said," Death repeated.

"Yeah, and I asked when!"

"When I went through the windshield."

"Whaaa?" Tony was stunned. He turned again to speak to Death's a.s.s. "How could you do that?"

"Listen," Death began, "I can be extremely busy at times. So I have to be fast. In fact, I was created to be fast. Fast enough that I can carry over millions of dying people if need be. You have no idea how fast that is, do ya? Well, when I went through the windshield, I was flying. I had about five seconds of flight there, see? In those five seconds, I rolled over twice in the air before hitting the tree. Probably would've gone farther if it wasn't for the tree, but, anyway, I had enough time to realize that Minions without any heads are just as bad as c.o.c.kroaches without any heads. So I sent them over. Take a second and chop it up into in thousand pieces. I used just one sliver of that second to do that. That's how long it took. Smart thing to do, too. Even without their heads, they would have found you, probably me, and f.u.c.ked us up."

"You killed them?" Tony asked.

"I didn't kill them. They would've gone right on living. I took them, forcefully in this case, because they're Minions."

"You made their heads explode!" Tony argued. "That's killing to me."

"Yeah, well that's cuz you think in a box. And you're a moron."

"So you took them cuz they wouldn't die on their own?"

"That's right. I'm the ferryman," Death confided.

"f.u.c.ked up."